Page 28 of A Rogue to Reform

When she placed a hand on his forearm, heat scorched up to his chest. “Evan, I must go.”

“Yes, of course.”

Neither moved.

He leaned forward.

“Am I interrupting something?” Sorcha’s tone left no question she knew exactly what would have happened if she’d not walked in.

Felicity turned to the woman. “You interrupted me telling Mister Macleod that he is a cad.” With that, she swept from the room, leaving a trail of tantalizing scent.

Chapter Seven

She walked so fast from the Macleod estate Ana could barely keep up. Once in the carriage, she finally let out a shaky breath. Whatever was she thinking, seeking out Evan? He was not the kind of man to marry, but instead, one who would forever be a rogue.

Thank God Sorcha Robertson arrived when she did. It proved that she’d been wrong in going to his house and hoping he’d declare himself.

She’d woven stupid fantasies in her head all night while reminiscing about the kiss they’d shared in the garden. Such an infatuated fool to have pushed aside the fact he’d discarded her into bushes straight after.

“Where to?” The coachman stared at her through the window.

Felicity fell back onto the seat and looked at Ana. “To the Kerrs’, please.”

“Is something wrong?” Ana asked. “You’ve gone pale.”

It was no use trying to hide things; it had never been easy for Felicity to keep things secret. “I fooled myself into thinking Evan Macleod cared for me. Why do we romanticize things so?”

“Some men find it so very hard to accept being in love.” Ana was married to the coachman. Both were in their thirties and very much in love. They lived in a small house on the edge of the Murray property with his mother, who cared for their three children. In Felicity’s estimation, Ana had the perfect life.

“I must say that I envy you,” Felicity admitted. “I wish for what you have.”

Ana smiled widely. “I am blessed. Especially with a husband that allows me to work and get away from the wee ones for most of the day.”

Upon arriving at Hannah’s house, they found no one home. Disheartened that she could not commiserate with her closest friend, Felicity ordered the driver to take them home.

To her surprise, Grant was indeed at her house. In the parlor, he and her mother sat having tea with paper spread on the low table, from which adornments and the tea tray had been moved aside.

“What are you two plotting?” Felicity asked, removing her cloak and peering down at the lists her mother had penned.

“We are planning your debut into society,” her mother replied, and jotted down a name, then scratched another off the list.

“I agree, Grant, Craig Gordon is much too old.”

Felicity agreed, although the man in question was handsome. “Too old for what?”

“To marry you.” Both her mother and brother replied at once.

“Oh.” Felicity sat down. “It is ridiculous to plan a debut for me. I am much too old. My initial debut was ruined by the huge storms that year that lasted well into late spring. And then father fell ill. Horrible year.”

“And that is why you deserve another.” Her mother looked to Grant. “Oh yes, Calum Ross is a lovely young man.”

“Calum Ross lives in Inverness,” Felicity said.

“He’s returned,” Grant quipped. “Looks a bit haggard, but I am sure it is because of the bitter weather.”

“Or he drinks too much,” Felicity said, and frowned when her mother did not cross off his name.

“What if instead of a debut, it be more of a social event with a light suggestion of the reason. Do not outwardly state a debut, Mother. It would make me the laughingstock among our friends. They will say I am desperate to marry. Which I am not, by the way. Actually, I may have changed my mind completely.”