Chapter 5

A tticus knocked on the cottage's back door a second time. Lips twisted in a sardonic grimace, he corrected himself. No, the first time he'd politely rapped his gloved knuckles against the wood. When it hadn't opened as quick as he wanted, Atticus had pounded the side of his fist against the door in sharp, vicious beats.

Was the woman already in bed? The well-lit cottage said it was warm and cozy inside. Something he wasn't at the moment and hadn't been for the past five hours. A low growl of irritation rumbled out of him as a clump of snow slid off the eaves and splattered him with the wet stuff. He tugged his hat off his head and slapped the snow off its black silk material.

For not the first time in recent weeks, Atticus wanted to wring Liza's damn neck. If not for his sister, he wouldn't be worried about the reception he was about to receive from Lady Octavia Stapleton. In fact, if he'd met the fiery-tempered woman under different circumstances, he was confident he wouldn't be standing outside this small cottage in the middle of a blizzard, freezing to death.

The morning after the Ealing soirée, Atticus had presented himself at Montford Place, hoping Octavia would be in a more conciliatory mood. She hadn't been, as he'd been informed she was not receiving callers. But when he'd seen Octavia in the upper floor window of her house, he'd experienced the hope that her determination not to receive him was wavering.

Atticus had known an apology was just the first step toward earning the woman's forgiveness. Once he'd convinced her of his deep remorse, then he could find a way to earn her trust. He could only imagine how deep her humiliation must have run that night. Knowing he'd played a role in her embarrassment was not a pleasant experience.

The first week after the Ealing affair, Atticus had called at Montford Place every day. Each time he asked for Octavia, the butler had said she wasn't receiving callers. By day five, Atticus had realized he needed to implement a different strategy. If she wouldn't receive him, then he would have to find another way into the house.

From that day forward, he'd offered to be Liza's escort whenever she called at Montford Place. If he was unable to take her, he made it a point to be the one who fetched his sister whenever she was visiting her friend Clara.

He'd followed that plan for two weeks, with no success. Toward the end of the second week, Liza had questioned his behavior. Jaw clenched, the memory of the conversation rolled through his head as if it had happened this morning. Liza had been talking away about an upcoming ball, and Atticus had not been paying much attention to her chatter. She'd exhaled a sound of exasperation.

"The least you could do is make a pretense at listening to me, your grace."

"What?

Startled, Atticus jerked his gaze from the row of neat, well-manicured houses on Thayer Street to stare in surprise at his sister, seated opposite him in the carriage. They were almost at Montford Place, and he'd been contemplating whether or not to confess his interest in Octavia to her father if she wasn't at home today.

"Not only that, but I am beginning to think you don't trust me, Atticus." At the odd statement, he frowned at her in bewilderment.

"What the devil makes you think I don't trust you?"

"For the past two weeks, you've made a point of escorting me to and from Clara's house, but nowhere else," she said. "Do you suspect my visits to Montford Place are nothing more than an excuse to see some man without your knowledge?"

Liza's coolly spoken question made his mouth fall open in surprise.

" No, of course not ," Atticus exclaimed, staring at his sister in disbelief. A second later, alarm surged through him, and he stiffened with suspicion. "Are you ?"

"Am I what?" Now it was Liza's brow that furrowed with puzzlement.

"Seeing a man without my knowledge." The idea that his sister would be foolish enough to meet a young man without a chaperone was an unpleasant thought.

"Don't be ridiculous." His sister rolled her eyes in disgust, then glared at him. "I'm not a fool. It's the fact you've been escorting me to Montford Place every day for the past two weeks and nowhere else that made me ask the question."

"And I find it interesting that you are calling on your friend daily."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Clara, Daphne, and I are embroidering sashes for the suffrage movement."

" You're what ?"

"Do not look so shocked. Mama and Clara's parents forbade us to attend any protests, so we compromised and are stitching sashes for the protesters as part of our contribution to the cause."

