Chapter 10

" Y ou're an optimist. All the marriages I've seen are a farce. Large dowries tying women to husbands who abuse them or treat them as chattel," she sneered.

Atticus's chest tightened at the bitterness in Octavia's voice. Damn Stanfield and his ilk for making her believe the only kind of marriage she could expect was one where she was subjugated. Octavia would find it impossible to be subservient to him or anyone. Not that he wanted a submissive wife. In fact, her independence and forthright nature were two of the things he liked the most about her. Octavia would keep him on his toes. With a small shake of his head, Atticus disagreed with her statement.

"While I agree there are many men who marry a woman for her dowry, I don't believe every—"

"The kind of marriage you're suggesting is absurd. What about all the husbands who take a mistress once they sire an heir, leaving their wives to live a life of humiliation and misery?" Octavia's words were harsh and vehement as she interrupted him. "Their husbands control their finances, and worst of all, they know their children will be ripped from their arms if they try to leave."

Atticus stiffened at her fierce criticism of marriage. Christ almighty, her antagonistic outlook on marital bliss was going to be difficult to reverse. It was obvious she'd spent a lot of time observing marriages within the Marlborough Set. But he knew she was wrong. Atticus leaned forward, determined to make her understand she'd only seen the worst of marriages. There were other examples of marriages that were far removed from the kind she'd observed.

"And I find those men despicable," Atticus said firmly. "But not every marriage is like that Octavia, nor does it have to be."

"Other than my parents, I don't know of any other couple who has a joyous marriage—not even one where the couple likes each other and are comfortable in each other's company." With a dismissive wave of her hand and a scornful toss of her head, she rejected his statement. "In fact, I remember a friend of my mother's who had been vivacious and spirited before she married, only to become a shadow of her former self afterward."

The idea of something similar happening to Octavia made his muscles twist and knot until they were so hard it hurt. What she'd describe was exactly what would have happened to her if she'd not been independent enough to leave town, or God forbid she'd been forced into marrying someone like the men who'd sought her out only for her dowry. Atticus reached out to touch the back of her hand.

"I would never want to witness such a tragedy where you're concerned. I would hate to see your fiery spirit shackled in such a way." His solemn words made her eyes widen in her sweet, oval-shaped face as she eyed him in astonishment, then a resolute expression made her lips thin and tighten.

"My decision not to marry ensures I will not suffer such a terrible fate."

"What if you were to meet someone who liked you as much as you liked them? Wouldn't life be easier, happier, to have a friend or companion to go through life with rather than be alone?"

Atticus reclined back in his chair, deliberately making his voice echo with curiosity. If he had any hope of persuading Octavia to marry him, he needed to make her believe she'd reached the decision on her own. All he could do was plant the seeds of the idea that a marriage built on friendship and common interests could be a happy one.

"You mean if I met a man I viewed as a friend, would I consider marrying him?"

"It's a reasonable question to ask given you believe marriage is a prison, and I disagree."

"As I said, I do not make friends easily, and while I will concede it's possible for a man and woman to be friends, I do not see that as possible for myself," she mused with a contemplative expression on her face. After a pause, she shook her head. "But even if I enjoyed the kind of friendship you describe, I do not believe it ensures a happy marriage. In fact, I seriously doubt it would result in a marriage where either party is content with their life."

"I know a couple of people who would disagree with you," Atticus said as he cocked his head to study every emotion that flitted across her face.

"Name them," she demanded with a soft sound of disbelief.

"I became friends with a couple in America who married, knowing almost nothing about each other. Sarah was a mail-order bride."

"A mail-order bride? You mean she answered an advertisement and married a man she'd never met before?"

Octavia stared at him in horror. He bit down on the inside of his cheek. Using Sarah and Michael as an example of friendship deepening into love might not have been the wisest choice he could have made to prove his point. With a small shrug, he continued describing how the relationship between his friends had developed.

"Sarah had a choice of living in poverty in Boston, or making a home for her and Michael in Colorado." Atticus smiled. "Both of them would tell you that they are lucky. However, part of their successful marriage is that they exchanged correspondence with each other before Sarah left Boston. They determined they had several things in common, and their friendship had already begun before they met in person. But I can assure you their affection for one another is quite strong."

