Chapter 9
T he quiet words hovered in the air between them, and Octavia stared at Atticus with a sense of bewilderment. How on earth could the man like her just by listening to stories her family had shared? In the back of her mind, she heard a voice whisper a warning, and a small twinge of pain tugged at her heart.
"You look doubtful," Atticus teased, his firm lips curled in a sinful smile as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.
"I…no…perplexed is perhaps a better word."
"The Lady Octavia Stapleton her family describes is rarely, if ever, confused about anything." He grinned with almost boyish amusement. "What do you find so perplexing?"
"Well, I'm baffled as to why you would listen to my family's stories about me. For that matter, why would you even want to know anything about me?"
"Because from the first moment I found Aphrodite entangled in those damned rose bushes, I was captivated."
Atticus's piercing gaze met hers, and Octavia tried to swallow the knot that had formed in her throat. She didn't have the courage to ask him what he meant by referring to her as Aphrodite. Admiration on his handsome features, Atticus shook his head in obvious amazement.
"The strength and dignity you displayed that night was extraordinary. Any other woman would have succumbed to hysteria."
"You make me sound like some sort of paragon," she scoffed with self-deprecating humor.
"Oh, your family was quick to refute that impression." Atticus chuckled as he grinned at her. "I was warned of your fiery temper, and much to your mother's horror, your father noted your lusty language. A fact I was already acquainted with."
Uncertain how to respond, Octavia dropped her gaze to watch her fingers fiddling with the napkin lying next to her plate. A second later, a strong, masculine hand covered hers. Startled, she jerked her head up and met Atticus's blue-eyed gaze.
"But that's why I listened to your family, Octavia. The woman I met that night in the garden was someone I wanted to know better. Even if she didn't care to know me." Atticus paused for a few seconds before clearing his throat. "Something I hope to change."
Startled by his announcement that he wanted her to know him better, Octavia stared at him with a hint of trepidation, then looked down at the hand still covering hers. Everything about the man shouted how dangerous he was to her heart. This morning, she'd not uttered one word of protest when he'd kissed her. In fact, she'd reveled in the way it had set fire to every cell in her body.
Panic made her tremble as she realized Atticus might have interpreted her lack of objection as a sign she welcomed his attentions. Might have ? In the kitchen earlier, he'd flirted with her in a way that had been just as innocent as it had been seductive. Afraid, she started to pull her hand away.
Warm fingers wrapped around hers to prevent her from retreating. Atticus leaned forward to close the distance between them even more. Instinct told her to run, but something deep inside compelled her to remain where she was. The instant his warm male scent touched her senses, Octavia's breath hitched.
He smelled wonderful. Desperately, she tried not to breathe in his hot, dangerous scent, but failed. It was the potent essence of everything wicked and sinful that she'd come to associate with the man. Worse, it stirred to life something deep inside her. A sensation that held the same powerful strength that assailed her senses every time he invaded her dreams, and she awoke aching for his touch.
The thought made her mouth grow dry as her gaze flitted from his firm, sensual mouth to his earnest expression. It surprised her that there wasn't even a hint of seduction in the way he was looking at her.
"I am quite likeable, Octavia. I've even been called charming."
She flinched at his remark as she remembered how women congregated around him everywhere he went. Beautiful women who weren't plump and didn't have a large dowry. With a small jerk, she extracted her hand from his firm grasp.
"Yes, I've heard a number of ladies wax poetic as to how charming you can be," she murmured with dry humor.
To her surprise, her reply made him stiffen, and what she thought might be pained frustration slashed across his features. Atticus blew out a harsh breath and leaned back in his chair. The instant his heat vanished from her skin, her body cried out in disappointment. Tapered fingers drummed against the table, and he appeared deep in thought as he studied his hand. After a long moment, he lifted his gaze to study her.
"Are you afraid to like me, Octavia?"
The question made her heart race out of control, and for a brief moment, she considered lying. Atticus's eyes narrowed on her, and she realized he already knew part of her answer. It was why he'd asked the question. Determined not to let him intimidate her, she nodded.
"Yes…no…what I'm trying to say is that I am not afraid of liking you. It's simply that I know a friendship between us will not end well." Her response sent one of Atticus's eyebrows arching upward in surprise before he chuckled.
"Not end well? That sounds quite ominous."
Octavia's throat closed as fear drove a spike through her. The last thing she wanted to admit to Atticus was the way his presence set her body on fire and made her giddy with excitement. Such a confession would lead to disaster. Octavia met the probing look in his gaze, then gave a small roll of her shoulders.
"Painting is not my only talent. My sharp tongue can be quite withering, and my blunt manner does not endear me to others." A self-deprecating smile tugged at her lips as she relaxed. "I do not possess the charm or social diplomacy my sisters do. It's difficult for me to make friends, let alone keep them."
"I see," he murmured, his sensual mouth twitching with amusement. "Is it safe for me to presume Lord Stanfield's evisceration is an example of your sharp tongue?"
At his question, Octavia winced, then averted her gaze. While Lord Stanfield had proven repulsive on a regular basis, her outburst that night reflected a lack of control that alarmed her. Until that moment, she'd never understood how rage could make one oblivious to anything but the desire to obliterate another person.
"No. My reaction that night is not one I'm proud of. My bluntness can make me appear thoughtless and insensitive, however, I've never been deliberately cruel to anyone until that night," she whispered as she winced with regret. "But the evening's events, and Lord Stanfield's blatant attempt to suggest an understanding between us where there was none, proved to be too much."
