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set like granite.
    “Would you care… for tea?” Heather asked, striving to conceal her distraction.
    His sensual mouth curled, whether in amusement or disdain she couldn’t tell. It had been the wrong thing to say, she concluded.
    “I think maybe this situation calls for something stronger than tea,” he said, his tone lightly mocking.
    “I… believe Winifred keeps some whiskey in the kitchen.”
    “Don’t bother. Ma’am,” he added almost as an afterthought. He made no move to sit down, although at least he had removed his hat. “You didn’t seem to be expecting me. Maybe you didn’t get my telegram?”
    “Yes… I received it yesterday.”
    McCord’s frost-filled gaze swept slowly over her again. “You don’t look ready.”
    “My belongings are packed. And I have closed my school.”
    “What about Randolf? That looked like unfinished business to me.”
    Heather took a shaky breath. “Evan labors under a mistaken assumption. He thinks that because I’m indebted to him, he owns me.” Her chin rose the slightest degree. “I happen to disagree.”
    McCord hesitated, as if debating what to say. Then he blew out a long breath and fixed her with those intense, ice-blue eyes. “Well, I’ve been thinking … I might have been rushing you. In fact… maybe this whole thing is a mistake.”
    “Mistake?”
    When he remained silent, Heather said awkwardly, “Forgive me, I am not usually so dull-witted. What is a mistake?”
    “Our getting married.”
    Her uncertain expression held a hint of distress. “Have your circumstances changed, then? Caitlin said you needed a mother for your daughter… and a political hostess for your campaign this summer.”
    “I do.”
    “Then you … find me … objectionable in some way?”
    Hell, yes, Sloan wanted to reply. “Let’s just say you aren’t what I expected.”
    “What… did you expect?”
    “Someone more suited to be a rancher’s wife. Someone less … helpless, less upper-crust.”
    The faintest glimmer of wounded vulnerability shone in her beautiful golden eyes. “I know what it must look like, Mr. McCord … but despite present appearances, I am not entirely helpless. For thepast five years I’ve worked for my living, running my own school.”
    Sloan felt something twist in his chest and did his best to ignore it. Duchess Ashford
did
look helpless. That ebony silk gown made her seem fragile, in need of a man’s strength. She looked exquisitely delicate, like expensive crystal. And yet, unwillingly, he had to admire her aplomb, her dignified manner. She had recovered from an assault that would have had some ladies whimpering on the floor. And according to his sister-in-law, Heather Ashford was gamely scraping out an honest living—and repaying her father’s crushing debts to boot.
    Sloan slapped his hat impatiently against his thigh. “Sure, you’ve run a fancy finishing school. But knowing how to pour tea and play the pianoforte won’t get you very far out West.”
    Her chin lifted. “I can cook and sew and care for a child as well as hold teas.”
    “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m not the proper husband for you. I’m a cattle rancher. You’re a blue-blooded city woman. I don’t need a duchess for a wife.”
    “A … duchess? I am hardly that.”
    “Caitlin tells me you come from a wealthy family.”
    Heather pressed her lips together as he struck a nerve. “My mother’s family was well-to-do, but that has little to say to my present circumstances. I have been living quite meagerly since my father’s passing, I assure you. Most of my worldly possessions went to pay his debts.”
    Sloan frowned. “You say you still owe Randolf fifteen hundred dollars?”
    “Yes … or rather, his bank.”
    He winced at the reminder. He’d been forced totake out a mortgage on his ranch to raise the sum—an obligation that would put him in one hell of a precarious financial position until spring roundup when he could sell some of his