Page 44 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“Is that how things are usually done when two people decide to be lovers?” Octavia drew her head back, then tipped it to one side to eye him with surprise. “I have no expectations of you, Atticus.”

“No—no expectations?” The dark savagery in his voice belied his emotionless, stony features. “Has it not occurred to you that I might have expectations?”

Startled, Octavia met his gaze with growing confusion, then narrowed her eyes at him.

“Exactly what kind of expectations do you have, Atticus?”

“I don’t want a mistress. I want a wife. You, to be precise.” Quiet and sincere, his words made her stare at him in dismayed horror.

“Wife,” she exclaimed. “Are you saying you want to marry me?”

“Yes.” Atticus’s unreadable gaze met hers with a steady look that alarmed her. “Since you’re so hellbent on sharing my bed, I insist it be a permanent arrangement. I’ll not agree to anything less.”

His soft reply sent her reeling. Had the man actually just proposed? One thought after another careened and spiraled out of control inside Octavia’s head as she stared at him in disbelief. Atticus was one of the most eligible men in the Marlborough Set. He could marry any woman he wanted. Octavia studied his indecipherable expression for a long moment. With a bewildered shake of her head, she frowned in puzzlement.

“Why would you want—”

A chill swept across her skin as she realized it wasn’t necessary to finish asking the question. Octavia’s spine stiffened as she studied his stony features. Head tilted at a haughty angle, she eyed him with icy contempt.

“I see. Will my dowry be enough for you, or will you need to ask my father for a larger settlement?”

“Do not insult me, Octavia.” Fury made Atticus’s eyes a stormy blue, and outrage hardened his handsome features. His anger was almost a tangible force as his hand slashed through the air in a gesture of outraged disgust. “I don’t want your goddamn money.”

“As I recall, your sister pointed out I was an heiress a few moments after she questioned your financial stability that night in the garden.”

“You seem to have forgotten I told Liza the family’s finances were well in order. I don’t need or want your money. I’ll sign every goddamn pound over to you to do with as you wish before you marry me.” Atticus flung his caustic reply across the space between them as if each word was an arrow dipped in poison.

“You would do that?” she gasped.

“I’m not used to someone questioning my integrity,” he snarled with a savagery that made her jump. “But yes, Your dowry will be signed over to you before we wed.”

Dumbstruck, Octavia stared at him in amazement, and his features darkened with anger. Eyes the color of violent thunder clouds narrowed on her as Atticus leaned forward to tower over her.

“You look surprised, Octavia. Do you really think I’m the kind of man who would risk his life for your money?”

“I don’t…I…” Her voice trailed off as she continued to study him with confusion and astonishment.

The man had just said he wouldn’t have risked his life for her money. But he had risked his life to come here and ensure she was safe. When he’d arrived, he’d made it clear he’d wanted to apologize for the night they’d met. It didn’t make a bit of sense. She scowled up at him with suspicion.

“And what about the Marlborough Set? Everyone knows the Duke of Ashurst can have any woman he wants.”

Octavia tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but knew she’d failed when Atticus narrowed his gaze at her, her heart skipped a beat at the disturbing emotion she saw glittering there.

“That might be true, but it doesn’t matter.” Atticus agreed with a nonchalant nod, his anger vanishing. “Because the only woman the Duke of Ashurst wants is you.”

Still struggling to understand Atticus’s reason for offering to make her the Duchess of Ashurst, she frowned in bewilderment. When she remained silent, Atticus released a sigh of disgust. An odd expression swept over his beautiful masculine features as he studied her for a long moment, then clearing his throat, he cocked his head to one side.

“Is the thought of marrying me that repugnant, Octavia?” The question was quiet and devoid of any emotion.

As she considered his query, Octavia nibbled at her lower lip. Would marriage to Atticus be that horrible? He’d just asked her to be his wife, yet he’d not mentioned having any feelings for her. Could she marry him knowing how much she loved him, with no guarantee he’d ever feel the same way?

Abrupt and sharp, every cell in her body screamed in shock as the cold, brutal truth chilled her from the inside out. In one vicious beat, her heart sent ice sluicing through her veins as she struggled not to sway on her feet. When? When had she been so foolish as to fall in love with the Duke of Ashurst? The question rocked her to the bottom of her soul, because the answer was immediate.

She’d loved him from the first moment she’d seen him across the room at Lyndham House. It was why she couldn’t stop painting portraits of him. With every stroke of her brush, Octavia had bared her soul to anyone who saw the paintings. Her mouth went dry at the thought. Thank God, he’d not seen the other portraits.

“I asked you a question, Octavia.” Mouth thinned with anger, Atticus’s fierce glare ordered her to answer him. Frantically, her brain scrambled for an answer. Unable to find one, she dodged his demand with a query of her own.

“You said you don’t want my dowry, so why in God’s name would you want to marry me?” she demanded.