The instant Atticus caught her hand in his, a blast of heat streaked across her skin. Octavia shifted her gaze to look at him, then trembled as he brushed a light kiss over her fingertips. Mouth thinned with anger, Atticus's eyes were hard chips of blue ice.
"Stanfield deserved every insult you leveled at him that night." Features hardened in outraged, Atticus continued. "If you'd not unleased your fury on the man, I would be in jail awaiting the hangman's noose. I've never been tolerant of a man bullying a woman, even if she's more than capable of defending herself."
The harsh tone of his admission made Octavia stare at him in amazement. His anger vanished, and with a playful smile of mocked distress, he shook his head in disappointment.
"Your reaction says I would have languished in a prison cell despite protecting your honor." His look of amused self-pity made her laugh.
"You couldn't be more wrong, Atticus," she scolded mischievously. "I would have called on you daily to lambast you for denying me the privilege of sitting behind bars for the viscount's demise."
"And I would accept your tongue lashings with pleasure if it meant seeing your lovely face every day." Atticus caught her hand in his to kiss her fingertips, and her breathing grew unsteady as his mouth lingered on her skin.
"And there it is. The famous Ashurst charm," she said with a breathless laugh, and a second later Atticus muttered something beneath his breath as he glared at her.
"You are the only woman I've ever met who has been steadfast in her ability to resist acknowledging or accepting a compliment."
Startled by his reaction, Octavia's eyes widened, and she stared at him in surprise. Atticus threw up his hands in a gesture of aggravated disgust. Exasperation glinting in his dark blue eyes, he shook his head.
"Did you not realize I was paying you a compliment, Octavia?" The question made her flinch, and she swallowed the knot threatening to close her throat.
"I thought…I thought you were teasing. You have been flirting with me…all day…and I…"
" God in heaven , woman." Atticus rubbed his hand over his forehead, then pinched the bridge of his nose in a silent expression of disbelief. With a shake of his head, he released a quiet growl of aggravation. Blue eyes narrowing, he pinned her beneath his penetrating gaze. "I've been complimenting you all day."
The frustration in his voice made her jaw sag. Hundreds of butterflies took wing inside Octavia's stomach as her cheeks grew warm. Her mind flashed back to all the things he'd said to her since she'd found him in her studio this morning. Although subtle, they'd been compliments, nonetheless. She just hadn't realized it. Feeling discombobulated, Octavia met his gaze, and the heat in her cheeks intensified.
"Then I shall say thank you," she said with quiet humility.
"You're welcome." The disgruntled expression on his chiseled features made her laugh.
"Did you expect me to swoon like all the women who flock to your side?" Octavia eyed him with mock severity. "If so, I'm sorry to disappoint you. I'm nothing like those women."
"No, you're not, thank God," Atticus said firmly. "You are not vacuous, dull, or slow-witted, and you make me laugh. In fact, you're the only woman I've met since returning to England who, aside from the women in my family and yours, appears to have a mind of her own, which I find refreshing."
Ever since his arrival the night before, Atticus's words had continued to leave her dumbfounded. This moment was no exception. All she could do was stare at him in disbelief, while his words sent a warm sensation of pleasure spiraling through her. When she didn't speak, he heaved a sigh of exasperation.
"As I said a moment ago, you have difficulty accepting compliments."
"You mistake my surprise as an inability to acknowledge your praise," she said with a small shake of her head. "Other than Papa, no man has ever complimented me with such sincere honesty. Thank you."
Atticus studied her for a moment, then nodded. The emotion glittering in his dark-blue eyes struck a chord deep inside her. A second later, it disappeared as a wry smile twisted his mouth.
"I take that to mean the compliments you've received from others were superficial ones."
"Yes," she said with a sniff of disgust. "Some were obsequiously nauseating."
"It's obvious we have a great deal in common."
"Such as?" she laughed with a shake of her head to dispute his statement.
"Men seek you out for your dowry. Women seek me out, hoping to gain a title. What neither sex realizes is that you and I are looking for something more."
"Something more?" she asked. Although trepidation accompanied her question, she could not contain her curiosity.
He frowned as his eyes became fixated on the wall across from him, but Octavia knew he was seeing something else. With a small shake of his head, he returned his attention to her.
"I think we both have certain expectations when it comes to marriage."
"I see." Octavia tipped her head and studied him with bewilderment. "How so?"
"I believe the love and happiness your parents have for each other has influenced your expectations where marriage is concerned." His perceptive insight made Octavia start with surprise. Atticus chuckled. "It appears I am correct in my assessment."
"I won't deny my parents have influenced my point of view for what I had hoped for in marriage," she said with a small smile. "With diminishing odds of finding what I require in a husband, I decided I'd be happier living alone in the country with the freedom to paint and do as I please."
The words rang hollow in her ears, and the truth rose up out of the back of her mind. Despite having accepted her fate, a small part of her still held out hope for a miracle. Octavia squashed the thought with a hefty dose of fatalism as she met his assessing gaze.
"And you? Are you willing to settle when it comes to marriage?"
"My situation differs from yours." Elbows on the table, Atticus clasped his hands to support his chin as he met her gaze. "I'm expected to provide an heir to my title. However, I'm of the opinion one can have a happy marriage, even if the couple's affections are rooted in friendship."
"I find that highly unlikely," Octavia said with a shake of her head. "People marry for many reasons, but friendship is not one of them."
"That's true, but I know friendship and common interests can strengthen into a bond that is as deep and strong as the one your parents share."