"Then they are quite fortunate, but I think their marriage is an anomaly, just like the one my parents enjoy," she declared in a voice that said his example was a questionable one.

"You're correct, they were lucky," Atticus replied with a nod, then frowned as he acknowledged his own belief as to how fortunate his friends had been. "But they are an excellent example of a couple becoming friends and having a happy marriage based on that friendship."

"But as we both agree, your friends were lucky," Octavia pointed out in a crisp voice as she rebuffed his statement. "I've never seen anyone in the Set who has married for friendship."

"Perhaps not, but I know of another couple whose marriage was arranged, and over time , their friendship deepened into an emotional bond that was unshakeable." Atticus met Octavia's disbelieving gaze, and a smile tugged at his mouth. "Liza and I are the result of that friendship and loving marriage."

Astonishment made Octavia's jaw sag as she looked at him with incredulity. Satisfied he'd rendered her speechless, he arched his eyebrows at her. When she remained silent, he continued, his mood growing somber.

"Despite the circumstances of their marriage, my parents found they had common interests on which to build their friendship, and they enjoyed a marriage that became one of deep, abiding love. My father adored my mother, and when he died, my mother was inconsolable."

Atticus's eyes fixated on his hand that had curled into a tight fist and drew in a breath of sorrow. Jaw clenched, he remembered the loss of his father and the way his mother had grieved for her husband. How she'd managed not to die of a broken heart still amazed him. The moment Octavia's hand covered his, Atticus jerked his head up to meet her gaze. Gray eyes filled with warmth and sympathy, she squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry. It's obvious you loved your father very much."

"He was a good man." Atticus nodded his appreciation of her sympathy before he continued to make his case for marriage. "But the affection my parents had for one another is why I believe friendship and common interests are a solid foundation on which to build a strong, happy marriage."

The two of them stared at each other before Octavia averted her gaze. Head bowed, she seemed to be contemplating the lace pattern of the table cloth. After a long moment, she shook her head, still not looking at him.

"While I don't doubt your word as to the strength of the emotional bond your parents had, I still find it questionable that your parents had a marriage as strong as the one my parents enjoy."

"And your reason for doubting me?"

"I will concede, based on your personal experience, that the friendship between your parents became one of deep affection. However, I remain unconvinced a couple can achieve marital bliss when their marriage is based solely on friendship and common interests." Octavia rolled her shoulders in an apathetic gesture. "While my parents regard each other as their dearest friend and confidant, I know there is more to their marriage than friendship and common interests."

"I see," he murmured, struggling not to chuckle. Octavia had now ventured down a path he was certain she would most likely regret taking. "And what else is there?"

"Well, I…" her voice trailed off into silence as if realizing she was in uncharted waters.

"Are you perhaps referring to passion?" Atticus quirked an eyebrow at her. The moment she flushed with discomfort, he smiled. Chin tipped upward at a haughty angle, she scowled at him.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Not at all. I'm simply surprised," he said as evenly as possible. It was true. He'd been mistaken to think Octavia knew nothing about passion. It was obvious she knew it existed, the question was, how much did she understand?

"I don't know why," she retorted with annoyance. "You said yourself, I'm blunt and to the point."

"So, passion is something you want in a marriage as well?" His body tightened as he waited for her to answer his question.

"Well, it…I know…if one, it…I would think that even for procreation there would be some emotion involved." Her cheeks became rosy with color, and Atticus felt the stirrings of desire surging through his limbs.

"I believe you're referring to pleasure."

"Whatever you wish to call it, I'm sure it makes things…I…" Octavia blew out a harsh breath of embarrassment and frustration. "Oh for heaven's sake, I don't know why we're even discussing any of this, as it's a moot point given my decision not to marry."

"I see. But since you were the one to bring up the topic, perhaps you were remembering our kiss this morning." Atticus narrowed his eyes as he studied her, and she averted her gaze. What the devil was going through that sharp mind of hers? Clearing his throat, he arched his eyebrows. "Did you enjoy me kissing you, Octavia?"

