Liz Carlyle - [Lorimer Family & Clan Cameron 02] (39 page)

And yet it was not. At least, Elliot did not want it to be. This man, with his resolute pose and evil eyes, looked nothing like the man in Evangeline’s first version. And yet, beyond the altered clothing and the arsenal of weaponry, her changes were amazingly subtle. A hint of shading here, a harsher line there, and in due course, good-natured Elliot Roberts became the cold, overbearing marquis of Rannoch. Was it just that simple? Was it just that appalling?

Good Lord, was this how Evangeline saw him?

“Evie,” he began softly, “I cannot think what to say. Your artistry is, as always, overwhelming, but I cannot fathom how . . .”

“I have not slept well of late,” she interposed in an odd, tight voice. “I was driven to repaint it. Winnie said—oh, hell, Rannoch! Just take the dratted thing and go!” Abruptly, Evangeline whirled toward the side table and reached for the decanter of madeira Elliot knew Winnie always kept at hand. With a grip that was less than steady, Evangeline poured one glass almost to the brim, then paused, extending it toward him with an impatient look of inquiry. When he shook his head in refusal, she drank purposefully from the glass, set it down, then immediately took it up again.

Elliot, still holding her gaze, jerked his head toward the portrait. “Is that the man you think me, Evangeline? Such cold, harsh images—is that how I seem? Is that how I feel to you when you are in my arms?” Uncertainly, he came away from the wall as if to approach her.

“Please don’t, Elliot,” she whispered, her empty palm extended as if to forestall him. “If the portrait is what you have come for, just take it. Just take it and go.”

He moved toward her, ignoring her entreaty. “Evie, please,” he said softly, “tell me that I am not that man. Tell me that I am—or that I have some chance of again becoming—just Elliot. To you.”

“No.” Her response was a weak whisper in the pale lamplight. Like a terrified animal, she held his gaze as he slowly closed the distance between them.

“Evie,” he replied, reaching out to touch the strands of hair that lay soft against her temple. “Can we not put this misunderstanding behind us?”

“Why?” she bit out, pulling away from his hand. “Why did you do it, Elliot? Explain yourself, if you can. I should like to hear the truth for once.”

“I have, believe it or not, told you nothing that was patently untrue,” he answered hollowly, turning away from her. He drifted toward the hearth and sank down into the wing chair. Mentally grasping at the seemingly futile words, Elliot held his hands open before him and studied them intently. At last, he speared them through his hair in frustration and lifted his gaze to her. Evangeline stood by the side table, refilling her glass. “Evie,” he said softly, gesturing toward the opposite chair, “can you not sit by me? Just for a moment?”

Warily, she nodded and came to join him. Elliot drew a deep breath. “Evie, I never meant to mislead you. I only—well, I suppose that is not entirely true. I admit to being less than honest, but I had lost my way in the rain the day I came here. It is hard to explain, and I am not at all sure I can.”

“Try,” she responded skeptically, her mouth drawn into a tight line.

Elliot forced a weak smile. “Yes, well . . . I was riding to Wrotham Ford on a rather unpleasant errand, and I felt, quite simply, miserable. When I saw this place, well, I stopped for directions. Despite my protestations—and admittedly, they were weak ones—I was immediately mistaken for someone else. Why I did not correct the oversight is something I cannot easily put into words.”

“Try again,” she repeated, her voice still cool.

Elliot shrugged in resignation and looked away. “I just wanted to stay here,” he answered quietly. “I was so wet, and just so bloody weary . . . . No,that’s not it at all. I was unhappy. The weariness was inside me, Evie. Can you understand?” He flicked his gaze to catch hers. “No, you cannot, can you? You have not let your life flounder, only to be wasted out of bitterness. You have had the strength to go on, while I—well, I have not been so wise. When I found this place, these people—such warmth and welcome—for the first time in my adult life, I found myself questioning my life’s direction.”

“You will excuse me, my lord, for saying that seems a trifle maudlin, not to mention implausible, given your history.” Evangeline’s tone was only slightly less chilly. She stared at him in icy cynicism. “Moreover, I cannot think what sort of errand a gentleman such as yourself might have in a backwater like Wrotham Ford.”

