Chapter 8

F rustration tugged a repressed sigh from Atticus as he strode into the dining room. Tension had his muscles pulled so tight it was almost painful. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Remembering his ultimate goal, Atticus steeled himself with a soundless grunt of determination. He'd be damned if he'd throw away all the progress he'd made with Octavia in the last twenty-four hours making her comfortable in his company. All he needed to do was remind himself what would most likely happen if he lost control of his senses.

Octavia set a place for him at the head of the table, then moved to the opposite end to arrange hers. He growled with irritation. Just because he refused to act on his base needs didn't mean he had to avoid being near her. Without saying a word, he collected his place setting, then carried it to the seat next to Octavia's. Startled, she jerked her head up to stare at him in surprise.

"Conversation is difficult when we're at opposite ends of the table," he muttered, feeling awkward. Sunshine couldn't have been any brighter than her smile, and he grinned, relieved he'd moved his place setting. Atticus knew it had been the right choice.

The two of them sat down and filled their plates to eat in companionable silence. For several minutes, Atticus tried to think of something to say. Octavia appeared more distracted than usual as she stared off into space between bites. Reaching for an apple in a bowl set on the table, Atticus cored it, then sliced the apple into manageable slices. Picking up a piece, he leaned back in his chair and took a bite of the fruit.

"You seem very far away. What are you thinking?" Atticus took another bite of apple followed by a small chunk of cheese as she jumped, then turned her head toward him.

"I was trying to think of what to paint next." Frustration furrowed her forehead, and he arched his eyebrow.

"You could paint a landscape after a snowstorm," he pointed toward the window and the snow dancing across the glass panes while beyond the flakes it was dark.

"I suppose, but I doubt Mr. Martin will be too happy with me." Octavia glanced over her shoulder at the window, while Atticus stiffened at the unfamiliar name. Damnation, did he have competition?

"Mr. Martin?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"He's a London art dealer who's bought several of my paintings. I told him I would have five new canvases to offer him at the end of January, but I'm short by two." Her explanation made him relax.

"There were a number of canvases facing the wall in the studio. Are they completed works?"

Atticus kept his tone even, not wanting to reveal he already knew the answer. Instead, he made it sound as if he was just curious. Avoiding her gaze, he reached for another slice of apple. The small inhalation of misgiving she breathed in didn't surprise him, but Atticus ignored the sound.

"Only three of them are suitable for sale," she said with a hint of panic.

"Would you care for me to give you an unbiased opinion about the two you think are inappropriate? It could be you're mistaken as to their quality." Atticus smiled pleasantly. "We both know every artist is their own worst critic."

" No ." Octavia's immediate response didn't surprise him. Tension pulled her mouth tight before her mouth curved upward in a strained smile. "It's kind of you to offer, but even if I wanted to sell them, they're unsuitable for Mr. Martin's gallery."

"I see," he murmured.

Elation swept through him. She didn't want to sell his portraits. It meant they were special to her. The question was, did her refusal to part with the paintings mean she had feelings for him? If so, were they strong enough to convince her to marry him? He could only hope her refusal to part with the paintings meant she had feelings for him. Atticus bit into a piece of cheese to keep from smiling broadly. Octavia drew in another quiet breath, and he turned his gaze toward her. Before he could speak, she smiled.

"You're painting something quite special, aren't you?"

Her question effectively redirected the conversation, and surprise shot through him. Eyebrows arching upward, he stared at her. Pink color invaded her cheeks as she averted her gaze. "I brought you tea this afternoon, but you were oblivious to everything except the canvas in front of you."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't want to interrupt your concentration," she said with a smile. "I know how easy it is to forget everything, but what you're painting. And it's only when the light begins to fade that you realize how long you've been working."

"You're right," he nodded as he thought about his painting. It was his best work ever, but then his subject made it easy.

"So, it's special to you?" There was a hesitant note in her voice that puzzled him. Atticus nodded.

"Yes, it's a painting I've wanted to do for a few weeks now, but I've not had the time to put it on canvas."

"May I see it?" she asked softly. Octavia's gaze remained focused on the cold mutton she was cutting into bite-size pieces.

"While I made a great deal of progress this afternoon, it's not ready for viewing," he said. "But I'll show it to you when it's finished."

"I'd like that."

"Although, it does mean I'll need to come back to finish it."

At his remark, Octavia jerked in surprise, before an emotion he thought might have been happiness flitted across her face. But the emotion was so fleeting, Atticus couldn't be sure what he'd seen. A second later, her eyes sparkled with laughter.