The moment he asked the question, Octavia jumped, and she met his gaze with a look of appalled amazement. Amused by her reaction, Atticus saw something flare in her gray eyes that made him believe she'd enjoyed their kiss a great deal. When she didn't answer, he smiled, unable to resist teasing her.

"Well, Octavia, did you enjoy my kissing you?"

"I don't recall objecting or displaying disgust," she said haughtily. There was a slight tremor in her brisk reply, and the sound sent elation charging through Atticus. She was avoiding answering the question. Determined to know the extent of Octavia's reaction to his kiss, he pushed a bit harder to confirm his suspicions.

"So, you're saying you found our kiss pleasurable ?"

"It was quite pleasant," she replied. Unprepared for her tepid response, Atticus stared at her, dumbfounded. Had the woman just said she found his kiss to be pleasant?

" Pleasant ?" he growled.

"Quite."

The perfunctory note in her voice made Atticus mutter an oath beneath his breath. Fingers drumming a fast rhythm on the tablecloth, he glared at her. So, she thought his kiss was pleasant, and nothing more? Appearing unaffected by his fierce look, Octavia stood up and calmly began collecting their plates and flatware. Irritated by her nonchalant response and actions, Atticus was ready to set her on the dining room table and kiss her until she was whimpering with need. Then the woman would understand what pleasure was.

But right now, he was going to teach her the difference between pleasant and arousing. In a flash of movement, Atticus was on his feet. Fuming with indignation, he pulled the dishes out of her hands and set them down on the table in a careless gesture. The clatter of silverware on china made Octavia utter a noise of aggravation.

"I appear to be out of practice when it comes to leaving a woman breathless," he snapped.

"Oh, you are most definitely not out of practice," she bit out between clenched teeth. "I'm breathless with anger at your cavalier treatment of my china."

"And you know damn good and well that's not what I'm referring to, Octavia."

Atticus pulled her into his arms and smiled as her eyes widened in surprise. The vein at the side of her neck fluttered, and he knew her heart was racing frantically. One arm holding her snug against him, he trailed his fingers across a silky cheek that was warm as she flushed beneath his caress.

"Which should I do first, Octavia?" he whispered as he bowed his head and pressed his lips against her ear. "Kiss you until you whimper with need, or shall I teach you how many ways there are to be kissed?"

At his question, she quivered against him. Raising his head, he stared down at her. Whether she realized it or not, her gray eyes had softened until her expression was sultry and inviting. Desire erupted inside him, and he bent his head to capture her mouth in a hard kiss. A small sigh of pleasure poured out of her, and it made his entire body grow hard.

Lost in the sweet, gingery taste of her, he explored the inner warmth of her mouth with a hunger that was growing with each passing second. He wanted to strip her bare, so he could explore every lush curve of her with his hands and mouth. Most of all, he wanted to hear her cry out his name as he brought her to a wild climax.

One hand cupping the nape of her neck, his tongue swirled around hers. To his delight, she responded with an eager abandon that made his blood run hot. She was warm and pliant in his arms, and the urgent need to explore her made him slide his hand up over her waist to the plump side of her breast.

The moment his hand cupped her, he ached to see her full breast spilling out of his hand before he teased her nipple with his mouth. As if aware of what he wanted, her arms encircled his neck, and she arched backward, giving him an intoxicating view of her full bosom. In that brief instant, Atticus realized how close he was to claiming her. With a jerk, he lifted his head.

His breathing ragged, Atticus struggled to contain the primal beast inside him, roaring to be unleashed. As he met her gaze, he saw desire in her gray eyes, and her breathing was as rapid as his own.

"Are you breathless now, Octavia?" he asked in a hoarse voice, his body demanding he follow through to the completion it wanted.

"I think we both are," she choked out.

At her reply, Atticus shuddered, then released her. Deprived of her heat, he clenched his jaw, struggling not to take what his body was craving with such intensity. Swallowing hard, he began to clear the table. The tension between them was like fine silk pulled taut and threatening to rip at any moment. Octavia followed his example, and a moment later, she carried the dirty dishes to the large sink.

"You fixed dinner. I'll do the dishes," he bit out tersely.