"Good God," Atticus groaned, then released a harsh breath of relief.

At least Liza had not attended one of the rallies the leaders of the movement organized on a regular basis. The idea of his sister being thrown into prison horrified him. While he wouldn't hesitate to secure Liza's freedom, he couldn't understand the men who refused to do the same for women they knew.

He'd heard far too many stories about how women imprisoned suffered all kinds of cruelty at the hands of the authorities. Several members of his club had actually bragged about how they refused to pay fines for their wives or daughters. He'd found them despicable and refused to associate with them.

"You truly must think me a daft woman, Atticus," Liza said with biting irritation.

"I have never thought of you as foolish," he replied firmly and shook his head. "Although you do have a tendency to leap before you look."

"Well, since you don't suspect me of carrying on a liaison, it arouses my curiosity all the more as to why you see fit to escort me to Montford Place all the time, but nowhere else." A calculating look swept over Liza's features, and he tensed. Her expression was the same one she wore whenever she was about to spring a trap of some sort.

"I've discovered Lord Montford and I have similar views on politics, and we both enjoy chess."

It was the truth. The second day he'd accompanied Liza to the Montford house, he'd been invited by the earl into the man's study for a friendly chat. Atticus had enjoyed the exchange immensely. Ever since, he'd found himself looking forward to spending an hour or two with the earl. The older man and Atticus enjoyed discussing bills up for consideration in Parliament.

While it was rare for them to disagree, when they did, their exchanges were lively ones. If they were debating an issue, it was their habit to do so over the chessboard, and Lord Montford often used a particular chess piece or strategic move to emphasize his point. Octavia's father was an excellent chess player, and Atticus enjoyed playing against an opponent equal to his own skill.

Conversing with Lord Montford was always a pleasant way to spend an hour or two until Liza was ready to leave. He'd even managed to subtly coax several stories about Octavia from the man. The earl enjoyed telling stories, and his love for his daughters was more than evident.

"Are you sure there's not some other reason?" There was the merest hint of amusement in his sister's voice, and Atticus's muscles tighten further with tension.

"What other reason could there be?"

"I think you're hoping to meet Octavia, since you missed being introduced to her the night of the Ealing ball because of her early departure. Although, in all honesty, you've been out of sorts ever since that night."

"Out of sorts?" he repeated as he arched an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, and I'm convinced it's because you've not been presented with the opportunity to be introduced to Octavia." A sudden frown of disapproval thinned her lips. "Although I would be quite disappointed if your reason was because I mentioned she had a large dowry. When I said she was an heiress, I was just trying to discern if we were in financial trouble. I would not be happy to think Octavia is simply a means to an end for you. She deserves better than that."

" A means to—damnit, Liza . I told you our finances are in proper order. My holdings in America are providing steady returns. Your dowry, when you choose to marry, might not be that of an American Dollar princess, but it will be a generous sum."

"Then you are not trying to finagle an introduction to Octavia because you need to marry an heiress?"

"I have said nothing about seeking an introduction to Lady Octavia," he said through clenched teeth. He had no need when he was already acquainted with the lady in question. "And if that was the case, my intentions would be strictly honorable, not because the woman has a large dowry. Something I do not need."

"So, for the past two weeks, the only reason you've accompanied me to Montford Place is to meet with the earl?"

" Yes ."

The lie slipped past his lips without any hesitation whatsoever, and Atticus quickly schooled his features into a nonchalant expression. Liza narrowed her gaze at him for a moment, before a small smile curved her lips. It was the smile of a Cheshire cat, and Atticus's taut muscles tightened further. Whatever Liza intended to share, he was certain he wouldn't like it.

"That makes me feel so much better then."

"Better about what?"

"Well, since you've not spent the past two weeks accompanying me to Montford Place in hopes of meeting Octavia, then it won't trouble you to learn that she left for the country the day after the Ealing ball."

