Free The Heart Breaker by Nicole Jordan

resignation and perhaps wistfulness, Heather went to the car window to watch as the huge iron vehicle slowly gathered speed, carrying her to a new life. Filled with sadness and misgiving, she waved until her dear friend was out of sight.
    Then she turned away from the window and sat down to await her new husband.

Chapter 4

    H e was a long while in coming. By the time Sloan deigned to join her in the private car, dusk had fallen. The porter had lit the lamps and cleared away the tea tray he’d obligingly brought earlier.
    Heather was quietly reading while occasionally sipping a glass of wine to steady her nerves, which thrummed like the vibrating iron wheels of the train.
    As she looked up, her husband of a few hours shut the car door gingerly, muffling the whistle of the wind and the groaning chug-chug of the steam engine. He still wore his wedding suit, but he’d draped his buckskin overcoat over one arm and carried his hat. When Sloan turned to face her, she recognized the half-empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers.
    Heather tensed. Sloan was staring at her watchfully, his eyes narrowed and cool. Filled with dismay, she forced her own gaze back to the leather-bound volume in her lap. Apparently he was still angry at her for accepting the use of Randolf’s private car.
    Without a word, Sloan tossed his coat and hataside and sauntered past her to settle in a crimson armchair, opposite the chaise longue where she sat. Heather caught the scent of whiskey and cigar smoke, not unpleasant, and tried to ignore it.
    Several moments later, she started when his cool voice broke the silence.
    “Care to tell me what you find such fascinating reading?”
    She did not look up.
“Emile
by Rousseau. It is a treatise on education.”
    “In French?” His eyebrow lifted. “So, I married a bluestocking as well as a duchess?”
    Heather felt herself stiffen at the derogatory term. “Merely because a woman possesses a measure of scholarship and intellectual curiosity is no reason to be disparaging.”
    “Your taste doesn’t surprise me. I didn’t think you’d be the type to prefer novels.”
    She shrugged. “It serves to pass the time—considering the present lack of congenial company.”
    At her barb, Sloan took a swig from the whiskey bottle.
    “Should you be drinking so much?” Heather commented as she finally lifted her gaze to his.
    His mouth curled mockingly at her question. “Not only a bluestocking, a reformer in the bargain.”
    “They mean to serve dinner in a short while.”
    “I know. It comes with the car. I paid for it.”
    She fell silent, but Sloan felt her gaze searching his face. Still riled at the unnecessary expense of the private car, he averted his own gaze to survey his surroundings. The fancy accommodations had put him further in debt, to the tune of several hundred dollars. It was masculine pride that had spurred him to refuse Randolf’s gift. That, and a desire to quash the baron’s efforts at manipulation.He wanted to be rid of the man for good, to get him out of Heather’s life entirely. Didn’t want him having anything to do with his wife. Heather belonged to
him
now. Whether he wanted her or not.
    She was still looking at him, her brow furrowed with concern. “How much did you spend for the car?”
    “What does it matter?”
    “I want to know how much more I’m obligated to you.”
    “Three hundred dollars.”
    She made a small sound of dismay. “So much?”
    “You’re the one who insisted on accepting it.”
    “But you didn’t have to pay for it. There was no need.”
    “There was every need. I won’t be indebted to a man like Randolf.”
    “Evan meant the use of his car as a wedding gift, an acknowledgment of our long acquaintance.”
    “No. He meant it to keep you bound to him. He still thinks he has a claim to you.” Sloan’s gaze scorched her. “You’re my wife now, duchess, and I’ll thank you to remember it.”
    Heather’s spine straightened. “I