The last thing he wanted was having her anywhere near him until he managed to rein in his desire. She didn't argue, and with a sharp nod, she turned around and fled the kitchen. By the time he finished cleaning up, Atticus had his desire under control. He'd not heard Octavia climbing the stairs, so he made his way to the salon.

Uncertain as to the wisdom of his action, he didn't change direction. He needed to find a way to apologize for his behavior. It didn't matter how passionate her response to his kiss had been. Atticus wanted to earn her trust, and he was proving to be a miserable failure at the task. Actually, he'd been failing to do that since the night they'd met.

Octavia was seated on the sofa reading a book as he entered the cozy parlor. She didn't raise her head, but from the way her body tensed, it was obvious she was aware of his presence. With a grimace of self-disgust at his lack of control moments ago, he sank down into a chair beside the fireplace and stretched out his legs. Octavia didn't acknowledge his presence. Instead, she devoted her attention to the book she was reading.

At first he thought she might be pretending to read, but the moment she turned the page of her book, he realized differently. Fingers digging into the wood arm rests of his chair, disappointment and frustration crashed down on him. How had the woman recovered so easily from his kiss?

He could have sworn she'd been enthralled, and when he'd ended their kiss, Atticus was certain he'd seen disappointment in her gaze. Yet, here she was reading a book as if nothing had happened, while he was finding it extremely difficult to forget how wonderful it had been to hold her in his arms.

In an effort to refocus his thoughts, Atticus looked around the room. There was something warm and intimate about the parlor. It made him feel at peace and comfortable, as if all was right in the world. The sensation was one he'd found only in a few places. One of those was his artist's studio, and another was at Peaceful Sky Ranch. But this room was made all the more pleasant because he was with Octavia. The thought surprised him.

He'd never experienced such contentment before, and never in the company of a woman. What was it about Octavia that made him feel so comfortable in her presence? It wasn't just because he wanted her in his bed. This was a new, novel sensation aside from the desire she stirred in him. Still contemplating the revelation, Atticus's gaze continued to sweep around the room.

The moment he saw a gown hanging over a ladderback chair close to the fireplace, he frowned in puzzlement. But the instant he saw two feminine stockings draped over the screen in front of the fireplace, his stomach knotted up as if he'd had too much to drink.

Atticus remembered being surprised last night to find her gelding wearing a blanket, with plenty of hay and his water bucket wrapped up to keep it warm. Everything about the horse said someone had ensured the gelding would be comfortable while waiting out the storm.

Freezing and exhausted from his harrowing ride, Atticus had been too worried about the reception he was going to receive from Octavia to think about much of anything. The memory of her well-cared for horse had fallen to the wayside the moment he'd found Octavia safe and sound in the cottage. Now, Atticus remembered how she'd greeted him in her night clothes. In a split second, fear unlike anything he'd ever known shot a bolt of horror through him. Had she gone out to care for the horse?

Don't be an idiot, Ashurst, you know damn good and well she did.

Christ Jesus, she could have died just as easily as Thomas had at the ranch last year. Atticus fixed his gaze on her, while fear and anger wrapped a vise around his chest with the speed of a whip lashing its way through the air.

"When did you last go outside?" he asked. Octavia's head jerked up in surprise at the soft question.

She stared at him in bewilderment for a moment, her brow furrowed, as if trying to understand the question. Atticus was convinced he already knew the answer, but he waited for her reply. Perhaps she'd done it the moment it had started snowing. Octavia shook her head.

"I don't understand," she said with puzzlement.

"I asked you, when was the last time you went outside of the cottage, Octavia?"

Confusion still on her face, Atticus yanked one of her stockings off the fire screen and waved it in the air. The instant her cheeks grew red with embarrassment, he knew the truth. Furious, his free hand clutched the arm of his chair, he thought it might break beneath the pressure.

Glaring at her, it took every ounce of self-control Atticus possessed not to lunge out of his chair, drag her off the sofa, bare her ass, and paddle her until her skin was a fiery red. The instant the image filled his head, he knew taking his hand to her plump bottom would present him with an even bigger problem.

It wouldn't just be her lush buttocks his hand would touch. He knew without a doubt he would find it impossible not to explore the heat at the apex at her thighs. He suppressed a groan, not knowing whether he was angrier with her or himself and his erotic thoughts.