Chapter 17

B rilliant sunshine bounced off the snow-covered ground, making Atticus wish he had the wide brim Stetson hat he'd brought back with him to England. Not only was it comfortable to wear, but it shielded one's eyes from the glaring sun. Despite the bright sunshine, the temperature was bitter, and his hands were stiff from the cold.

Camulos and Napoleon appeared indifferent to the icy weather as the animals pulled the two-seater sleigh that had been tucked away inside the small barn behind Octavia's cottage. Atticus was grateful they weren't riding on horseback. It would have been much colder. While his hands were cold, the rest of him was quite warm given the heavy layer of blankets covering the lower half of his body.

Seated in the sleigh beside him, Octavia had barely spoken more than three words since they'd left the cottage almost four hours ago. In fact, she'd spoken very little from the moment he'd awoken her for breakfast. He'd risen early to pack his painting of Octavia without her seeing it. Instinct told him that if he needed definitive proof to convince Octavia of his love for her, it was the painting. Leaving it behind had been out of the question.

Atticus knew they couldn't be far from Stapleton Hall, and Octavia's silence was beginning to feel ominous. Last night, they'd done more than make love, they'd talked and laughed with ease, as if they'd known each other for years. And every time he'd claimed Octavia's body, there had been a sense of completeness about the act.

But today, she'd wrapped herself up in the same invisible coat of protective armor she'd worn the night he'd rescued her from the rose bushes. He knew it was self-preservation on her part, but the question was, what was she afraid of? A small tremor vibrated off of Octavia, and Atticus glanced at her. Clearing his throat, he kept his eyes focused on the horses.

"Are you cold? I don't think we're far from the Hall. You'll be in front of a roaring fire soon." The warmth of his breath collided with the icy air to form a white cloud in front of his mouth.

"No, I'm not cold. Thank you for asking," she replied, her voice soft and polite. She did little more than glance at him before returning her attention to the thick snow covering the road. Teeth clenched with angry frustration, Atticus suppressed an oath.

"What the devil is wrong with you today?" At his harsh tone, Octavia shot him a startled look.

"What? I'm fine." A frown furrowed her brow. "Why do you think something is wrong?"

"Because you've barely said a word to me today."

"I have had nothing to say." Exasperation filled her voice, but there was another indistinguishable emotion running beneath her annoyance.

"Nothing? Not even about last night?"

The question was met with silence, and a bolt of fear slid through Atticus. Christ Jesus, did she intend on convincing her father to say she shouldn't marry him? His mouth tightened at the thought. No, it would be a wintry day in hell before he allowed her to manipulate the situation. He'd make certain he spoke with her father before she did.

Atticus allowed the silence to stretch out between them before he gave a slight tug to the reins to reduce the pace of the horses. She turned her head toward him with a look of surprise.

"Why are you slowing down?"

"Because I can't drive and look at you at the same time, and I want you to know I plan to speak to your father as soon as we arrive at the Hall."

"As soon as we arrive?" Octavia arched her eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes, I intend to ask him to decide as to my suitability to become your husband before the evening is out."

"With regard to our bargain, you mean," she mused with a quiet serenity that sounded almost indifferent.

"If you'll recall, we agreed to abide by your father's determination as to my suitability as a husband."

"Since I'm the one who made it a condition of our arrangement, it's a point I would find rather difficult to forget."

The irony in her quiet reply was softened by a note of amusement in her voice. But there was another emotion layered beneath her words, and Atticus stiffened. Was that resignation he heard in her voice? His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

" Christ Jesus, Octavia , marrying me isn't a death sentence."

"That's rather an extreme analogy, don't you think?" This time, the laughter in her voice was blatant, and Atticus turned his head to glare at her.

"Is it? You've been adamant about not marrying me from the moment I asked you."

"Can you blame me?" Her amusement disappeared. In its place was that cool demeanor he found so frustrating. Pulling the horses to a halt, he turned toward her.

"Atticus, you can't just stop in the middle of the road," she exclaimed in amazed disbelief.

"Do you see anyone else out here with us?" he snapped. Her sweet mouth thinned at his sharp reply. When she shook her head, he extended his arm along the back of the sleigh and leaned into her, enjoying the scent of violets invading his nostrils. "I don't blame you for your pessimistic outlook regarding matrimony, Octavia. Between the bastards that pursued you for your money, and you bearing witness to so many unhappy marriages among the Set, I'm surprised you didn't retire to the country sooner."

"If you understand all that about me, why are you so adamant that we marry?" she snapped fiercely. "What makes you think a union between us wouldn't be a terrible mistake?"

"Because last night was incredible. You were incredible," he said quietly.

At his words, color rose and crested in her cheeks. He couldn't tell if her reaction was one of embarrassment or pleasure. Atticus chose to think it was both. Octavia averted her gaze to stare out at the snow-covered landscape. Silence hovered between them, and Atticus dragged in a breath of cold air. Should he tell her he loved her? Would she believe him?

