Liz Carlyle - [Lorimer Family & Clan Cameron 02] by My False Heart

have neither the look nor the demeanor of a man in love. And a man who goes to such trouble is, generally speaking, passionately so.”
    Elliot paused to consider carefully how best to respond to such extraordinary incisiveness. “How perceptive, Miss Stone. You have found me out.”
    “Indeed, Mr. Roberts, precisely what have I found out? I must say, it is not at all clear to me.”
    “My betrothal was . . . has been ended,” he responded slowly. That much, at least, was true.
    “I see. And yet here you are.”
    Elliot shrugged. “Well, I really did not intend to have my portrait painted. However, when I saw you, er, saw your work—”
    Evangeline’s brow furrowed. “Do you mean to say that you rode all the way to Wrotham-upon-Lea just to tell me—”
    “To—to where?” In his confusion, Elliot forgot his ruse.
Good heavens, was he in the wrong damned village?
    Evangeline froze, her brush hung in mid-stroke. “To Wrotham-upon-Lea,” she repeated slowly and distinctly.
    “Yes. Yes, to be sure! To Wrotham-upon-Lea.” Elliot turned his palm upward in a gesture of apology. “Well, as it happens, I thought that a ride through the countryside might be pleasant—”
    “In the mud and the rain? Merely to tell me you didn’t want a portrait?”
    Caught in his first real lie, Elliot hesitated, beset by sudden guilt. It was a surprising reaction, and he was taken aback by the realization that he did not want to lie to Evangeline Stone. Nor, however, did he wish to tell her the truth. Something in the middle would have to suffice. Blandly, he smiled. Evangeline was still poised with a clean brush aloft. “Well, to be a trifle more honest, Miss Stone, I had other business in the area, and when I saw how beautiful you—your work was, I just couldn’t resist.”
    Evangeline blinked, then lowered her brush. “How odd!” was her only comment, and then she bent to resume her painting. For the better part of an hour, they continued thus, each watching the other, neither speaking a word. When at last Elliot felt his legs begin to grow numb, he rose and slowly began to stroll about the room, staring at but hardly seeing the paintings that hung on the walls.
    It was time. Time to go. Elliot could no longer postpone the inevitable, and the reasons he should leave were many, while the reasons he had stayed bordered on the insane. Evangeline Stone saw far too much. And the ugly business with Antoinette remained, hanging over his head like a rusty blade. And as always, pressing business awaited him in town. Zoë awaited him as well, and it was long past time that he saw to her. He missed her, and in some way the children of Chatham Lodge made his loneliness and frustration all the more poignant when he thought of his daughter.
    Once he returned to Richmond from this pleasant diversion—and that was all it had been, a spontaneous, selfish, and ill-conceived diversion—he would immediately send a letter to Evangeline by private courier. He would enclose a cash payment for the commission and make some vague excuse for his inability to continue sitting for the portrait. That would be best for all concerned. Certainly, it was best for her. Indeed, a prompt and permanent disappearance was the only logical alternative left to him now that he had initiated this dratted mess.
    “Miss Stone,” he said quietly, still facing the wall, “I am afraid that I must take my leave. Not only have I imposed upon you far too long, but I have business to which I must attend.”
    He heard the clack of Evangeline’s brush as she put it down and the rustle of her skirts as she rose to pull the bell. Almost immediately, the sullen housemaid called Polly appeared at the door, and Evangeline gave orders to have Elliot’s mount brought around from the stables. Then she crossed the width of the room to join him by the broad south windows and tilted her head to look up at him. She seemed so small yet so vibrant, full of life and warmth. “I