Page 62 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

She reached up to touch the back of her neck, and Atticus remembered how his mouth had caressed that very spot last night after one particularly passionate and erotic moment of love making. Almost as if she could read his mind, Octavia turned her head a small fraction to glance at him over her shoulder.

Color flared in her cheeks, and it took every bit of self-control he possessed to refrain from grinning like a school boy. Despite his restraint, he allowed his mouth to twitch with amusement, and her eyes narrowed at him. Annoyance tightened her sweetly curved mouth, and Atticus wished they were back at the cottage where he could kiss her until her irritation was replaced by desire.

The firm hand clapping him on the shoulder made Atticus jerk in surprise. His gaze met Lord Montford’s assessing one, and for the first time since he was a child, his cheeks burned as if he’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

“Shall we have that talk now, my boy?”

The earl’s jovial question rang out at the precise moment when there was a lull in the different conversations filling the foyer. If he didn’t know better, Atticus might have thought the older man had planned for his question to be heard clearly.

Atticus’s jaw tightened as everyone looked in his and Lord Montford’s direction. Satisfaction, and a hint of amusement, reflected on her face, his sister eyed him with the same keen interest everyone else in the foyer was, with the exception of Octavia. She’d become pale, and an emotion he thought might be trepidation swept across her features.

“Of course,” he murmured as he offered Lord Montford a slight bow.

Across the space between them, Atticus met Octavia’s wide-eyed gaze, then turned to follow the earl into what appeared to be a rather large library. As Atticus passed his painting, he picked it up and took it with him as he followed Lord Montford. The earl waited for him to enter the room before he closed the door behind them.

Even more on edge now, Atticus crossed the floor to lay his painting on a nearby table, then turned to face the older man. Montford had moved to a sidebar and was pouring two snifters of what had to be cognac. When the man held one up for him, Atticus closed the distance between them in quick, long strides to accept the liquor.

Without thinking, he tossed half of the liquid down the back of his throat. The instant he met the earl’s eyes, Atticus winced. Christ Jesus, he was acting like he’d been called into the head master’s office for doing something he knew better not to do. The earl’s eyebrows shot up, and a small smile touched his mouth. Gesturing toward two chairs in front of the fire, Montford urged Atticus to take a seat. He declined with an abrupt shake of his head.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I’d prefer to stand,” he said in a stilted tone, and the older man smiled.

“All right,” the man nodded. “I imagine you wish to discuss Octavia.”

“Yes sir,” Atticus hesitated, frowning with frustration as he tried to organize his thoughts. The earl chuckled softly.

“While our friendship has been of a relatively short acquaintance, your grace, I am not blind to your preoccupation with my oldest daughter.”

“I have suspected as much,” Atticus replied with a resigned twist of his lips. “I can only hope you know I am most sincere when I say that I hold you in the highest regard. I have come to value your friendship, and that of your family, a great deal. I would hate to lose your good opinion of me.”

“If I’d thought for one moment your only interest in Octavia was her dowry, I would have put an end to your visits, which is why I think you’ll find me most accommodating when discussing my daughter.”

The earl’s quiet words held a note of encouragement that almost cut through the nervousness that had been assailing Atticus since he’d entered the library. Setting his snifter down on the mantel, Atticus drew himself up straight and met the older man’s gaze.

“Given the circumstances of the past several days, I believe Octavia’s reputation will be tarnished once word spreads that we were alone overnight without a chaperone.”

“That’s something her mother and I have discussed over the past three days, and we’re in agreement with you as to the inevitable scandal,” Montford said with a somber nod. “Am I correct in thinking you’re here to ask for her hand?”

“Yes, however there is a slight…complication. As I’m sure you know, Octavia is adamant in her opposition to matrimony.”

“I think that’s an understatement, my boy.” Lord Montford snorted with ironic amusement. “Have you already spoken to her?”

“Yes,” Atticus nodded. “And I’ve made a solid case as to why she needs to accept my offer.”

“And despite knowing there will be a scandal, she’s balking at the prospect of accepting you.”

“Not quite,” Atticus clasped his hands behind his back and paused. While he didn’t regret making love to Octavia last night, he experienced a twinge of guilt that he was being a bit opaque with the older man. “I’ve managed to secure her agreement to marry me, provided you recommend she accept my offer.”

“The devil you say,” the earl exclaimed with amazement before he muttered an almost incoherent oath. “And here I was, all set to have champagne served at dinner for an announcement and celebratory toast.”

“While I believed with great certainty that you would approve of our union, I do not want Octavia’s decision to marry me to be reliant on your recommendation, which is the complication I mentioned.”

“I see,” Montford murmured, his eyebrows raised.

“I love your daughter, my lord. And I think she has feelings for me. But I’ve not declared myself, as there’s the possibility she might question my sincerity.”

“I take it you have a plan on how to resolve the situation?”

“Yes, my lord,” Atticus nodded, his throat tightening at the possibility his plan might not work. “I would like for you to summon Octavia to join us, and tell her you’re unwilling to make the decision for her, and she needs to choose for herself.”