No, she didn't trust him enough to believe he was sincere. He would have to wait just a little while longer. If things worked out the way he'd planned, she would be convinced of his feelings for her before the day was done. But while he still had her attention, he would use whatever tool at his disposal to reinforce his belief they could be happy together. Even if she never came to love him with the same depth of feeling he had for her, she would at least be close enough to touch or hear or see. He was willing to live with that.

"Last night is an example of the kind of marriage we can have, Octavia. A marriage based on common interests and the fiery passion that exists between us. I've never experienced anything like it before. You're the first woman I've ever known who I see as both a friend and a lover. That's a rare thing in any relationship. That's why I think our marrying would be a good thing. We can be happy, if you'll just open yourself to the idea."

Atticus caught her chin in his fingers and forced her to look at him. The emotions flitting across her face gave him hope. Despite her wariness, it was evident she was giving his words careful consideration. Octavia studied him for a long moment, and something flashed in the gray depths of her eyes that made him believe he'd reached her.

Seconds later, she pulled free of his grasp, and his heart sank. Once more, he'd underestimated her fear of marriage. Worse, it meant he still had a long way to go when it came to convincing her to trust him. Octavia's tremor vibrated into him as he saw her throat bob.

The shudder was a tactile sensation that made an invisible band wrap around his chest and tighten until it was difficult to breathe. He shifted in his seat, preparing to urge the horses forward again, when she began to speak.

"I…last night…" She inhaled a deep breath and bowed her head. "I thought it was wonderful, too."

For a moment, Atticus wasn't certain he'd heard her whispered response clearly. Rigid with uncertainty, he stared down at her. When he didn't speak, Octavia lifted her head to look up at him. The trepidation on her features made his gut twist, and he cupped her face with his gloved hands and kissed her gently.

When he drew back, Atticus considered whether or not to ask her to accept his proposal now. If he wanted Octavia's complete trust, he needed to show he was a man of his word. The best way to do that was to abide by the bargain they'd struck yesterday afternoon.

"Then I hope the Earl of Montford holds a favorable opinion of me when it comes to him deciding if I'm good enough for his eldest daughter."

"I…I don't understand…I thought…"

"We have an agreement that the question of marriage would be settled by your father. I'm a man of my word, Octavia," he said as he met her gaze steadily. "If your father deems me unsuitable for you, then the final decision is yours to make."

Atticus shifted his position and picked up the reins. With a light slap of leather against the hindquarters of the horses, he urged them to move forward. Beside him, Octavia's bewilderment was an almost palpable sensation. It was obvious she'd expected his reaction to be different. Suddenly feeling light-hearted, Atticus began to whistle God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen as he slapped the reins against the backs of Camulos and Napoleon once more, urging them into a faster trot.

The distance to the Hall was less than Atticus had calculated, and when Stapleton Hall came into view, his throat tightened. The surge of confidence he'd experienced a short time ago had disappeared. He glanced at Octavia as he drove the sleigh up the drive, but her expression was unreadable.

Atticus brought the horses to a halt in front of the Hall's front door, and as he leapt down out of the vehicle, the door of the manor flew open. Striding out into the frosty air, Lord Montford was the first one to reach them as Atticus helped Octavia down onto the snow-covered drive. The earl hugged his daughter tight, then gave her up to Lady Montford's embrace, who had hurried down the steps close on her husband's heels. The earl turned toward Atticus and extended his hand.

"Thank you for bringing our daughter home to us, your grace. I'm happy to see you safe and well. When it started to snow heavily more than an hour after you departed, I realized I should not have let you gone after Octavia."

"You would not have been able to stop me, my lord. I was as worried about her welfare as you and Lady Montford. Speaking of which, I'd like to speak with you on a matter of some urgency." Atticus's steadfast gaze met the earl's, and the older man darted a glance at his daughter then nodded.

"Of course," Lord Montford said.

Excited cries of relief and happiness filled the air as Liza and Octavia's sisters raced out of the Hall and down the steps to greet them. Atticus's mother followed the young women at a somewhat slower pace. The moment Liza reached him, she threw her arms around Atticus and hugged him tight.

"Mama and I have been so worried, Atticus," his sister said in a voice that echoed with relief as she released him and stepped aside for his mother to hug him tight.

"Your sister is correct, dearest. We've all managed to let our thoughts run amuck worrying about you and Lady Octavia's safety."

"I would say there was no need, but given the severity of the storm, I understand your concern," he murmured as he kissed his mother's cheek. "I regret having caused you any worry."

Despite everyone speaking all at once, the earl managed to be heard above all the chatter as he ordered everyone indoors. Atticus turned toward Octavia, but she was already climbing the steps into the Hall. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw servants unloading the back of the sleigh, and he quickly stepped forward to pull his painting out of the mix.