"At least I know I won't need to make tea when you're in the studio, and I'll be certain to have plenty of gingerbread cookies on hand when you're done." A flush of color darkened her cheeks as she returned her attention to her plate.

"I don't think I've ever seen any other woman blush quite as prettily as you do, Octavia."

His compliment made the color in her cheeks darken even more, and Atticus leaned forward to capture her hand in his. As he raised it to brush his mouth over her fingertips, a puckish smile touched her lips, and she shook her head.

"If you're thinking to soften my resolve and let you have one of those cookies for dessert, you're mistaken, sir."

"So my devious plan has failed," he said with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment.

"I'm afraid so. I'm not swayed by compliments. Octavia laughed as Atticus assumed a mock scowl, then laughed with her. As their laughter faded, he studied her for a moment.

"I would like to ask a favor of you," he said as he reached for some cheese. "Every time you say your grace or sir, it sounds as though we aren't friends, and I'd like to be your friend, Octavia. Would you please call me, Atticus?"

"I…I'm…" She hesitated, and beneath his steady gaze, she nodded almost shyly. "Yes…Atticus." The sound of his name floating past her lips was a delightful sound, and he couldn't help but smile with pleasure.

"Thank you," he said with satisfaction, and Octavia laughed.

"You do enjoy having things your way, don't you?"

"I confess it makes life all the more pleasant," he quipped with a laugh.

She shook her head with amused disapproval, but didn't reply. Their conversation lulled for a moment, and Atticus bit into another chunk of cheese. A quick glance in Octavia's direction revealed she was staring into space once more, but her expression was solemn, almost sad.

"It's quite possible we're both wrong."

"About what?" She jerked her head toward him, her eyebrows arched in a puzzled frown.

"You were looking sad. I thought you were thinking about not being at Stapleton Hall for Christmas. We could be wrong about the snowstorm. There's still time for it to stop snowing so I can take you home."

"Perhaps, but I'm a pragmatist. I believe in being prepared. While we won't be eating like the Queen, we will still have a festive meal." Her impish smile disappeared as consternation parted her lips with dismay. " Good heavens , I forgot. I have a surprise. I'll be right back."

Springing to her feet, Octavia headed toward the kitchen. Intrigued, Atticus turned in his chair to watch her disappear through the kitchen doorway. Several minutes passed, and when she didn't return, Atticus frowned.

"Do you need any help?" he called out.

"No, I'm coming. It will only be a minute more."

The innocent reply made Atticus close his eyes in self-disgust as an image of Octavia lying beneath him on the verge of a climax filled his head. Christ Jesus, he was going to hell for certain if he didn't hold his desire for the woman in check. He'd only just regained control of his senses when Octavia returned to the dining room carrying a plate ladened with a small tier of sliced bars of cake.

"I was a bit worried this afternoon as to how much you liked gingerbread, but when you demanded cookies as payment for doing chores, I thought you might enjoy this for dessert." Octavia smiled and set the plate with its treats on the table next to him. "I saved the other half for dinner tomorrow night."

" Gingerbread cake ," he exclaimed with cheerful exuberance. "One of my favorites, and second only to gingerbread cookies."

Atticus reached for a square piece of cake sitting on top of the small tower. As he bit into the moist cake, a rush of pleasure surged through him. If he ever lost his fortune, he would still have a wife who had the skill to make one of his favorite desserts. The thought made him grin with happiness and delight. Octavia laughed at his reaction.

"If everyone were so easy to please, the world would be a happier place."

"Unlike a great number of people, I find it's the simpler things that make me happy and content." Atticus finished the bar of cake and reached for another one of the treats, then held it up to her. "However, I plan on ensuring I'm the only one allowed to rescue you every time there's a snowstorm. It means I'll enjoy more gingerbread cake."

"I think this storm is an exception to the rule," Octavia said with another lighthearted laugh. "I doubt there will be anything like it for at least another decade or more."

"Possibly." Atticus nodded as he savored the cake's gingery flavor. "But I can't think of anyone else I would rather be snowed in with."

Octavia's eyes widened as she stared at him in astonishment. With a small smile, Atticus shrugged his shoulders.

"You're surprised I enjoy your company?"

"Well…I…yes."

"Why?" Atticus angled his head to the right to study her intently. Beneath his gaze, her cheeks became flushed with pink color.

"Well…we don't even know each other."

