Chapter 3

T he wheels of the carriage clattered noisily against the mews cobblestones as the vehicle lurched forward. Out of the corner of her eye, Octavia caught one last glimpse of the Duke of Ashurst. The regret on his face was enough to make her consider calling out to Allan to stop the carriage. Drawing in a sharp breath of horror, Octavia crushed the urge. What in heaven's name was she thinking?

Eyes closed, she rested her head on the seat's padded leather. God help her, the Duke of Ashurst had been even more potent than her initial impression of him. No, he'd been even more devastating to her senses than she'd thought possible. Despite her best efforts to maintain her shield of anger and humiliation while in the man's company, it had been impossible not to be affected by him.

From the moment the duke had appeared in front of her, Octavia had been thrown completely off balance. The unexpected, gentle manner with which he'd wiped the tears off her cheek had made her heart skip a beat, and his efforts to save her pain as he'd worked to free her from the rose bushes had illustrated he was kind and thoughtful.

It had surprised her that the man had not been shocked by her unladylike language, and his amusement had been as unexpected as it had been startling. Wicked laughter had sparkled in his dark blue eyes, while his sensual mouth had twitched as he'd fought not to grin. Any other time it would have been impossible not to laugh with him, but she'd been in pain and his presence had been sharp reminder of her humiliation.

Then there had been the fury that had darkened his handsome face when he'd asked if Stanfield had tried to compromise her. His outrage had done more than startle her. It had sent a small frisson of pleasure streaking down her spine. The sheer ferocity of his reaction had made her feel safe facing Stanfield. Instinct had told her Atticus would protect her from harm, real or imagined.

Her instincts had been correct as she'd listened to him issuing a warning to Stanfield. Ruthless and unforgiving, he'd stressed the terrible price he would make Stanfield pay if the man ever made even an innocent remark about Octavia's state of déshabille tonight. There had been a cold-heartedness about Atticus that had indicated he was a force to be reckoned with when angry.

It had also been disturbing how his unyielding determination to see her safely home had pierced the invisible wall she'd erected between them with great ease. Worst of all had been the small shiver of exhilaration skating down her spine at his resolve not to let her refuse his help.

Everything about the man's behavior revealed him to be a gentleman, and dear God, the man's persuasive ability was almost as hypnotic as his voice. Every time Atticus had asked her a question, she'd responded without even thinking. Only after Octavia realized what she was doing had she managed to regain control of her tongue.

Even when he'd asked to escort her to the stable, he'd demonstrated an ability to convince her to do as he wished. His unyielding determination to help her had been unsettling. Not that she'd really had a choice when it came to refusing his offer of help. But her initial rejection of his assistance had emphasized an important point about the man.

The Duke of Ashurst wasn't a man who was willing to accept no for an answer, at least not without a fight. Even when he'd discovered who she was, he'd fought to change her mind about him. The stunned disbelief on his handsome features when he'd realized who she was hadn't been all that surprising. Although it bewildered her that he'd not realized the truth when Lord Stanfield had used her name.

Perhaps that accounted for the depth of his remorse, and there was no doubt in her mind that his reaction was one of genuine regret. But it was the penitent expression darkening his handsome face that had sent her reeling. It had stripped away a barrier she'd erected the night she'd first seen him.

She could no longer dismiss the Set's words of admiration for the man as exaggeration. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, tonight's events forced her to acknowledge the Duke of Ashurst was everything the Set postulated him to be. Atticus was a man of good conscience.

Octavia's heart slammed into her chest as she remembered his attempt to apologize. The speed with which she'd refused his request hadn't been just instinctive. It had been a direct response to the voice deep in the back of her mind, urging her to accept his apology. But it was the way she'd questioned her hasty response she found so frightening.

The indecision that had followed her immediate rejection of Atticus's request troubled her deeply. The remorse in his stormy blue eyes had brought her to the brink of accepting his apology as easy as leading a kitten to a bowl of milk. The memory made her heart hammer a wild beat of fear against her breast. She might actually have given way to him, if the carriage hadn't rolled forward at that precise moment,.

