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

apologize,” she said softly, “for my tasteless remark about your paying me. It was not something a well-bred lady should say. But I was disturbed by your—your unwarranted self-deprecation.”
    In the brilliant sunlight, her blond hair was shot with glimmers of gold, and the blue of her eyes deepened to a rich shade of azure. A faint smear of white paint marred one otherwise perfect ivory cheekbone. He watched her as, almost uncertainly, Evangeline’s mouth curled into a serene yet alluring smile. “It has been a pleasure—no, a great pleasure—to begin painting you, Mr. Roberts,” she continued quietly, “and I hope that you really will return.”
    Elliot could not resist the urge to touch her. Slowly, he raised his hand and brushed his thumb back and forth across the oily smudge. “Paint,” he murmured, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe his hand clean. Elliot watched as her color heightened almost imperceptibly, enhancing her beauty.
If I were an artist, Miss Stone, I would paint you,
he wanted to say.
    But he did not. Elliot Armstrong was a great many things, none of them good and none of them remotely associated with life’s finer arts. His skills, such as they were, lay elsewhere, and they most assuredly should not be practiced on Evangeline Stone.
    At some point, Elliot had ceased to be fully aware that he was still staring into Evangeline’s eyes. “You will return, will you not?” she asked, her voice laced with doubt.
    She saw through him intuitively. She sensed his uncertainty. Elliot knew it, and he forced himself to smile. “Are you sure you want me to, Miss Stone, having now discerned but a few of my dark secrets?”
    Evangeline’s brows came together in confusion. “More than ever, as it happens,” she answered as if it were obvious. Slowly, they made their way through the house toward the door. For once, neither Bolton nor the housekeeper was anywhere to be seen. Indeed, the entire house seemed unusually empty. Evangeline retrieved his hat and gloves, handing them to him with what Elliot hoped was a measure of reluctance.
    Suddenly, all of his resolve gave way, collapsing onto the floor in a sinking, sliding heap. “When, Miss Stone?” he asked hollowly. “When shall I return?”
    Evangeline spoke without hesitation. “Next week? And plan to stay, if you can? The children greatly enjoyed your visit, and I hope you do not find them tedious. Until then, I must work on
Leopold
for Peter, but thereafter I would very much like to return my attentions to you.”
    Elliot bit back a rather impassioned response to that statement and merely nodded, curling his fingers hard into the fabric of his hat brim. “I shall return next week,” he agreed softly.
    Evangeline smiled. “Do you know, I rather like you, Elliot Roberts? Though you are a bit of an enigma—but that, of course, is something no true artist can resist.”
    She liked him? No, Miss Evangeline Stone surely would not like him, should she have the great misfortune to know him. Nevertheless, she liked Elliot Roberts well enough, and he was a fortunate man indeed. Again, Elliot found himself wondering what it would be like to be Mr. Roberts. It was odd, really, but Elliot was struck with the fact that the marquis of Rannoch rather wanted to be someone else. At what point had the deliberately mind-numbing whirlwind of debauchery ceased to bring him satisfaction? Or had it ever done? Elliot honestly did not know.
    His was an affluent lifestyle, of that there was no doubt. Elliot’s ruthless gaming sustained it, and his wealthy estates ensured it. Evangeline Stone was merely comfortable, yet here she stood, the very picture of domestic contentment. Furthermore, her extended family seemed blessed with all that was good and peaceful. The mere thought of leaving brought a jaded weariness pressing down upon him. Elliot stared at the gentle, elegant lines of Evangeline’s face and tried very hard to remember the last time he’d felt