The Heart Breaker (7 page)

Heather returned to the parlor reluctantly, unwilling to face the curiosity in Winnie’s blue eyes. The older lady had poured them each a cup of tea. Heather accepted her cup gratefully and sat beside her on the settee.

With her usual frankness, Winnie voiced her thoughts at once. “I declare, that man is potent.”

Heather let out her breath. He was indeed. She was still shivering from his embrace. However would her senses survive a lifetime with him? She shook herself mentally, not wanting to remember the sensation of his body pressed against hers, or the taste of his kiss. Or her own wanton response.
It was shameful, the way her body had betrayed her.

She flushed as she felt Winifred’s penetrating gaze on her.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you, dear?”

“A few,” Heather admitted truthfully.

“It’s only to be expected. All brides have wedding jitters. But this is the perfect solution for you both. It will solve your problems and his. You get your debts paid while he gains the ideal wife.”

“Winnie … I believe you misled me about his financial situation. Mr. McCord isn’t nearly as well off as I understood.”

The older woman’s blue eyes widened innocently. “Is he not?”

“No. But he insists on paying the money I owe Evan, even though he can’t afford it.”

Winnie considered that as she sipped her tea. “It’s only right that a husband take responsibility for his family. And the McCords are a proud bunch. Reminds me of someone else I know,” she added with a pointed glance at Heather. “You should let Sloan act as he sees fit.”

Heather’s gaze was troubled. “But it isn’t his debt.”

“It wasn’t yours, either,” Winnie said tartly. “It was your father’s. If Evan Randolf was half the gentleman he claims to be, he would have forgiven you those debts. Instead he used them to oblige you to him. I think you should count your blessings and consider yourself well out of it.”

Heather nodded slowly, remembering Evan’s shameful assault on her earlier. At last she was now free of his control.

It should have been liberating. Yet all she could feel was a sense of trepidation.

Had she merely exchanged one problem for another? At least with Evan she had managed to maintain some measure of independence. But after tomorrow, she would be tied to Sloan McCord in holy matrimony … for life.

There would be no turning back.

“It will work out for the best, you’ll see,” Winnie murmured, patting her hand.

Heather wished she could be so certain. Her mouth twisted in a faint smile. “Mr. McCord doesn’t believe that I’m … woman enough to handle him.”

Winifred’s eyebrow rose. “Doesn’t he, now?”

“I expect he’s right.”

Affectionately the elderly widow tucked her arm into Heather’s. “Well, we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we? Gentlemen like innocence in their brides, but
ignorance
is another thing entirely. We can’t have you going to your bridal bower without any notion of how to go on.”

Winnie smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “I think an intimate little talk about men is in order, dear.”

S
loan lay awake in the darkened hotel room, only half listening to the unaccustomed night sounds of the nearby train depot and river docks. His mind was focused unwillingly on his bride-to-be … the sweetness of her taste, the lush softness of her body … her total unsuitability to be his wife.

Damn it to hell, how had he gotten himself into this fix? This time tomorrow he would be saddled with a woman he had no business marrying. And he was fifteen hundred dollars poorer to boot—

A creaking floorboard from out in the hallway alerted him to the presence of a visitor. Cautiously Sloan reached for his revolver, his instincts roused in warning.

A soft rap sounded on the door. “Mr. McCord?” an aristocratic male voice called out.

The accent was vaguely familiar. Sloan rose from the bed and opened the door. A gentleman in black evening attire and satin opera cape stood there, looking doubtful. He eyed the six-shooter with mild surprise.

“You are a difficult man to find,” Evan Randolf said dryly. “I’ve made inquiries at nearly every hotel and tavern in town.”

Sloan caught the subtle disdain in his visitor’s tone. The Muleskinner Hotel was not the lodging a rich railroad baron would have chosen, he knew. But he’d settled for it because it was cheaper. Tomorrow morning he would visit the bathhouse down the street in order to spruce up for his wedding. Other than his boots and hat, he was still fully dressed, both to ward off the chill of the unheated room and to be prepared for any trouble.

“I’m a cattleman. I’m used to roughing it,” Sloan replied casually. “Now that you’ve found me, what can I do for you … Randolf, is it?”

“Yes, Evan Randolf. May I come in?”

Sloan stepped aside, allowing his visitor into the darkened room.

“Would you mind lighting a lamp, so that we might hold a conversation in a civilized fashion?”

Sloan preferred to keep Randolf at a disadvantage, but he struck a match and set it to the wick of the lamp beside the bed. A yellow glow burgeoned in the darkness, casting flickering shadows against the bare walls.

“The Claridge or the Warwick Hotel both offer far better accommodations, you know,” Randolf drawled in that same mocking tone.

“Have a seat,” Sloan replied, ignoring the comment. He gestured toward the single chair in the room, a wooden rocker.

There was a moment’s hesitation before Randolf gave a grudging sigh and moved forward to settle there. Sloan took the bed. He propped his back against the wall while keeping his revolver in his lap.

“I understand you visited my bank today and made a payment in Miss Ashford’s name, to close out her account.”

“What if I did?” Sloan said unhelpfully.

Evan Randolf’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ve made inquiries by telegram about you, sir. And I must say I am … concerned by what I discovered.”

“Are you now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Indeed. You are in rather difficult financial straits, which undoubtedly will grow worse if the cattle markets collapse this spring, as many expect.”

“I hardly think my finances are your concern, Randolf,” Sloan said softly, keeping his anger tightly leashed.

“You plan to marry the woman I love. Therefore I’m making it my business. You can ill-afford to lose such a sum— But I did not come to quarrel with you. I am here to put a proposition before you.”

“I’m listening.”