"That's not quite true. I happen to know a great deal about you," Atticus said with a grin, remembering how happy Octavia's family had been to share stories about her.

"I don't see how."

"Your family has been an excellent source of information where you're concerned."

"My—" Octavia halted abruptly and narrowed her gaze at him with suspicion. "How do you know my family?"

"You forget Liza is good friends with your sister. I've made it a habit to serve as my sister's escort whenever she visits Clara." Leaning back in his chair, Atticus studied the bar of cake in his hand. "In fact, when I learned your father and I share similar opinions in politics I would visit with him while Liza was with your sisters. I've come to admire him a great deal."

"I see," she murmured in a dispassionate tone that made him shift his attention to her.

"No, I don't think you do." Atticus shook his head, trying to center his thoughts. "I was determined to apologize for my unintentional insult. Since you refused to receive me the morning after our first meeting, I spent the remainder of that week calling on you. However, every time I called, Colton informed me you were unavailable. What he failed to mention was that you'd left London."

"Colton excels in his position, and there are some boundaries he would never cross," Octavia huffed beneath his accusatory look.

"Something tells me the man was instructed not to inform me you'd fled the city." The words caused more color to flare in her cheeks, and Octavia tipped her chin upward in a defiant tilt.

"I did not flee. I had already made plans to live here in the cottage."

"Ah, yes, your decision to retire from society and live a quiet life in the country. As I understand it, you didn't inform your parents of your decision until the morning after we met," Atticus said quietly, and her face reddened even more. Her lips moved as if she was about to protest, but before she could speak, he continued. "However, no one bothered to inform me of your departure, so I resorted to accompanying Liza to Montford Place most days in the hope I would see you again to ask your forgiveness."

"And when you didn't," she said coolly. "You decided to ingratiate yourself with my family."

"No, my friendship with your father, and the rest of your family, is a pleasant outcome of my efforts to see you." Atticus sighed as her gray eyes grew steely with distrust.

"I'm not sure whether or not I should find your persistence flattering or worrisome."

"Perhaps a bit of both," he said. The memory of bowing to her from the sidewalk beneath her window at Montford Place made his mouth twitch. "But then I think our silent conversation the morning after the Ealing affair made you realize just how determined I was to make amends. It's why you fled town so quickly."

"As I said a moment ago, I did not flee the city," she snapped, flushing with anger. "And I think it the height of arrogance for you to presume you had anything to do with my decision to leave London. I had already decided to leave town before the debacle in the Ealing's gardens."

"I see," he murmured as his fingers drummed a soft beat against the tabletop. "And yet your decision to leave caught your entire family by surprise, especially when you departed in such a precipitous fashion."

"I'd not mentioned it previously because I knew my decision was certain to be upsetting to my parents. As it is, we argued at length before they realized I wouldn't be swayed in my decision," Octavia said, her eyes unreadable.

"Something your father shared when he was telling me how stubborn you can be. Although I was already familiar with your tendency to be obstinate."

"I do not see the difference between persistence and stubbornness." Chin tilted upward with disdain, she eyed him with irritation.

"Stubbornness more often than not refers to one's inability to admit being wrong. Persistence denotes one's determination to achieve a goal, and my goal was to find you and make amends." Atticus narrowed his eyes at her. "A task you made quite difficult for me to do."

"I'm happy to have been of service." Despite her cool retort, he saw a sudden gleam of amusement flash in her eyes.

"You were not the only one who happily offered up their services," Atticus growled in irritation, his lips pressed together in a thin line. "Liza allowed me to escort her to Montford Place for two straight weeks until she bluntly informed me you'd left for the country the morning after the Ealing ball. At that point, I made it a weekly habit to visit Ashland Park, while stopping at Stapleton Hall to call on you."

"But I wasn't there," she said, her eyebrows arched in surprise.

" No . You weren't ," Atticus said through clenched teeth. "And that damn butler of yours wasn't forthcoming with your whereabouts, either. But by then I'd come to enjoy my visits with your family a great deal, and your father in particular. My friendship with him developed quite naturally and without artifice."

"All of this simply to apologize to me?" The dubious note in her reply made him narrow his gaze at her for challenging his word.

" Yes, damnit ," he snapped. "I tried to make amends that night, but you were far from receptive to the idea, and I don't blame you. I deserved your anger for being such an idiot."

"I'm sorry," Octavia whispered and offered him a repentant look. Atticus acknowledged her words with an abrupt shake of his head.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He remained silent for a long moment, then grimaced. "However, what I didn't know was that your entire family knew I'd been looking for you."

