His hand slowly clenching, Evan crumpled the letter in his fist. “I have not wasted all these months courting you simply to have you make me a laughingstock.”

“That was not my intention—”

He rose abruptly. Flinging the letter to the floor, he took a stride toward her. “I was willing to offer you marriage. I have never offered my hand to any woman, and you think to spurn me?”

Heather swallowed hard, repressing a twinge of alarm. How could she make him understand? She might be the woman he thought he wanted, but she could not reciprocate his feelings. It would have solved her direst problems if she could have loved Evan, but while she bore him a wary respect, a life of ease with a man of his ruthless ambition would not satisfy her chief goal in life. It was only his wounded pride that made him react as he did now.

She shook her head. Perhaps it was her pride that was driving her to refuse him; heaven knew she had abundance of that human failing. Perhaps she was a fool to reject his magnanimous offer. But she didn’t want to be bought and trapped in an elite but idle society. Evan would never have allowed her to keep her school after their union in any case. Saints forbid that his wife should work. She couldn’t bear to be set on a shelf like some hothouse flower and trotted out for display upon occasion.

She considered Sloan McCord’s proposal a far more equitable bargain. She could bring something of value to their marriage. It would be a worthwhile endeavor, raising his baby daughter. And she could aid his state senatorial campaign, as well. He truly needed her.

Evan Randolf didn’t.

“It… is not you I am spurning. It is just that … we are too different. Our goals are too different. What we want out of life is not the same. I cannot be your wife.”

Randolf took another step toward her. “I intend to change your mind.”

Heather felt renewed alarm. “It is too late for that. I … am to be married tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” For a moment he looked stunned. Then he reached for her, grasping her upper arms in a tight hold. “You forget one small detail, my dear. No one denies me.”

His complexion flushed with anger, he resembled a spoiled boy in the midst of a temper tantrum. Except that Evan Randolf was no boy. He was a powerful man, and his grip on her arms was painful.

“Evan … you are hurting me.”

“Indeed?” The fury in his tone frightened her. “Perhaps that is the answer. I shall have to teach you that it is a mistake to thwart me. If you think I shall simply let you walk away now… If you think I will permit you to choose some common cowman from the savage West over me…”

“Please…”