Thunderstruck, Atticus stared at his sister as he struggled to comprehend her announcement. One thought collided with another and spun out of control as he absorbed Liza's words. Damnation. He'd spent the first week after the Ealing affair calling on Octavia when she wasn't even in the city.

The least the Montford butler could have done was say the woman had left for the country. Atticus suppressed a growl of irritation. Octavia had most likely instructed Colton to say nothing about her departure. Now, he'd spent an additional two weeks accompanying Liza to Montford Place almost daily, only to learn the woman hadn't been in town for three weeks.

Meeting his sister's gaze across the small space between them, Atticus saw a complacent expression on her face, the Cheshire smile still on her lips. It was clear she'd realized her news had thrown him off balance. The instant Atticus met her assessing gaze, he did his best to hide his irritation and surprise with a look of polite interest.

Eyebrows arched with speculation when he didn't reply, his sister narrowed her gaze to study him intently. Atticus's jaw clenched. He knew that look. Liza was analyzing a problem. Her critical thinking skills were exceptional. If she were a man, his sister would have made a brilliant politician. The sudden small gasp that escaped her was followed by her eyes widening with first surprise, then excitement.

"Of course! You're Prince Charming," she exclaimed with delight.

"I beg your pardon?" Perplexed, Atticus frowned at the smug satisfaction on his sister's face.

"You're the man who rescued Octavia the night of the Ealing affair. It makes perfect sense, and I don't know why I didn't put two and two together until now." Liza began ticking things off on her fingers. "First, there was your lengthy delay returning to the ballroom that night, then your complete lack of surprise when I told you Octavia had left for the evening, not to mention how distracted you were when you finally did come find me."

"What the devil are you babbling about," he growled with exasperation as he watched his sister piece together the truth. How in the hell had his sister stumbled onto the fact that he'd been the one who'd helped Octavia escape the rose bushes?

"I am not babbling," she snapped with a toss of her head. "And you know good and well what I'm talking about."

" No . I don't ." Atticus doubled down on his lie. "But please, why don't you enlighten me?"

"Octavia fell into some brambles in the Ealing garden the night of the ball, and you were the knight in shining armor who came to her rescue," Liza stated with confidence.

"And exactly how did you reach that conclusion?" He quirked an eyebrow with what he hoped was amused incredulity.

"The Montford's driver told Clara what happened the night of the Ealing affair." Liza's quick reply made him glare at his sister.

"How many times have I told you not to listen to gossip," Atticus said with disgust as he grappled with his sister's latest revelation.

Christ Jesus, he'd been so preoccupied by Octavia that night, he'd failed to instruct the Montford driver not to mention anything about the incident. Tension made his jaw harden as he condemned himself for making such a foolish mistake.

"It's not gossip." Liza protested with vehemence, scowling at him with fierce indignation. "Clara asked their driver, Allan, if he knew the man who'd escorted Octavia to her carriage the night of the ball. He was reluctant to say anything until Clara pressured him into telling her what he knew, which wasn't much. He hadn't recognized the man and couldn't remember the man's name."

"And that's your logic for saying I'm the man who escorted Lady Octavia to her carriage that night?"

"No, it's the other two points Allan shared with Clara. He recalled Octavia addressing her knight in shining armor as your grace."

Again, Atticus's gut twisted at his failure to warn Octavia's driver, not to mention what had happened. At least he'd had the forethought to warn the men in the stable yard, never to mention Octavia's disheveled appearance to anyone, or he'd ensure there would be harsh consequences.

"I'm not the only duke in the realm," he replied with a dismissive snort as he made a pretense of looking out the window to discern their location.

"True, but the only duke I remember being at the ball was the Duke of Ashurst, even more interesting is Allan's description of Octavia's Prince Charming. He described you perfectly."

