Liz Carlyle - [Lorimer Family & Clan Cameron 02]

by My False Heart

  “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 th
ey 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.”

  She was so weak. Endless days of sheer fatigue and consuming grief were now exacerbated by too much wine, melting Evangeline’s defenses into a puddle of warmth in her belly. Elliot battered at the armor of her logic even as he ravaged that of her heart. She wanted him. Such blind need was foolish, she knew. Yet at this moment, she did not care. As his free arm came up to bind about her waist and pull her back resolutely against him, she knew that despite all that he had done, it was her own lust that would now truly betray her. At the insistent touch of his tongue and teeth, pulling and suckling at the tender lobe of her ear, Evangeline gave up all pretext of refusal and moved against him, feeling his hard length press into her back.

  Enthralled by his slow, calculated seduction, she watched in the glass as his hand slid across to tug gently at the bodice of her dinner gown. Was ever a man so wickedly tempting? With agonizing slowness, Elliot pulled the fabric inexorably downward until her breasts were bare, her nipples teased into hard, ripe buds by the sliding silk. Shaping first one breast then the other in his broad palm, Elliot still did not lift his mouth from her throat. His hands were unhurried and erotically abrasive against her skin as he took each swollen bud in turn, caressing them hard between his fingers, biting at her throat, and sending shafts of pain and pleasure coursing toward her stomach and lower still.

  He went on and on, relentlessly, until Evangeline’s breath became rapid and shallow. Then Elliot stopped and lowered his hands to capture hers. Roughly, he pulled them up and folded them against her chest. “I want to see your hands on your breasts,” he whispered, his voice dark with hunger. His eyes held hers in the glass even as she felt his fingers pulling urgently at the back buttons of her dress. “Touch yourself,” he commanded. “Yes, tease me.”

  Instinctively, she obeyed.

  When Evangeline’s garments felt loose at her waist, Elliot, still watching her reflection, slid his hands up her back and into her hair and slowly pulled the pins from it. The loosened tresses tumbled to her waist. “Stay here,” he whispered hoarsely in the dark, moving swiftly across the room to put out the lamp, drowning her in desire and darkness. A scrape of ancient metal sounded as Elliot turned the key in the lock. And then he was pulling off his coat, loosening his cravat, and pressing her urgently back onto the heavy mahogany desk. In heated confusion, she felt Elliot shove up the froth of her skirts and tear at her drawers.

  Dimly, Evangeline knew she should protest, but reality now seemed beyond her control. She had to have him inside her and was beyond caring about the consequences. Whatever he was, whoever he was, he had burned away all reason. His enticing promise of pleasure heated the darkness as Elliot yanked free his shirt and tore at the close of his trousers. In the pale moonlight, she felt herself sliding inescapably down into his carnal netherworld, even as his manhood rose, hard and powerful, from the crumpled fabric of his clothing. Abruptly, Elliot shoved two fingers into her. Gasping at the sudden intrusion, Evangeline was stunned to find that she was already wet with need.

  “Ah, yes,” she heard him rasp, “you are ready for me, sweet Evangeline.” Smoothly, he urged her back and came almost on top of her, the warm, probing weight of his heavy shaft demanding entrance. He shoved himself into her, stopped, then abruptly pulled back, leaving her whimpering with frustration.

  “No,” he whispered. “I am mad for you, Evie, but I want you writhing with hunger for me.” So saying, Elliot lowered his mouth to the joining of her thighs and returned his teasing fingers to her feminine depths. Clever hands, enticing tongue; they were hot inside her, in stark contrast to the cool wood beneath her hips. He was everywhere, urging her deeper into the blackness, driving her mad, just as he had vowed. She cried out into the night as the orgasm swept over her in a crashing wave of ultimate capitulation, drowning her, washing her in warmth and light as she burst free of the darkness.

  Elliot heard her cry of submission, the half scream of surrender that tore through his deteriorating self-control. Again, he came up to shove himself inside her, feeling the heat of her slickened flesh as he anchored against her thighs. Within, she still throbbed with release, pulling hungrily at his swollen shaft. Oblivious to the papers and ledgers that tumbled from the desk, he buried himself deep in her warmth and began to move inside her.