As Atticus stepped into the main foyer of Stapleton Hall, he leaned the painting against a table next to the wall and proceeded to remove his outerwear. His gaze focused on Octavia, who acknowledged something her mother said as she slipped off her coat.

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."

"Knowing my daughter as well as I do, Ashurst, I think this plan of yours has one major flaw. There's the matter of her dowry."

"I've already informed Octavia that I have no need of her dowry, and I will sign it over to her, free and clear of any entanglements."

"And your feelings for her?"

"I've brought something I hope will persuade her as to my sincerity."

"And you're certain this is what you want to do?"

"Certain?" Atticus's mouth twisted in a wry grimace. "The only thing I'm certain of at the moment is that I love your daughter. My happiness is in her hands."

Lord Montford studied him for a moment, then with an abrupt nod, strode to the library door and opened it. While the earl gave instructions for someone to fetch Octavia, Atticus crossed the room toward the painting. Unwrapping it, he studied it for a moment, wondering if he was a fool for thinking the portrait would convince Octavia of his love. The sound of Montford's soft exclamation as he appeared at Atticus's side made him jerk his gaze toward the earl.

"If this is the ace in your hand, Atticus, I would wager a fair sum that you'll be successful in securing my daughter's acceptance of your proposal," the earl said softly. "It's a remarkable likeness that only someone who loves her could paint."

Atticus didn't have a response, and instead nodded at the older man's compliment, before he laid the painting down on the table with the painter's cloth on top of it. As he did so, the library door opened behind him. Turning toward the sound, Atticus saw Octavia take a few hesitant steps into the room before she stopped. Lord Montford gestured for her to come forward, and she obeyed the silent command, but with obvious reluctance.

"Atticus has explained to me that he's extended an offer of marriage to you."

"Yes, Papa," Octavia's voice was soft, but still audible. She glanced at Atticus for a brief moment, then returned her attention to her father. Lord Montford cleared his throat.

"He also tells me that you have agreed to accept his offer if I tell you to do so."

"Yes, Papa."

"I regret I am unable to do that, my darling daughter." The earl's statement made Octavia pale as she stared at her father in bewilderment. Montford crossed the room to stand in front of her. Hands grasping her shoulders, he smiled at her with unmistakable love and affection. "You must decide for yourself, Octavia. You're the only one who knows your heart the best."

The earl kissed his daughter's cheek, then looked over his shoulder at Atticus and offered him a nod of encouragement. Without another word, Lord Montford left the room, leaving Octavia to stare after him with a stunned expression on her features. After a long moment, she turned to face Atticus in a state of utter confusion. Closing the space between them, Atticus halted in front of her then took her hand in his.

"When I asked you to marry me the other day, you asked me to tell you all the reasons why we should, but—"

"As I recall, your grace, you provided me with a number of reasons, all of which were designed to avoid sharing the only real reason we should marry," she said in an emotionless voice, as she pulled free of his grasp and put several feet between them. "You believed I didn't have a choice. I can only assume you still believe there will be a scandal—and that if I refuse to become your duchess, everyone will whisper either the Duke of Ashurst failed to do the honorable thing, or I was a fool for not accepting."

"They will talk, Octavia," he ground out between clenched teeth, Frustrated she'd not allowed him to finish speaking, he glared at her. "But that's not —"

"Let them," she sniffed with a haughty toss of her head. "We agreed we would abide by my father's decision, and he's done so. He granted me the right to choose."

"Then choose me. Choose us ." Atticus took a step toward her, then halted as she retreated a step. "I know I can make you happy."

"Until you tire of me, of course." Disdainful skepticism laced her sharp tone, and he stared at her in disbelief. Christ Jesus, did the woman actually believe he'd tire of her in the future after what they'd exchanged last night?

"That will never happen," he stated with an emphatic conviction that made her raise her eyebrows.

"Of course it will. The Duke of Ashurst will do his duty and sire his heirs, then be done with the duchess he was saddled with because of a scandal," she snapped. Something flashed in her eyes, and Atticus thought it might be pain. It gave him the courage he needed to confess his soul.

"I can promise you that will never happen, Octavia, because I left out the most important reason for why you should marry me." His words hung in the air between them, and a look of confusion crossed her face.

"And what reason is that?" she demanded with an imperious tilt of her chin. Atticus's throat tightened as he prepared himself for her disbelief.

"The most important reason for you to marry me is because I love you."

Octavia became a deathly shade of white, swaying on her feet as she eyed him in shocked silence before scorn settled on her features.

"You mock me, your grace."

"No," he said with unshakeable resolve. Eliminating the distance between them, Atticus caught her by the arm and pulled her toward the table where her portrait was. "I can prove it."