Atticus's heart sank at her words, and he darted a look at his sister. Liza's confident expression dared him to deny her accusation. Seeing the cheerful smile on her face, he grunted with irritation. He knew it was pointless to deny Liza's allegations. She'd laugh at any excuse he offered up in the way of an explanation. With an abrupt nod, he conceded defeat.

"All right, yes, I was the one who saw Lady Octavia safely to her carriage."

"Why on earth couldn't you just admit the truth when I brought up the subject? It was quite gallant of you to rush to Octavia's aid."

"The lady's embarrassment was acute, and I had no wish to deepen her humiliation." At his terse response, Liza eyed him with affection and admiration.

"But it wasn't your fault, Atticus," his sister said. "Octavia explained to her parents that she'd fallen into the brambles in her effort to avoid Lord Stanfield, but she didn't say who'd assisted her."

Relief surged through Atticus. His sister had taken Octavia at her word as to how she'd become entangled in the rose bushes. Liza hadn't considered the possibility Octavia had overheard their conversation. That meant Octavia wouldn't be humiliated any further, and Liza wouldn't suffer any remorse for her words being the catalyst for Octavia's intense embarrassment.

Liza paused for a long moment, but Atticus kept his gaze focused on the buildings lining the street. Silence filled the air for several minutes before his sister leaned forward to rest her hand on his arm.

"You truly do deserve the title of Prince Charming, Atticus. It was quite wonderful of you to come to Octavia's aid." The note of hero worship in his sister's voice made him quirk an eyebrow upward in amusement.

"I think you've been reading too many gothic novels of late."

"And what if I have? I like them. But as for you, you like Octavia, don't you?"

The tension that had ebbed from his muscles returned. Forcing himself to relax, he folded his arms across his chest, then leaned back into the squabs of the seat. Almost immediately, an image of Octavia filled Atticus's head. Voluptuous curves, a tempting-looking mouth, and gray eyes that shimmered and flashed depending on her emotional state.

"Well, are you going to answer me?" The dry note of amusement in his sister's voice jerked Atticus out of his thoughts.

"What?"

"I can tell Octavia made a lasting impression on you, but I knew she would." Liza smoothed the silk of her gown's skirt. "So now that you know she's not in town, what are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

" Nothing ," Liza exclaimed crisply. "If you like her, you must find a way to see her again, Atticus."

"I can hardly call on the woman if she's not at home?" he bit out with curmudgeonly irritation. His sister made it sound as if he'd not tried to see her. Something that was not the case. His next step would be to visit Ashland Park. He could come up with some excuse for calling on her at Stapleton Hall.

"Well, you cannot possibly think to simply do nothing . Stapleton Hall is close to Ashland Park. Just make up an excuse to call on her."

He didn't bother to confess he was already planning to do just that. Instead, he kept his own counsel. From the frown of disappointment on Liza's face, it was obvious his decision not to respond didn't please her.

She appeared on the verge of speaking, just as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Montford Place. Relieved to end the conversation, he exited the vehicle quickly, then assisted his sister out of the carriage and guided her up the steps to the Montford's front door.

Less than a half hour later, his chess game with Octavia's father had gone up in flames. His humiliation on the board had been so bad, Lord Montford had expressed concern. The following day, Atticus had started making weekly visits to Ashland Park.

Icy air blew snowflakes around Atticus as he waited for the cottage door to open. Stomping his feet on the small house's back stoop, he growled with impatience. Christ Jesus, he was cold. Atticus pounded his boots on the stone steps once more, trying to get his blood flowing so his feet would warm up. His entire body ached as if his muscles had become frozen like the icicles he'd seen hanging off the stable's roof. At the moment, he almost envied Camulos his blanket and stall.

Atticus recanted the minute he peered into the window beside the door. The sight of what appeared to be a freshly baked loaf of bread on a table in the center of a small kitchen made his mouth water. He had no idea what was in the pot on the stove, but he was certain it would be hot and fill his stomach. Where the devil was Octavia? He was going to freeze to death out here.