  Elliot felt like a man driven to desperation. The need to bend Evangeline to his will, to again lay claim to her, had quickly shifted to the need to lose himself in her. “Ah, take me, take me, Evangeline,” he whispered desperately. “Take me, please.” Unsure even of what he was asking for, Elliot murmured the words like a mantra against the dampness of her brow. Her strong, capable hands came up to tangle in his hair, to turn his mouth to hers so that she might draw his tongue inside. As he thrust himself over and over inside her, she matched his rhythm, intently seducing his mouth stroke for stroke, sweetly undermining his control, until he poured his very soul into her in a pounding rush of molten pleasure.

  Elliot collapsed against her crumpled clothing, drawing deep, ragged breaths laced with the fragrance of spent passion. Inside, he still throbbed. His heart pounded, his chest choked with warmth. Slowly, however, his breathing calmed, and rational thought intruded. He lifted his face from her shoulder and looked about the room in bewilderment.

  Good Lord, he had bent Evangeline across her desk and taken her in the middle of the library. He was little better than a rutting animal. Beneath him, Evangeline moved restlessly, and Elliot stood, pulling her up with him into his arms. Then, settling into the chair by the fireplace, he held her in his arms until her head slumped against his chest and her breathing shifted to the slow, deep rhythm of sleep. Neither had spoken, yet Elliot could sense that he had won the battle for Evangeline, but only in the short term.

  Satiation began to battle with his apprehension, however, until Elliot straightened their clothing, gathered Evie into his arms, and carried her through Chatham’s darkened corridors to the safety of her bed just as the clock struck midnight. Evangeline had surrendered to him, or, rather, had surrendered to his practiced seduction. It was more than he had dared to hope. For a time, it would suffice.

  Bending low across Evangeline’s bed, Elliot pressed a kiss to her brow. Tonight she had been blinded by lust, a useful but limited tool. He took comfort in the knowledge that even in anger, Evie was vulnerable to his seduction, yet it was far from enough. Indeed, he may have persuaded Evangeline to wed him, but he had not persuaded her to love Elliot Armstrong.

  There was, perhaps, some hope. She had loved a part of him once, albeit briefly. And the gentle, goodnatured Elliot Roberts was, he now understood, the better part of the man he had once been. A little more naïve and a little less jaded, perhaps, but an integral part of him, nonetheless. The troub
le was, would Evie ever believe it?

  Weakened by a choking rush of emotion, Elliot watched Evangeline snuggle deeper into the pillow and part her lips in a whispery sigh. She was so beautiful. Wise yet innocent, a rare and enchanting combination. He shoved his hands into his disordered hair and wondered what had become of his innocence, his wisdom, his very Scottishness. He thought again of his portrait, of the metaphorical changes Evangeline had made.

  And as for metaphors, what had become of his black and green plaid? Had Kem truly burned it, as he had threatened so many years ago? Elliot could not suppress a smile and then grew somber once more with the realization that he had not seen his Scottish homelands for two years or better. He had not paid his respects to his mother. He had not knelt in prayer at his father’s grave. Simple things, proper things, things he now knew he should have done. Yes, his mother had been cold, his father pious, and while they had not taught him to love, their woefully repressed emotions were no excuse for his failures. Indeed, it was not as if he had never known love, for he had grown up surrounded by two maiden aunts, a devoted nurse, and the land he had cherished.

  What vagary of fate had impelled him to the edge of moral and emotional ruination? Had it been Cicely? Elliot was forced to admit that it had not. His yearning for her had been genuine, but it had been the incipient desire of a green boy, not the abiding love of a real man. Yes, Cicely’s deception had cut him deeply, but was it the source of his destruction? No. His own failings, false pride and a false heart, had been the real cause. And as fanciful as it seemed, on a rain-soaked Essex night, the softly glowing windows of Chatham had become the windows to his soul. Through a cold mist, he had peered into their warmth and seen what he had once been, what he had so rashly given up, what might yet be salvaged.

  Yes, soon he would wed Evangeline and take her to Strath to assume her rightful position as marchioness of Rannoch. The dowager countess of Trent be damned; Elliot took immeasurable satisfaction in the knowledge that Evangeline would outrank every member of her toad-eating Tory family. In Richmond, he would give Evie time and distance, until her anger diminished.