Elliot sucked in his breath sharply. This was a question he had never expected to face. “I was searching for someone, Evie,” he answered quietly. “An acquaintance. My—a woman. A woman I needed to speak with about . . . a personal matter.”

Evangeline’s chin came up a notch. “Is
mistress,
perhaps, the proper term?”

Elliot ran one hand wearily down his face. “I’ll not discuss this with you, Evie. It would be inappropriate to do so.”

“Ah, yes! Conveniently so!”

“Very well, damn it!
A mistress
. She had family there. She and I had a long-standing arrangement. An arrangement I chose to terminate. In such cases, it is customary for a gentleman to . . . that is to say, I wished to speak with her. I—I was angry. I wished to make certain she understood that it was over.”

“I am not sure I believe you,” she responded coldly. “Indeed, I collect that your most recent paramour met with an untimely death.”

Elliot went rigid with shock. It seemed that in a very short time, Evangeline had more than compensated for her lack of knowledge about him. “As it happens, you are remarkably well informed,” he answered grimly. “She is, regrettably, dead. Moreover, someone most assuredly murdered her, but it was not I. In any event, most of my time has been spent here. With you.” A sick feeling unfolded in the pit of his stomach. “Who dared make such vile suggestions to you, Evangeline?”

“My step-grandmother says the talk is all over town, my lord,” she answered flatly. “As well as a few other stories. And one thing is certain—you were not with me when you received that gunshot wound in the shoulder.”

Oh, God,
thought Elliot, could it get any worse?
Damn Lady Trent straight to hell, the meddling witch!
Elliot pulled himself stiffly erect in his chair, watching as Evangeline downed the better part of her second madeira. “I was challenged, Evangeline, and I was left with no honorable alternative. That is all I have to say.” He averted his gaze toward the floor, feeling the nerve in his jaw begin to pulse angrily.

“Was it over a woman?” she snapped back.

Elliot’s head came up in a flash. “In a manner of speaking, yes,” he answered tightly, “and it is over. Do not raise the issue again. I forbid it.”

Evangeline was out of her chair at once, amber dregs sloshing from her wine glass. “You forbid it? You
forbid
it? You must be mad, Rannoch, to think that you can command me like one of your servants—like one of your whores!”

“Damn it, Evangeline,” he hissed, rising to his feet. “Do not taunt me! I warn you. I am trying to swallow my pride and make my peace here. God knows I should, but I’ll not have my past examined in every minute detail.”

“Hah!” She stalked toward the table to take up the decanter again. “From what I have heard, my lord, your past can scarcely withstand the light of day.”

“That may be, Evangeline. But it is, however, precisely that—the past. And upon my honor, when we are wed—”

“Wed?” Evangeline laughed throatily. “You really must be mad, sir. And as to your honor, some would say you have none. Indeed, I know but one reason why you might wish to wed me! You think to exact some sort of revenge upon my father’s family by thwarting their plans for Michael. Confess it.”

Roughly, Elliot grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her nearer. “That is naught but another of Lady Trent’s lies, Evie! She would do much to keep us apart, whereas I would do nothing to hurt Michael. After all that has passed between us, if you do not know that much about me, then perhaps I am indeed wasting my time here.”

Evangeline’s face suffused with color. Abruptly, she looked away, hands trembling. “I—yes, I do know it. You have been exceedingly kind to the children. Forgive me.”

“Evie,” he whispered, tilting her elegant chin up with his finger, “whatever my past sins, and there are many, I meant you no harm in coming here. Not the first time, and not now. I care for you, and for Nicolette and Michael. I think it best we marry, and I have told Mr. Weyden so. Come, we have his blessing! Will you not agree?”

She looked away, her face still rigid with pride. “I—no, I cannot!”

“Look at me,” he commanded, turning her face back toward him. “It is for Michael that you worry, is it not?”

“Oh, Elliot!” Her voice began to break under the strain. “You know that my step-grandmother will stop at nothing to get her hands on the Trent heir, so that she may continue to wield her power. Already she controls my uncle like a lapdog.”

