“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.