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

contentment. And then he tried with equal effort to remember a time when he had not felt angry.
    It was no use. The memories, if there were any, would not come to him. An untoward sound of frustration must have escaped his lips, for Evangeline took a sharp step backward, and it was then that Elliot realized that she’d been standing very close to him, his long black greatcoat laid in neat folds across her slender arm.
    He reached out to take it from her, then slowly lifted his gaze to hers. “Next week, Miss Stone,” he repeated softly. “Until then, I shall count the minutes.” Impulsively, he grasped her hand and pressed his lips to it, and as Elliot felt the heat of her skin against his mouth, he knew that without a doubt he would come to her again. And again. And again, until he was found out for the scoundrel that he was. Or until he dredged up enough courage or choked on enough guilt to tell her the truth and face the ugly, unbearable consequences. Rocked by this chilling realization, Elliot spun about and walked rapidly down the steps and into the drive.
    Evangeline watched him go, her mind caught in a whirling vortex of emotion. She stood in the doorway as Elliot mounted his horse with an easy, languid grace, throwing one long booted leg across the saddle and urging the big horse forward in a smooth, flowing motion. Then, reining the prancing chestnut into a tight circle, Elliot held her eyes briefly, smartly touched his hat, and cantered down the long drive in a spray of gravel. At the end of Chatham’s lane, horse and rider turned north toward Wrotham Ford, quickly disappearing from sight. Elliot did not look back again.
    Evangeline remained standing in the doorway, unaware that Winnie had slipped into the hall until she felt a warm, familiar arm circle her waist. Winnie sighed and pulled her close. “Oh, Lud, Evie. I saw how he kissed your hand! He’s perfect. Perfect for you. What ill luck that such a man should be already betrothed.”
    Evangeline heaved a sigh, too. “Well, Winnie, there’s the rub.”
    “Oh, my dear!” Winnie clasped her hand to her chest. “You’ve fallen for him, have you not?”
    “He isn’t betrothed.”
    Winnie’s hand flew to her mouth, and suddenly Evangeline found herself abruptly shoved into the library, the door thumping shut behind her.
    “What do you mean, not betrothed?” Winnie demanded, leaning back against the door. Her hands were splayed stubbornly against it as if she feared Evangeline might attempt to escape her interrogation.
    “Mr. Roberts’s engagement has been ended, Winnie,” answered Evangeline softly, dropping down into her usual chair. “That is all I can tell you.”
    Winnie came slowly away from the door and wrapped her arms uneasily around herself. She walked to the front window to stare pensively across the gardens. “Evie, a broken engagement is all but unheard of. Did his fiancée cry off ?”
    Evangeline pressed her fingertips hard into her temples in a futile attempt to forestall an approaching headache. Winnie was right. A sickening uncertainty pressed down upon her. “I do not know, Winnie. He simply said it was ended.”
    Winnie turned from her place by the window and began to flit throughout the library in quick, anxious motions, pausing to straighten books that were not crooked and to rearrange ornaments that were not out of place. As she moved, she spoke softly. “My dear,” she began in the low, thoughtful tones she so effectively employed with upset children. It was her governess voice, Evangeline always thought. “Peter does trust me to look after your best interests, though why he thinks I might do so effectively is quite beyond me, for I am the feather-head and you are the sensible one.” She paused to fuss with a floral arrangement that was already perfect. “Nonetheless, I find nothing disagreeable in Mr. Roberts’s countenance, and I think we must accept what he says at face value.”
    Suddenly, Winnie ceased her