The fact that she hadn't already answered the door reminded Atticus how long he'd been trying to gain a few moments with the woman. She'd been more elusive than a butterfly in a meadow. Not even his meticulous plans for his visit to Stapleton Hall today had gone the way he'd planned.

Several days before the Montfords had left town to spend Christmas at Stapleton Hall, Atticus and the earl had been discussing legislation that would be brought up in Parliament when it opened for the winter session. During a lull in the conversation, Lord Montford had mentioned he was pleased Liza would be spending time with his family at Stapleton Hall until just before Christmas.

Lord Montford had then asked Atticus if he would be joining them. Startled, he said he had business to attend to, but that he and his mother would stop on their way to Ashland Park to collect Liza, a couple of days before Christmas Eve. The earl had nodded his approval, stating Octavia would be at the Hall for the holiday, and that perhaps the two of them could become better acquainted.

Laughter had filled Lord Montford's gaze as Atticus had stared at the man in astonishment. Without missing a beat, the earl had arched his eyebrows and with a smile of amusement explained that Liza and Clara had deduced he was the stranger who'd seen Octavia to her carriage the night she'd fallen into the rose bushes.

Thunderstruck, Atticus had stared at the man as he'd been forced to accept the fact that Lord Montford and the rest of his family knew he'd been trying to find Octavia. Unwilling to look anymore the besotted suitor than he already did, he remained silent. The earl had chuckled, then invited Atticus and his mother to stay for lunch when they arrived at Stapleton Hall to collect his sister.

A moment later, the earl had returned to the topic of politics and said nothing more, leaving Atticus still floundering with confusion as to what the earl had told him. It was as if the earl had tacitly given Atticus permission to court his daughter. But, as usual, where Octavia was concerned, nothing had gone according to plan.

Earlier, when Atticus and his mother had walked into Stapleton Hall, he'd found Lord and Lady Montford deeply worried. For the first time, he'd learned Octavia had been living in a cottage a few hours away from the Hall. Octavia had told her father she would be at Stapleton Hall by midday, but hadn't arrived.

By then the snow had begun to fall harder, and it had taken Atticus less than a minute to volunteer to bring her home. Lord Montford had said the cottage was four hours by coach, but on horseback, Atticus could make it in three. That timetable had been almost doubled by the damn snow storm.

The first two hours after leaving the Hall, Atticus had made steady progress. He had expected the elements to be unpleasant when he'd left the Montford estate, but with each passing hour, the storm worsened. Forced to reduce his fast trot to a slow walk, Atticus had somehow managed to stay on the road, despite the several inches of snow almost hiding it from view.

Atticus had veered off course more than once, and each time, Camulos had wound up chest deep in a snow drift. The last hour of his ride had been even more harrowing. As the light had faded, the wind had picked up, and the snow seemed to fall even heavier and faster. It was at that point, he began to worry.

The moment he'd seen the first rays of light radiating out of the cottage's windows almost an hour ago, Atticus had experienced a rush of relief. Not until then had he realized how lucky he was to have found the small house in the storm. When he'd arrived, he'd seen to Camulos's needs first.

Atticus had taken his time ensuring the gelding was well-settled for the night. After such a hard journey, the horse deserved a good rubdown, food, and a warm blanket. It was the least he could do. It was a lie, and he knew it. Taking care of Camulos had been his way of putting off what he expected to be a rather unpleasant welcome.

The sudden sound of Octavia's voice behind the door made Atticus grit his teeth. He had no idea how the woman would react when she opened the door, but he was damned if he was going to spend the night in the barn with his horse. As soon as he ordered her to open the door, he heard the key turn in the lock.

Light spilled out onto the ground as the door swung open. Slowly, Atticus raised his head to study Octavia's gently curved features. The instant she recognized him, the color drained from her face. When she didn't ask him in, Atticus wondered if she was debating whether or not to toss him back out into the storm.