It alarmed her how close she's come to yielding to him. If the man was persuasive enough to convince her to accept an apology after such a humiliating experience, what else was he capable of doing? Convincing a plump heiress to marry him? It wouldn't take much for her to fall under the man's spell. Of that, she was certain. In truth, she'd been halfway spellbound by him since that night at Lyndham House. She shivered at the realization.

Octavia's back bumped against the leather seat as the carriage hit a pothole. A small gasp of pain escaped her as one of the thorns Atticus had been unable to remove pricked nerve endings beneath her skin. If only she'd not gone out into the gardens. None of tonight's events would have happened.

No, that wasn't true. Elizabeth would still have convinced Atticus to dance with her. The duke's sister was just as tenacious as Clara, and Atticus would still have asked her to dance. Ignorant of the man's reasons, she would have naively thought he'd asked of his own volition.

The thought of Atticus holding her close as he guided her across the dance floor made Octavia inhale a sharp breath. She already knew what it would be like to be in his arms. The image of the duke lunging forward to catch her as she'd tripped over the sprawling piece of ripped fabric flew through her head.

The memory warmed her skin as if she were standing in the brilliance of a hot summer sun. Being held close to him had been far more exhilarating than she cared to admit. Atticus's arm had been a strong and sturdy pressure against her back. Pressed against his hard chest, her senses had been overpowered by his delicious, masculine scent of spice and pine.

Transfixed, she'd remained frozen in his embrace for several long seconds with all manner of wicked thoughts flying through her head. Unable to help herself, her gaze had fallen on his sensual mouth, and she had wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by him. The treacherous thought had made her shove him away from her in horror.

No, given a choice of remaining unaware of Atticus's motives or suffering the humiliation she had tonight, she would have opted for humiliation. The manner in which tonight's events had transpired had been the best possible outcome, despite her mortification. It was far better to be forewarned about people's motives than being caught off-guard.

Tonight had also solidified her decision to end her season early and move to the country. The sooner she left London, the happier she would be. It was a lie, and she knew it, but she refused to consider why she would find leaving town such a disheartening prospect. The carriage slowed, and a glance out the window revealed they'd turned down into the mews that ran behind Montford Place. Almost before the vehicle shuddered to a stop, Allan had landed on the ground and opened the carriage door.

"I brought you to the rear of the house, Lady Octavia. I didn't want anyone seeing…well…I thought it best if no one saw you as you are now."

"Thank you, Allan. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I should have thought of it myself."

Octavia accepted the driver's hand and climbed out of the carriage, taking care not to let her heel get caught in the torn material of her gown. The last thing she wanted was to fall on top of poor Allan. With a quiet word of gratitude, she instructed the young man to return to the Ealing's to wait for her family.

Not waiting for a reply, Octavia hurried into the house. Climbing the back stairs, she tried to recall the last time she'd ever felt so tired. She couldn't. At least she would find some semblance of peace in sleep. It would distance her from the embarrassment she'd suffered tonight.

Several hours later, Octavia sat up in bed unable to fall back to sleep after an erotic dream about Atticus had awakened her. Muttering an oath her father would have chuckled at, she winced as she climbed out of bed. If Lady Montford had heard the word, her mother would have gasped and chastised her for the next half hour on how not to sound like a fishwife.

Octavia crossed the floor to sink down onto the window seat overlooking Marylebone Lane and Thayer Street. Dawn was approaching, and she watched the sky become a soft purple hue announcing sunrise was close at hand. On the street below, she could see the stirrings of life.

Curled up with her arms clasped around her knees, Octavia rested the side of her head against the glass window pane. Her back was still sore, even though her maid had managed to extract all the thorns Atticus had been unable to remove last night. It had made sleeping uncomfortable, not that she'd been able to sleep.

She'd spent most of the night tossing and turning. One reason was because the small amount of sleep she'd managed to achieve had been filled with erotic images of Atticus and her. In her dreams, their naked bodies had been entwined as his mouth had caressed hers with a passion that stirred her body into a heated frenzy.

Another reason was her realization that by refusing to accept Atticus's apology last night, she'd guaranteed that the man would call on her. She'd already witnessed the Duke of Ashurst's powerful will and his refusal to take no for an answer. There was no doubt in her mind the man would pay a visit to Montford Place this morning. He would not be happy until he'd at least been able to express his regrets, whether she accepted his apology or not.

