Taking a deep breath, Heather withdrew from her bureau drawer the letter Sloan McCord had written in a bold, slashing hand. At least being a rancher’s wife would present all the challenge she could possibly wish for. More importantly, she could provide valuable service in exchange.

Reluctantly then, she returned downstairs to the parlor and went to stand near the hearth, hoping to draw warmth from the meager fire as she faced her guest. Evan was still seated on the settee, one leg elegantly crossed over the other.

“Evan,” she began with less confidence than she would have wished. “I do not quite know how to put this…”

Again that patronizing smile. “I understand, my dear. You have changed your mind. That is a lady’s prerogative, of course. And in this instance, entirely welcome. I will be the most fortunate of men.”

“No, you mistake the matter,” she said hastily. “I have not changed my mind. Indeed … but… perhaps you should read this.”

It might be cowardly to let Sloan’s proposal of marriage speak for her, but she was sorely lacking in eloquence at the moment.

She handed Evan the well-perused letter, and then watched his expression turn from boredom to curiosity, to disbelief, to outright anger as he read.

“I have accepted Mr. McCord’s suit,” she said quietly, wishing she were anywhere but here.

Evan’s dark gaze rose from the letter to pin her with blistering force.

“I think I understand, my dear,” he replied tersely, biting off his words. “This is a ploy to force my hand. You wish me to settle a larger sum upon you at our marriage.”

Heather opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

“You disappoint me. I never anticipated that you might resort to such sly stratagems. But … very well. Will a half-million be adequate?”

A half-million dollars.

Heather shook her head, desperation and dismay battling within her. “No, you mistake me entirely. I assure you, Evan, it is no ploy. I truly do not wish to wed you. A marriage between us would never succeed. I could not be the sort of wife you desire. You want a different woman every night—”

He waved an impatient hand. “This is utter foolishness. You are a virtual pauper. Do you honestly expect me to believe you would turn down so vast a sum?”

She clasped her fingers together to still their unsteadiness. How could she convince him she was serious? “I expect… I hope you will do me the honor of believing me. I am speaking the truth. I am flattered by your interest and sorry to cause you any pain—though I cannot believe your heart is truly engaged. But you will recall I told you from the first that I never desired your attentions. You chose not to take me at my word, just as you are doing now.”