Page 53 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“When they were employed in your father’s home?” he quietly finished her sentence for her. The startled look on her face vanished in a split second to become one of defiance.

“Yes.” The sharp, abrupt reply made him arch an eyebrow at her.

“I’m not judging your mother’s background, Octavia. The merit of a person is not how humble or high their circumstances are. It’s their actions and moral fiber that defines the goodness in someone. I think your mother is a true lady, and it’s obvious she makes your father happy.”

“She’s the most generous and kindest person I know,” Octavia replied. Her stiff posture relaxed a fraction before her mouth tightened. “In fact, she’s so generous, she never defends herself when some member of the Set is deliberately offensive in their treatment of her.”

“Why do I think you’re more like your father than your mother?” Atticus eyed her with a smile, and she stared at him in surprise for a moment, then laughed.

“I suppose I am. Mama is constantly despairing over my inappropriate language.”

“Inappropriate perhaps, but I think it illustrates you’re a woman who knows her own mind, and doesn’t have a problem speaking up for herself. An attribute I admire.”

“What? My language or my ability to standup for what I believe in?” she said with a solemn expression, but he saw the irreverent twinkle in her beautiful gray eyes.

“Both.” He chuckled, and she laughed, then grew silent, a contemplative look on her lovely features.

“I imagine it would be unsuitable for the Duchess of Ashurst to have such a scandalous vocabulary.”

The words had barely passed her lips before her cheeks were stained with a dark rose color. Her gaze dropped to her plate, and Atticus saw her hand tremble as she reached for her glass to take a sip of wine. His chest tightened with a mixture of emotions, and he barely managed to restrain himself from capturing her hand in his.

“Since I’m well-acquainted with the Duke of Ashurst, I can safely say he would never chastise his wife for speaking her mind or expressing herself with language that might shock others.”

“Never?” she raised her eyebrows as she questioned him, a guarded look in her gaze.

“The only time I would ever chastise my duchess would be if she did something that put her in harm’s way.”

“I see, and does that include not chastising her when she’s working in the kitchen?”

“I’ll not make that mistake again.” He winced as he looked at the bandage on her wrist. Her mouth twitched as she studied him with amusement.

“I am not blameless given I didn’t do as you commanded.”

“And is that something the duke should expect when he takes a duchess? Disobedience?” he teased with raised eyebrows.

“Does that mean you believe a wife should be submissive? That her husband is lord and master over all she does?” Her demeanor changed in a fraction of a second, her body stiffening.

“No,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “I don’t want a submissive wife. I want my duchess to be comfortable expressing her thoughts without fear of being constantly overruled. I want a wife who’s independent and who’ll challenge me when she feels strongly about something that affects either of us.”

“An unusual stance for a man to take.”

“Perhaps, but I wish for my duchess to be happy. My only demand, rule if you wish to call it that, is for her to think before leaping into a situation where she might come to harm.” Atticus reached out to grasp Octavia’s hand, then raised it to his lips. “Otherwise, the constant fear for her safety will commit me to an early grave.”

In a slow, almost reluctant movement, Octavia pulled her hand out of his and stared down at her plate. Her fork toying with a piece of ham, she frowned as if contemplating his words. A second later, she eyed him with curiosity.

“How long were you in America?”

“Almost three years.”

“That’s a terribly long time being away from your home and family.”

“It was necessary.” He shrugged, remembering why he’d crossed the Atlantic. “My father was a good man, but terrible when it came to financial investments. When he died, the family coffers were almost non-existent.”

The moment he saw Octavia go rigid, he eyed her steadily and shook his head.

“I was not lying when I told you I have no need of your dowry, Octavia. My lengthy stay in America was to oversee two investments I made after my father died. I spent my time learning how to run a shipping firm and the ranch.”

“A shipping firm and a ranch?” Eyes wide with surprise, she studied him in amazement.