“Yes,” murmured Elliot, setting the other hand lightly upon her shoulder, “and Nicolette will soon make a pretty pawn on the marriage market. Lady Trent will leap at the opportunity to advance the Stone dynasty by means of an advantageous marriage.”

Evangeline’s eyes opened wide. “Good Lord, that had not occurred to me!”

Elliot looked at her intently. “Rest assured that she will be no threat to them once we are wed, Evie. Perhaps we may both take some small comfort in the knowledge that my ruthless reputation shall at last prove invaluable,” he added bitterly.

“Why, Elliot?” Evangeline pulled incrementally away, but Elliot tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Why do you pursue me so?”

“I love you,” he said simply, searching her face for any sign of affection.

Evangeline’s blue eyes flared wide as she tilted her head back to stare up at him. “I cannot believe you are a man much given to that emotion, my lord. If it is not revenge against my uncle, what do you truly seek from this alliance?”

“You will not believe, then, that I am capable of love? Very well. Perhaps I want only to possess you,” he answered with a quizzical smile, “much as one might covet an exquisite work of art. I’ve been collecting a few, you know. Or perhaps I seek a mother for Zoë. God knows she deserves it. Or mayhap I have grown jaded with my existence and want nothing more than a life of rustic tranquility. And perhaps there is some small measure of truth in all of these things.”

“I am afraid, my lord, that you must do better than that.”

Elliot let his smile fade, his words soft yet certain. “Very well, Evie, I shall be painfully blunt on a more practical point. What if you already carry my babe? I’ll not have another child of mine born a bastard, and you cannot avoid that fact by escaping to Ghent.”

Her sapphire eyes darted nervously over his face, then dropped to his shirtfront. “I do not believe you would stop me,” she said in a small voice.

“Come now, Evangeline,” he answered grimly, letting his hands slide down her arms and giving her a gentle shake. “I think you do. Furthermore, you still desire me, I believe. As I desire you.”

Abruptly, she tried to pull away from him, but Elliot merely tightened his grip on her upper arms. “Listen to me, Evie! I want you, and I am willing to protect you. ’Tis as simple as that. Marriages have been made for far worse reasons. Carefully consider that with your grandfather in his grave, Lady Trent is already moving to solidify her position. She shall never be satisfied with a dowager’s life. Michael is her means to power.”

“Oh, God, no,” murmured Evangeline, an expression of weary resignation shadowing her lovely features. One hand fluttering anxiously at her temple, she brushed past him to resume her stance before the window, yet she did not pull away from him when he came to stand close behind her.

“What better alternative remains, Evangeline?” he asked softly, placing one hand lightly upon her shoulder. He felt a stirring of optimism when she did not push it away. “I shall try to be a good husband, I swear it. What other course of action will leave your family’s peace undisturbed? They are happy here; indeed, I was happy here. Is it fair to insist that your family sacrifice a life which they have come to love and return to a homeland they can scarcely remember?”

In apparent capitulation, Evangeline dropped her hand from her forehead to the windowsill. “You do not fight fairly, Elliot.” Her voice was a choked whisper.

“No,” he answered gravely, “I do not. I cannot afford to. I need you too desperately.”

Evangeline felt the heat of his breath sear her skin long before he opened his mouth against the curve of her neck. She simply understood the inevitable and gave herself up to it. Lifting her gaze to their pale reflection in the window glass, she watched as Elliot reached around to place his other hand on her upper arm, effectively checking any movement. With agonizing deliberation, Elliot moved to brush his mouth against the turn of her jaw, his tongue hot and teasing, his teeth nipping gently into her flesh.

Evie’s mind felt defeated and confused, but her traitorous body was neither of those things. Involuntarily, her head tilted to the left to allow him access, even as a sigh of acquiescence escaped her throat. She felt so reckless, so wicked. Ah—yes, so good. He was controlling her, bewitching her once again, and she felt no inclination to resist him.

“Surrender, Evie,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. “Surrender, love, and we both shall win this battle.”