“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.”