“As I understand it, your prospective union with Miss Ashford is but a marriage of convenience. I propose to make it more convenient for you to terminate the arrangement than to execute it.”

Sloan waited in silence for him to continue.

“I am a very wealthy man, Mr. McCord. What would it take to persuade you to return to Colorado alone? Without holding the ceremony? Would a hundred thousand dollars be sufficient?”

Sloan raised an eyebrow. “Would you perhaps be offering me a
bribe?”

“I prefer to think of it as an investment. We are both rivals for Miss Ashford’s hand. And I do not like to lose.”

His mouth curled in genuine amusement. “You really expect me to sneak out of town and leave my bride waiting at the altar?”

“I can make your apologies to Miss Ashford. She need only know that you changed your mind.”

For an instant, Sloan even considered the proposition. Reneging on the marriage would solve his immediate problems. He could pay back the bank, and he wouldn’t be shackled to a tea-and-china duchess for life. There was no denying Heather Ashford was the wrong wife for him.

But then he remembered the proud lift of her chin, the defiant flash of her golden eyes, and he shook his head. “I can see why she was disinclined to marry you if you throw your weight around with her like this,” he said, amused. “Tell me, Randolf, did you try to buy her, too?”

The baron’s jaw tightened. “I should think carefully before you refuse me, Mr. McCord.”

“I don’t need to think about it. You can keep your money. I’ve given my word. Where I come from, that means something.”

The baron took a deep breath. “My motives are not merely selfish. I can offer her the life she deserves. Tell me, Mr. McCord, can you say the same?”

Sloan shrugged. “I can offer her the life she
wants.
That should be enough. It’s her choice to make, and I think she’s made it.”

Randolf’s dark eyes smoldered with fury at being thwarted, and Sloan knew he’d made an enemy of the man.

“I give you fair warning,” the baron said softly. “I intend to follow your affairs closely. You had best take exquisite care of her, or you will have me to answer to.”

Sloan wisely kept silent.

Randolf rose to his feet. “Don’t bother to exert yourself,” he remarked. “I can show myself out.”

With the air of a man struggling to contain his anger, he turned and let himself from the room. The door shut quietly behind him.

Sloan muttered an oath, then ran a hand roughly through his hair. He had sealed his fate with his refusal. He would have to marry Duchess Ashford now. He was not about to leave her to the likes of Evan Randolf.

But now at least he could understand her determination to hold him to their bargain. Hell, he could almost sympathize with her.

She was so eager to be free of Randolf, she was willing to marry a stranger who didn’t want her.

Her wedding was not likely to make the society columns, Heather reflected somberly as she took her place beside the groom. The event was too small, too quiet and informal to merit attention.

It was to be a brief ceremony, with only a minister and her closest friends in attendance. Heather was glad for the simplicity, not certain she could bear the turmoil of a large crowd. Outwardly, she knew, she appeared calm and controlled, yet her heart hammered as if she’d run a quarter-mile race to the altar.

Sloan McCord stood tall and intimidating beside her, the most prominent figure in the hushed parlor. At least he was clean-shaven now, as well as appropriately attired in a tailored, dark-gray suit, starched white shirt, and string tie. He looked dismayingly handsome, with his lean, muscular frame and rugged features. Handsome enough to make her breath catch.

Yet those striking blue eyes held a hard touch of frost. He’d said perhaps three words to her since his arrival. It had remained for Winnie to keep the small company entertained with pleasant chatter and reminiscences.

Heather’s three friends had seemed surprisingly awed and fascinated by her betrothed and disappointed
by his insistence on catching the next train back to Colorado. Heather had been forced to explain that Sloan wished to return to his daughter and his ranch. She couldn’t, however, help but resent him a little for rushing her through the ceremony. Even if at the same time she wanted to get it over and done with.

Her friends had exclaimed in delight over her wedding dress, a Worth gown from Paris which had belonged to her mother. Designed for a fashionable society wedding in New York, the fabulous full-skirted creation was made of ivory satin with an exquisite lace bodice and train, as well as a gossamer veil to crown her upswept hair.

Sloan McCord’s disapproval of it was rather evident, however. And his hard, handsome face was set like granite as she murmured the words that would make her his wife. When she stole another glance at him, Heather felt her heart sink.

She should feel excitement on this, the most special day in a woman’s life. Excitement and hope and delight. Yet all she felt was trepidation.

She wished her father could have been present, and her mother as well. But were her father still alive, she would never have come to this difficult turning point in her life. And her mother had succumbed to an epidemic of pneumonia when Heather was fourteen, which had begun her father’s downhill spiral into despair—

Realizing how negative and disjointed her thoughts had become, Heather raised her chin and stiffened her spine. Women had been making this sort of bargain for centuries. She would not start complaining about her lot now.

A short while later she heard the minister pronounce them man and wife and give the groom
permission to kiss the bride. Heather turned slowly, as if in a daze.

When her new husband raised her veil, her heart seemed to stop beating. She had almost forgotten this hard man’s intensity, his potency. For a moment those mesmerizing ice-blue eyes held hers in cool challenge.

Heather felt herself tense with nerves. She was too aware of Sloan’s body, the size and strength of it, the heat of his nearness.

The memory of his last devastating embrace.

She held her breath, wondering if he might repeat the episode, out of spite. She wouldn’t put it past him to create a scene to publicly embarrass her by forcing his passionate attentions on her rather than the chaste salutation expected of him.

The brush of his lips on hers, however, was remote and impersonal, and blessedly brief.

It was a further relief to be able to turn away and receive the congratulations of her friends.

Winnie was smiling through tears as she hugged Heather fervently. “I am so happy for you, dear,” she whispered. “This will be for the best, you’ll see.”