"Prove it?" Incredulity crossed her face as her gaze narrowed at him. Atticus bobbed his head in a sharp movement, as he halted in front of covered canvas.

"Yes," he said in a quiet, firm voice. Fingers clutching at the cloth lying over the painting, he met her gaze steadily. " This is my proof."

§ § §

Octavia's heart twisted painfully in her chest the moment Atticus said he loved her. He desired her. Desire wasn't love. He couldn't possibly love her. Yet there was something so compelling in his gaze she found herself wavering in her denial. The firm hand wrapped around her arm, drew her toward the table.

Frowning with suspicion, she saw him hesitate as his hand hovered over what she realized was a painting covered by a paint splotched cloth. The moment he flung the cloth off the canvas, her gaze focused on the portrait.

Stunned, she could only stare at the portrait in mute disbelief. It was a painting of her, and she was beautiful. He'd made her look beautiful. Was this how Atticus saw her? Truly saw her? Octavia stretched out her hand to touch the edge of the painting. She was framed in brilliant sunlight, just inside the front entrance of Montford Place.

Soft, brilliant strokes of fiery color emphasized the reddish highlights in her hair, while a smile curved her lips. Sultry and inviting, her mouth, with its varying shades of lush pinks and touches of warm reds, was luscious and full. Gray eyes sparkling with warmth and laughter were wide in her face. Her curvy figure resembled one of the lush female models often depicted by the old masters.

Outlined by the light behind her, her curvaceous body was voluptuous and Rubenesque. Every stroke of the brush emphasized her curves in the way a lover might when caressing her. The thought sent a small shudder through her as she remembered the way Atticus had touched her last night.

His hands and mouth had explored her body in the same way his brush had touched the canvas of his painting. Every stroke of his fingers and brush of his lips on her skin last night had been administered with the same tender care he'd unmistakably done when it had come to putting his vision of her on canvas.

Heat skimmed across her skin as Atticus turned her to face him. Staring up into his handsome face, she struggled to believe what her eyes were telling her. Tentatively, she stretched out her hand to touch his cheek. The instant she did so, Atticus caught her hand in his and turned his head to kiss her palm. It was a reverent caress that made her heart expand in her chest until it felt as if it might burst from the happiness engulfing her.

"I love you, Octavia. Marry me," he said softly. "You might not love me, but I've enough love for both of us. I can make you happy."

There was a fervent plea in his voice, and Octavia saw fear flicker in his gaze. Without hesitating, she stepped forward until her body was pressing into his. Octavia felt his muscles harden against her, and she slid her arms around his neck to pull his head down to hers. Her mouth touched his in a soft kiss, before her lips caressed the line of his jaw up to his ear.

"Yes, I'll marry you, Atticus. I'll marry you because I love you, too."

Atticus went rigid and still for a brief moment before he jerked his head back to stare down at her. Amazement reflected in his expression, his eyes were dark with emotion as his gaze met hers. With a slight shake of his head, his mouth moved, but no sound passed his lips.

After a long pause, a low sound that was part jubilation and part relief escaped him, and he captured her lips in a passionate kiss. The sweet fire of it fueled the desire simmering just below the surface, and she returned his kiss with a fervent passion that matched his. When Atticus's lips left hers, they grazed across her temple as he pulled her even tighter against his chest.

They stood embraced in each other's arms for a long moment, the silence between them filled with a happiness Octavia was certain could never be put into words. The joy filling her heart was beyond anything she'd ever dreamed possible. Somewhere nearby, she heard knocking. Laughter rumbled in Atticus's chest, and Octavia drew back to look up at him. Dark blue eyes glittering with amusement, he arched his eyebrows.

"What?" she queried in puzzlement.

"Your sisters and Liza are outside the door," Atticus murmured. "I think they would like to know if there is to be a wedding in the near future."

Octavia looked toward the door as she heard feminine voices on the other side asking if everything was all right. With a smile, she looked up at Atticus.

"Let them wait," she said softly. "The future Duchess of Ashurst isn't quite ready to leave the arms of her friend and lover."

"And the duke is of the same mind, my lady. He is reluctant to release Aphrodite, for fear she'll run away again, " he whispered.

" Never . The only place I'll ever run to is into your arms, my love," Octavia murmured as she melted into his embrace. Oblivious to everything but each other, the outside world swiftly faded away as the duke claimed his duchess-to-be with a passionate kiss. It would be a Christmas to remember.

§ § §

Thank you for reading Atticus's and Octavia's story. I hope you enjoyed it. If you have three minutes, would you please leave a review. All that's needed is two to three sentences stating what you loved (or didn't) about the book. Rate it whatever you like, it's the actual three sentence review. Reviews are becoming even more critical as I struggle gain traction in the ever-growing competition that publishing has become. Without reviews or readers talking about my books to other readers, it is becoming a struggle to continue publishing the stories you love to read.

XOXO

Monica