Not willing to risk her slamming the door in his face, Atticus stepped over the threshold into the warm kitchen. The moment he entered the cottage, Octavia retreated several feet, then put even more distance between them as he closed the back door. In silence, he dropped his small satchel of clothes on the floor. He always carried two changes of clothes with him for emergencies, and tonight's snowstorm fit that qualification. With a hard tug, Atticus pulled his gloves off, then shoved them into his coat pockets.

Snow fell off the wool overcoat the moment he shrugged the heavy garment off his shoulders. Grimacing, Atticus darted a quick look in Octavia's direction, before his mind wrapped itself around the fact she was wearing her night clothes. The notion that only a few pieces of clothing covered her voluptuous curves knotted his muscles until they hurt.

Atticus expected to find her glaring at him, but was startled to see her stunned expression hadn't changed. Clearing his throat, he steeled his senses to ignore her state of dress. It was difficult to do, but he succeeded.

"Your parents wanted to ensure you were safe." He didn't add he'd also been worried, or that he'd promised to return to Stapleton Hall with her in time for Christmas. "I stabled my horse with yours before coming to the door."

Octavia's mouth moved as if she was struggling to speak. A soft sound escaped her before she turned and went to a kitchen cupboard. In seconds, she'd pulled out a bowl, plate, and silverware and laid them on the table. Bowl in hand, she crossed the floor to the stove and nodded toward the bread he'd seen through the window.

"Slice what you want," Octavia said in an emotionless voice as she ladled hot stew into the bowl.

When finished, she collected a goblet off the cupboard's open shelf, then carried it and the stew out of the kitchen. Bread plate and silverware in hand, Atticus followed her through the open doorway into a small dining room. Octavia was pouring him a glass of wine, and he noted she was trembling.

As he set his plate down, his arm brushed against hers. The innocent touch caused her to jump, and a small amount of wine splattered the white tablecloth. Octavia uttered something incoherent, and the wine bottle made a loud thud as she set it on the table with restrained force. Without a glance in his direction, she moved to the opposite end of the table, then sat down in front of a meal his arrival had interrupted.

Atticus followed her example and sank down into his chair, watching her for a long moment. The woman seemed oblivious to his presence as she ate in silence. Everything about her demeanor made her look as if she was eating alone at the table. Atticus's jaw tightened. He'd known it wouldn't be easy to earn her forgiveness or gain her trust, but her chilly reception made him think it might be even harder than he'd expected.

The soft clinks of silverware on china was the only sound in the room as they ate. Octavia sat rigid in her chair, and Atticus tried to think of a way to ease the tension between them. Octavia was the first to finish eating. Her movements rushed and jerky, she disappeared into the kitchen with her dishes. A loud screech blistered its way through the air into the dining room, and he heard the handle of the water pump moving up and down at a vicious pace.

" Damnation ," Atticus muttered.

The woman was furious he was here. He wasn't surprised. The entire way to the cottage, he'd known he was the last person she'd want to find on her doorstep. Not only that, Octavia was stubborn. Convincing her to marry him wouldn't be easy.

Atticus froze as his gaze swept from Octavia's place at the end of the table to the kitchen doorway. Was that what he'd been doing all these weeks? Had he been trying to find her not just because he wanted to apologize, but because he wanted to marry her? The question made him wince.

Of course, it was why he'd been searching for her. Atticus's mouth twisted with self-disgust. If Liza were here, his sister wouldn't hesitate to box his ears for being so dim-witted. From the first moment he'd seen her glaring at him while entangled in those damn rose bushes, he'd known Octavia would make a wonderful duchess.

Her actions that night had revealed a strength of character he admired, as well as the fire burning just beneath the surface. Then there had been her desperate struggle to hide her vulnerability. It had aroused his protective instincts. But over the past couple of months, he'd learned much more about her. Atticus had come to see her through the eyes of those who loved her best.

