The Heart Breaker

by Nicole Jordan

  Damn, but he hadn’t scared her off. He’d only made himself hungrier. The instant he’d touched his mouth to hers, he’d been wild to get inside her.

  The duchess had felt the same passion, he was certain. He recognized all the signs of an aroused woman. He could still feel her trembling. Inexperienced or not, she wanted him. Just as he wanted her.

  His dream woman.

  The thought of having all that cool beauty and inner heat beneath him, around him, made his cock cramp and throb with need.

  He sucked in a sharp breath.

  “You sure you won’t change your mind about marrying me?” he asked gruffly, his voice still husky with want.

  Heather gazed up at him, not at all certain her knees wouldn’t give out. Could she go through with it?

  This was nothing like the tender union she’d long ago envisioned when she’d contemplated marriage, nor was this man—this stranger with eyes as hard as ice and a take-no-prisoners bluntness. She had dreamed of a man she could love, but Sloan McCord didn’t want her love.

  Despite his stark virility, he seemed emotionally untouchable. At least by her. His heart still belonged to his late wife, it seemed. She’d seen the flash of pain in his eyes, heard the rawness in his voice, when he spoke of his wife.

  She, on the other hand, was merely a necessary complication in his life. He felt nothing for her other than perhaps irritation and disdain. He’d made it clear he wanted her only as a housekeeper and an asset to his political ambitions. And a carnal bed partner.

  Heather took a step backward, where it was safer, clasping her fingers to quiet their trembling. She wanted to tell him to go to the devil, but she bit back the words. She had always possessed too much pride. Pride which she could no longer afford. She had little choice now. She had given up her school, and in the conflict with Evan a short while ago, she had burned the last of her bridges.

  Besides, she was offering Sloan McCord a fair bargain.

  “No,” she said shakily. “I don’t intend to change my mind.”

  His jaw hardened for a moment. Then he gave a sigh of resignation. “All right then. Where can I find Randolf?”

  The unexpected question took her aback. “Why would you wish to find him?”

  “To pay him the fifteen hundred dollars you owe him.”

  She stared. “You can’t mean to pay the entire debt now.”

  “Can’t I?” The blue of his eyes was almost chilling. “I won’t have my wife owing money to another man.”

  “Mr. McCord…” She shrugged helplessly. “I wasn’t aware of your circumstances before, but now… I can’t allow you to be so generous. You just told me you couldn’t afford—”

  “I said I’ll take care of it.”

  His reply, low and grim, put an end to the debate.

  Heather felt her cheeks flush with mortification. She didn’t like being in this man’s debt. It seemed worse somehow than owing Evan Randolf. But she would pay back every last penny, she vowed.

  Pride kicking her like a hobnailed boot, she said with great reluctance, “Very well. But I intend to repay you someday.”

  She was grateful when he didn’t ask her how she could possibly manage such a feat but instead repeated impatiently, “Where can I find Randolf?”

  “He’s often at his bank on Tenth Street, or his house on Washington Avenue.”

  Sloan nodded brusquely and turned to pick up his hat.

  Just then Heather heard the front door open. She gave a start and moved away from her visitor, putting a safer distance between them. Self-consciously she reached up to smooth her disheveled hair as Winifred Truscott called out, “Heather?”

  “I’m in the parlor, Winnie. We … have a guest.”

  A moment later, a plump, gray-haired woman came bustling in, her cheeks flushed with cold as she removed her bonnet. Her eyes lit up when she saw Sloan. “You’ve finally come!”

  The widow had met him on her visit to Colorado last summer, Heather remembered. Like Caitlin, Winnie had sung Sloan McCord’s praises and supported him staunchly while promoting the marriage. And like Caitlin, Winnie had neglected to mention the most vital details when Heather had questioned her intently about Sloan and pressed her for information.

  “Welcome, dear,” Winnie told him warmly. “I’m delighted to see you at last.”

  She gave Sloan a motherly hug and offered her cheek for him to kiss—which he did with surprising willingness.

  “Mercy, I heard about your heroics this afternoon from a score of people, Sloan McCord. The handsome cowboy coming to the rescue of two helpless ladies. Well done! I declare, you’re just like your brother Jake, setting the town on its ear before you’ve been here two minutes. Speaking of your scapegrace brother… how is Caitlin and my grandnephew-to-be?”

  The chiseled planes of Sloan’s face seemed to soften at the mention of his sister-in-law. “She’s doing well, if you call being big and round as a pumpkin well. She swears the baby isn’t due for two more months, but she looks ready to drop any minute.”

  “She’ll be fine, then. Ryan was a big baby, too.”

  Heather felt herself flush at such plain speaking, but Winnie seemed to consider it natural.

  The older lady went on blithely. “You don’t know how delighted I am about this match between you and Heather. We’ll be family twice over now. I suppose you two have been getting acquainted?”

  At the ensuing silence, Winnie looked from one to the other, apparently catching the undercurrents between them. She cleared her throat. “I see Heather has offered you tea, Sloan. Would you care to sit down?”

  Heather interrupted. “I believe Mr. McCord was just leaving.”

  “Yes, I was,” he seconded.

  A frown appeared between Winnie’s brows. “Is the wedding still set for tomorrow morning, then?”

  Heather glanced hesitantly at Sloan, leaving the decision to him.

  His jaw flexed for an instant, but then he forced a pained smile. “I suppose it is.”

  Looking relieved, Winifred beamed. “Splendid! You just leave all the preparations to me.”

  “I trust it’s nothing fancy, Winnie.”

  “No, no. We’ll hold the ceremony here in the parlor, at ten o’clock. I’ve invited just a few friends, with a breakfast afterward. The train leaves tomorrow afternoon, I understand?”

  “At one.”

  “Do you have a place to stay, Sloan? You’re welcome here, of course, although it is bad luck for a groom to see his bride before the wedding.”

  “I’m bunking not too far from the rail station. The Muleskinner Hotel.” He settled his Stetson on his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then,” he said, tipping his hat to Winifred yet scarcely glancing at his bride.

  Heather politely accompanied him to the front door. She thought he might leave without a word, but he paused with his hand on the latch, looking down at her.

  “I’ll be here tomorrow at eight sharp to collect your trunks and take them to the station.”

  Her heart sank as she met his hard gaze. He was so cold… so businesslike. Far from the sensual man whose passionate kiss moments ago had set her head spinning and her body aching for some unnamed fulfillment.

  “They will be ready.”

  With no more than a brusque nod then, he left.

  It took all Heather’s willpower not to slam the door behind him. She felt herself trembling, whether in outrage or nerves or self-disdain, she wasn’t certain. She couldn’t explain the effect Sloan McCord had on her, or why a man she barely knew had the power to rouse such fierce emotions in her.

  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.”

  Chapter 3

  Sloan 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.