" They knew ? But how?" she asked in an appalled voice. "I told them I didn't know who the stranger was who'd helped me."

"We have Liza and Clara to thank for telling everyone of my search for you. The two of them—"

" Oh my God ," Octavia said in a hoarse voice. "You said you didn't tell your sister—"

"The only thing Liza, or your family, knows is that I was the one who escorted you to your carriage that night." Atticus leaned forward to cover her hand that rested on the table and was curled into a tight fist.

"But how?" Her whisper emphasized the horror reflected in eyes that were wide in her pale face.

"Your sister, Clara, pressured your driver into confessing what he knew. He imparted enough information for Liza to realize I was the one who came to your aid. Like your family, she believes you fell into the rose bushes to avoid Stanfield, and that I happened to be in the right place at the right time to assist you," Atticus reassured her. "No one is the wiser as to what really happened. They all think you were too embarrassed to mention me by name. And I told Liza I was protecting your from further humiliation, which was true, just not in the way she thought."

Octavia dragged in a deep breath, then expelled it with a heartfelt relief that indicated how terrified she'd been of further humiliation. Eyes closed, the tension reflected on her beautiful face ebbed away after a long moment. When she looked at him again, Atticus shrugged, then frowned darkly.

"The truth of the matter is, I think they've been protecting you by not telling me where you were." Atticus scowled with half-hearted amusement as he picked up another bar of cake. "That, and I think the lot of them have been taking pleasure in my frustration."

He didn't expand on Liza's and Clara's belief that Octavia was Cinderella and he was Prince Charming searching for her. It was too close to the truth. Although it remained to be seen if Octavia would see him as the charming hero in the fairy tale. Atticus saw her mouth twitch. The instant a smile started to curve her lips, she bowed her head. He snorted with irritation.

"I can see you enjoy the idea of others amusing themselves at my expense."

"Given your reaction to the tear in your trousers earlier, I can imagine how annoyed you must have been." Raising her head, Octavia laughed as he glowered at her.

"You could at least demonstrate a modicum of sympathy for me," he groused sullenly.

"I doubt you need my sympathy or anything else from me."

Amusement lighting her lovely features, Octavia's cheerful reply made Atticus go rigid. If the woman only knew what he wanted, she'd lock herself in her room for the remainder of the storm. No, if anyone needed to be locked up, it was him. When he remained silent, she reached out to brush her fingertips over his hand resting on the table.

"If it makes you feel better, they delight in teasing me as well. I think they do it because they know my temper will get the best of me, which makes them tease me all the more. It also signals—"

Octavia came to an abrupt halt, and Atticus eyed her with curiosity. With a little wave of her hand, she dismissed whatever it was she'd been about to say.

"Never mind, suffice it to say that I can empathize with you."

"Then I'm happy to know I'm not alone in my misery."

"No, you are not." Octavia laughed.

"I do enjoy your family's company, though, Octavia. Your father and I often play a game of chess while we discuss bills before Parliament."

"Oh, I'm certain he enjoys that," she replied with obvious delight. "None of us care for the game, so Father often plays both sides of the board alone. I'm certain your willingness to play the game must give him a great deal of pleasure."

"I like to think so," Atticus said with a smile as he remembered the numerous good-natured debates he and Lord Montford had had during their games. "I know I enjoy it, although I lose more often than I win."

"For someone who enjoys having his own way, that must be frustrating," Octavia teased as she arched her eyebrows and laughed. Atticus scowled at her before he grinned.

"I confess, I don't enjoy losing, but I couldn't lose to a better man. And my game has most definitely improved."

"Then all is not lost," she said with a mischievous smile. Atticus noted in the back of his head that her smile was remarkably similar to her father's when the earl was teasing someone.

"I will say your father enjoys pointing out to everyone that I've lost again when we're dining together." Atticus laughed. "But he ensures everyone knows he didn't win easily."

"You dine with my family?" Octavia grew still, her eyes wide with astonishment.

"Yes, my mother, Liza, and I have dined with them several times," Atticus said quietly, then smiled. "Most of the stories your family regales me with about you are shared over a meal."

"Good heavens. I can only imagine what you've been told," she murmured with dismay. At her chagrin, he laughed.

"Everything they've told me was shared with obvious love and affection. They also proved Liza was correct."

"About what?"

"My sister said I would like you, and she was right."