The mantel clock chimed the hour of six, and Octavia scrambled out of the window seat and rang for Bernice. When the young maid arrived, Octavia instructed her to inform Colton she would not be accepting any callers today or tomorrow, then sent the maid away stating she didn't wish to be disturbed until later in the morning.

Crawling back into bed, she managed to drift off into a dreamless realm, and when she'd awoken, the sun's rays streamed in through the window, dancing across the rug. A glance at the mantel informed her it was almost ten o'clock. Lethargically, Octavia pulled on a dressing robe and rang for a bath.

Just as she had earlier this morning, she sat down in the window seat and stared down at the busy street below. A tall figure caught her eye as he paced back and forth along the pavement in front of the house. Stiffening, Octavia leaned forward for a better view of the man.

The Duke of Ashurst.

She'd been right, he had come, but what in heaven's name was he doing? Puzzled, Octavia watched in confusion at the way he prowled the walkway in front of Montford Place. He was troubled by something, but what? As she watched him, Atticus paused every moment or two to gesture and speak to an invisible figure in front of him.

The odd behavior continued for several minutes before he shook his head and strode up the steps of the house. Atticus disappeared from view, and in the distance, Octavia heard the soft chime of the front door bell drifting up to the second floor. In that brief instant, she'd found herself wishing she was dressed so she could go downstairs and receive him.

Octavia sucked in a sharp breath, her hand flying up to the base of her throat. Had she lost her mind? It would be a foolhardy thing to do. The Duke of Ashurst was no different from Standfield and the rest of the bloodhounds pursuing her. No, that wasn't true. Atticus was the most dangerous man she'd ever met.

The man wasn't just beautiful to look at, he was likeable, so much so that it would be far too easy to lose her heart to him. Worse, the man was far too persuasive. She'd made that discovery last night as he'd refused to take no for an answer when he had insisted on helping her. But none of that changed the fact the man was in need of funds, and she had a large dowry that would satisfy that need.

For reasons she couldn't fathom, the thought made her heart ache. Deep inside a voice gave her a reason, but she refused to listen. Atticus's tall, masculine form reappeared on the pavement, where he resumed his pacing before halting with a sharp jerk. He wheeled about on his heel to stare up at the house's fa?ade. Instinctively, Octavia jerked back from the window a small distance. The frustration on his handsome face indicated he knew her refusal to meet with him had been deliberate on her part.

Curiosity swept across his face, and Atticus tipped his head to one side. If she didn't know better, she would have thought he was staring at her bedroom window. Octavia went rigid. He couldn't possibly see her—could he? The moment his gaze narrowed, her heartbeat skidded out of control to pound a frantic beat in her chest. A second later, he resumed his pacing in front of the house, and her taut muscles relaxed as her tension abated.

Atticus completed four passes in front of the house, then came to an abrupt halt directly below her window. He looked upward again, and her heart began beating a frantic rhythm in her chest. Dear Lord, he could see her. He knew she'd been watching him.

Mesmerized, she watched him bow, then straighten with a fluid masculine grace that radiated power and strength. The somber look on Atticus's handsome face made her frown in puzzlement as he continued to stare up at her. Was his bow a gesture of defeat?

Unable to shift her gaze away from him, she watched Atticus settle his hat on his head in a firm gesture. Octavia inhaled a swift breath at the slow, confident smile curling his lips upward. Dear God, he had been awarding her victory today, but his smile said he had no intention of giving up.

Wheeling about on his heel, Atticus strode away without a backward glance. As he disappeared from view, Octavia realized the terrible truth. She wanted him to win this battle of wills with her. She wanted to let him apologize. No, she wanted more than that. She wanted to hear his rich, sinfully wicked voice ringing in her ears again. Octavia wanted to hear him laugh. She wanted to know for certain if it would sound as deep and husky as she imagined it would.

Octavia's trembling hand stretched out to clutch at the window frame as she swayed on her feet. A second later, she collapsed onto the window seat's flat cushion. God help her. She couldn't be here when he returned. She needed to leave for the cottage—today.