His cat-like smile grows with satisfaction at her chiding, but he hears her reply, too. He notes the implication in her words and considers it; it confirms much that he's come to suspect regarding her marriage to the man he has replaced. Atticus knows very little of Marius, save what few details she has chosen to share--those details, and the image of him standing in a pastoral field, a flaming sword in his had.

A difficult man to love. He likely would not take to death easily, either, but that does not prevent Atticus from entertaining the fantasy, just for a moment. (It requires some effort to prevent that vision from spinning itself into existence around them, but he manages.)

He slips an arm around her waist and coaxes her close enough for another kiss; slowly, he's growing more familiar with his own desires, less bashful in expressing them. It's the moments of casual intimacy that still give him some pause, but here he learns, too. "We've whiled away many hours here tonight," he observes quietly afterwards, then adds with a touch of regret, "It is nearly morning."