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.
Heather’s three friends had seemed surprisingly awed and fascinated by her betrothed and disappointedby his insistence on catching the next train back to Colorado. Heather had been forced to explain that Sloan wished to return to his daughter and his ranch. She couldn’t, however, help but resent him a little for rushing her through the ceremony. Even if at the same time she wanted to get it over and done with.
Her friends had exclaimed in delight over her wedding dress, a Worth gown from Paris which had belonged to her mother. Designed for a fashionable society wedding in New York, the fabulous full-skirted creation was made of ivory satin with an exquisite lace bodice and train, as well as a gossamer veil to crown her upswept hair.
Sloan McCord’s disapproval of it was rather evident, however. And his hard, handsome face was set like granite as she murmured the words that would make her his wife. When she stole another glance at him, Heather felt her heart sink.
She should feel excitement on this, the most special day in a woman’s life. Excitement and hope and delight. Yet all she felt was trepidation.
She wished her father could have been present, and her mother as well. But were her father still alive, she would never have come to this difficult turning point in her life. And her mother had succumbed to an epidemic of pneumonia when Heather was fourteen, which had begun her father’s downhill spiral into despair—
Realizing how negative and disjointed her thoughts had become, Heather raised her chin and stiffened her spine. Women had been making this sort of bargain for centuries. She would not start complaining about her lot now.
A short while later she heard the minister pronounce them man and wife and give the groompermission to kiss the bride. Heather turned slowly, as if in a daze.
When her new husband raised her veil, her heart seemed to stop beating. She had almost forgotten this hard man’s intensity, his potency. For a moment those mesmerizing ice-blue eyes held hers in cool challenge.
Heather felt herself tense with nerves. She was too aware of Sloan’s body, the size and strength of it, the heat of his nearness.
The memory of his last devastating embrace.
She held her breath, wondering if he might repeat the episode, out of spite. She wouldn’t put it past him to create a scene to publicly embarrass her by forcing his passionate attentions on her rather than the chaste salutation expected of him.
The brush of his lips on hers, however, was remote and impersonal, and blessedly brief.
It was a further relief to be able to turn away and receive the congratulations of her friends.
Winnie was smiling through tears as she hugged Heather fervently. “I am so happy for you, dear,” she whispered. “This will be for the best, you’ll see.”
At the moment, Heather could see nothing of the kind, but she forced a smile and let Winnie lead the way to the dining room.
The wedding breakfast was delicious—ham and fried chicken and flaky croissants, hothouse strawberries, and clotted cream. Heather, however, scarcely tasted a bite as she sat beside her new husband at the lace-covered dining table. From time to time she glanced covertly at Sloan.
Her mother would not have approved of him, although her father might. Charles Ashford had liked independent, strong-minded men.
Her own feelings were more nebulous
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.
Heather’s three friends had seemed surprisingly awed and fascinated by her betrothed and disappointedby his insistence on catching the next train back to Colorado. Heather had been forced to explain that Sloan wished to return to his daughter and his ranch. She couldn’t, however, help but resent him a little for rushing her through the ceremony. Even if at the same time she wanted to get it over and done with.
Her friends had exclaimed in delight over her wedding dress, a Worth gown from Paris which had belonged to her mother. Designed for a fashionable society wedding in New York, the fabulous full-skirted creation was made of ivory satin with an exquisite lace bodice and train, as well as a gossamer veil to crown her upswept hair.
Sloan McCord’s disapproval of it was rather evident, however. And his hard, handsome face was set like granite as she murmured the words that would make her his wife. When she stole another glance at him, Heather felt her heart sink.
She should feel excitement on this, the most special day in a woman’s life. Excitement and hope and delight. Yet all she felt was trepidation.
She wished her father could have been present, and her mother as well. But were her father still alive, she would never have come to this difficult turning point in her life. And her mother had succumbed to an epidemic of pneumonia when Heather was fourteen, which had begun her father’s downhill spiral into despair—
Realizing how negative and disjointed her thoughts had become, Heather raised her chin and stiffened her spine. Women had been making this sort of bargain for centuries. She would not start complaining about her lot now.
A short while later she heard the minister pronounce them man and wife and give the groompermission to kiss the bride. Heather turned slowly, as if in a daze.
When her new husband raised her veil, her heart seemed to stop beating. She had almost forgotten this hard man’s intensity, his potency. For a moment those mesmerizing ice-blue eyes held hers in cool challenge.
Heather felt herself tense with nerves. She was too aware of Sloan’s body, the size and strength of it, the heat of his nearness.
The memory of his last devastating embrace.
She held her breath, wondering if he might repeat the episode, out of spite. She wouldn’t put it past him to create a scene to publicly embarrass her by forcing his passionate attentions on her rather than the chaste salutation expected of him.
The brush of his lips on hers, however, was remote and impersonal, and blessedly brief.
It was a further relief to be able to turn away and receive the congratulations of her friends.
Winnie was smiling through tears as she hugged Heather fervently. “I am so happy for you, dear,” she whispered. “This will be for the best, you’ll see.”
At the moment, Heather could see nothing of the kind, but she forced a smile and let Winnie lead the way to the dining room.
The wedding breakfast was delicious—ham and fried chicken and flaky croissants, hothouse strawberries, and clotted cream. Heather, however, scarcely tasted a bite as she sat beside her new husband at the lace-covered dining table. From time to time she glanced covertly at Sloan.
Her mother would not have approved of him, although her father might. Charles Ashford had liked independent, strong-minded men.
Her own feelings were more nebulous
Similar Books