Almost as if aware he wanted to know everything about her, Octavia's family had regaled him with numerous stories. Her twin sisters had taken great delight in sharing how quick she was to anger and just as quick to laugh. When Lord Montford had confirmed Octavia's fiery temper, he'd revealed her occasional use of unladylike phrases, a fact Atticus was well-acquainted with.

Lady Montford had gasped, then chastised her husband for sharing one of their daughter's less than favorable qualities with Atticus. The earl had shrugged as he'd offered his wife a cheerful grin before pointing out he was under no illusions as to his eldest daughter's foibles, which he believed were far outweighed by her good heart.

Almost every visit to Montford Place expanded his knowledge of who Octavia was. Atticus had heard stories of how she would bring home stray animals and nurse them back to health before finding them good homes. Then there had been the time she'd caught a man beating his horse. Octavia had become so incensed she'd taken the whip out of the man's hand to use it on him before paying him for the horse and bringing the animal home.

Lady Montford had told him the story of how Octavia had brought home a fox cub when she was ten. She'd been adamant in her insistence that she be allowed to care for it until it could return to the wild. Her parents had agreed with great reluctance, fully expecting the animal to disappear into the woods when it was old enough. Instead, the small creature had refused to leave Octavia's side until the day it died. Every story her family had shared emphasized Octavia's generous nature and kind heart.

"But will she be generous enough to forgive your stupidity, Ashurst?" he mumbled as he ate another spoonful of stew.

Not one day had passed since that night in the garden that he didn't lambast himself for failing to realize who Octavia was. While he knew it was unlikely she would have believed him, if he'd been thinking with a clear head, he could have apologized for his role in Liza's well-intentioned meddling.

Atticus wanted to string up every man Octavia had met who hadn't appreciated how beautiful she was. In the garden that night at the Ealing's affair, he'd found her as lovely as Aphrodite. But he'd realized the injustice he'd done her the day she fell into his arms in front of Lord Montford's study. For the first time, he'd seen her features free of shadows.

The sunlight from the windows flanking the front door had revealed how exquisite she was. The reddish highlights in Octavia's brown hair had absorbed the sunbeams and shimmered with fiery glints of color. Gray eyes, wide with astonishment in her oval face, had been filled with warmth. Another emotion had shimmered there, but he'd failed to decipher it.

Pink lips parted in surprise, she'd looked as tempting as an unexpected dessert. And Christ almighty, her curves. A grand master would have fought the devil himself to paint Octavia's Rubenesque figure. But Atticus didn't intend on fighting the devil when he committed her to canvas.

It wasn't just Octavia's body that aroused him. Her fiery spirit and the passion sizzling beneath the surface had captured his imagination. Atticus was certain Octavia didn't have the slightest inkling as to the power she possessed when it came to holding a man enthralled. But he knew first-hand just how captivating she was.

Metal clashed against metal in the kitchen, sending the harsh sound into the dining room. Atticus grinned. He could think of more useful ways for the woman to release her anger. His amusement died almost instantly as he saw the darkness beyond the dining-room window.

All he could see was snow edging the window pane. If the weather cooperated and kept them snowed in for two or three days, Atticus might be able to convince Octavia that his intentions were honorable. Somehow, he needed to make her understand he wanted to marry her for who she was, not her dowry.

It wouldn't be easy to make Octavia see he wasn't like other men. It had become second nature for her to believe every man seeking her company was no different from the last. The one thing he knew with all certainty was Octavia would have captured his attention anywhere, just as quickly as she had in the Ealing's garden that night.

Swallowing the last bite of his stew, Atticus wondered where she'd learned to cook. Not even his cook, Mrs. Danvers, could make a lamb stew this flavorful. Gathering his dishes, he carried them into the kitchen. Octavia had her back to him, but the way her spine grew rigid said she was aware of his presence. Stopping mere inches away from her, he set his dishes down. At the soft clink of his china, Octavia slowly turned to face him.

"Since I cooked supper, you can clean up. Of course, that's assuming you know how."

"I'll manage. I'm sure it can't be too hard." Atticus rolled his shoulders in a small, nonchalant shrug. At his blasé attitude, her eyebrows arched upward with disbelief. He smiled. "It's a fair exchange for a delicious meal."

Octavia started in surprise at the compliment, before her eyes narrowed. She studied him in silence for a long moment, her gaze wary, then straightened her shoulders in a haughty manner.

"Why are you here, your grace?"

"Your parents were worried, and I offered to come and ensure you remained safe."

"I'm not surprised that my parents are worried, but I find it difficult to believe that my father wouldn't have sent one of the servants."

"I volunteered to come."

"You…you volunteered ?" Octavia exclaimed before contempt thinned her lips. "Did you think to curry favor with my father by doing so?"

" No ." Atticus replied in a firm, yet quiet voice. "I came because I was worried about you, just as your parents were. I also wanted to ask your forgiveness for being party to a conversation that caused you pain."

"I see," she murmured with a healthy dose of skepticism.

"It's true." Atticus cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. "I know my suggesting you were one of Liza's most recent…"

"Charity case, I believe, is the phrase you used." The raw humiliation in her words made Atticus wince.

"My choice of words was offensive, as was my reluctance to agree to my sister's request. I caused you pain, and I regret that."

Atticus's shirt tightened around his neck. He couldn't remember the last time he had to apologize for being rude. It was an uncomfortable sensation. When Octavia didn't speak, he cleared his throat and continued.

"Liza's heart was in the right place. She's quite fond of you, and it's regrettable she failed to consider how you might object to her meddling. She should not have meddled."

"I agree. Elizabeth was wrong to meddle. I had no need of her charity or yours."

The words were a sharp, staccato beat as they flew past Octavia's lips. Her stoicism belonged on a marble statue, but her crisp, cutting response, combined with the outrage flaring in her gray eyes, told him how deep her humiliation went. Atticus clenched his teeth. He was going to tan his sister's hide if he failed in his efforts to earn Octavia's forgiveness.

"I'm certain if Liza knew you'd overheard our conversation, she would be horrified."

"You haven't told her that I heard the entire conversation?" Octavia's mouth fell open in disbelief, her stoic expression gone as she stared at him with astonishment.

"Am I wrong to believe my doing so would cause you even more pain and embarrassment?"

Atticus's muscles bunched and knotted the instant her cheeks became rosy red, then drained of color. Drawing in a quick breath, she untied the apron covering her skirt and laid it on the table.

"I've already heated the dishwater for you. The soap is on the window sill." Octavia pointed toward the window behind him, her face still pale. "While you're cleaning up, I'll prepare your room."

Without waiting for a reply, Octavia hurried toward the door leading out of the kitchen. The moment Atticus cleared his throat and said her name, she paused in the doorway. Her knuckles were white as her fingers wrapped around the doorframe in a deathlike grip. When he didn't speak, she slowly turned around.

"I am sorry, Octavia. I know Liza would say the same thing if she knew she'd caused you pain." His soft words made her flinch, and his muscles hardened with remorse. "I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me."

Silence hovered in the air as she studied him for a long moment. Doubt and confusion reflected on her lovely, oval-shaped face, Atticus knew she was debating how to answer his request. Apprehension flared in Octavia's wary gaze as she studied him. It was clear she was at war with herself as to whether she should believe him or not. The knowledge knotted his gut with misgiving. What if she refused to forgive him? Tension slid through his muscles until they were hard and rigid as he awaited her decision.

"I forgive you," she whispered.

Relief and elation crashed through him. Now that he'd earned her forgiveness, he needed to reinforce the trust she'd displayed in him and convince her how different he was from all the men she'd met in London.

"Thank you. I promise I'll do everything in my power to ensure your trust in me is not misplaced."

Octavia didn't reply, and with a sharp nod, she left him standing alone in the kitchen.