Page 30 of Mail-Order Viscountess

“My father has a cousin. Reginald Balfour.” Even the name tasted foul. “He wanted Father’s title—the dukedom—and he didn’t care how he got it. First he tried to discredit our mother. Attacked her Scottish heritage, her Catholic faith. Claimed it made her and her sons unfit heirs.”

Kate’s fingers tightened against his. She said nothing, but the tension in her hand told him she was listening with every fiber.

“When that didn’t work, Reginald had my oldest brother kidnapped. Will was just a boy.” He kept the words flat, stripped of the emotion that still churned beneath whenever he thought of it. “Father’s men found him within a day, but that was enough. Our father sent us here with our mother and the Wangs—our housekeeper and her husband—to keep us safe. An ocean between us and Reginald.”

“Where is your mother now?”

His throat tightened. “She died two years later. By the time Father considered bringing us home, we’d all grown to love this place more than we ever loved England.”

The silence that followed held a different quality than before—not the sharp-edged tension of their earlier exchanges, but something heavier. Sadder. Kate’s thumb moved once across his knuckles, a small gesture she might not even realize she’d done.

“So the Balfour name didn’t just give you a title,” she said quietly. “It cost you a mother and a homeland.”

The words landed somewhere deep in his chest, in a place he usually kept locked. He swallowed against the ache and forced himself back to the story he’d been telling—the one that mattered more right now than old wounds from childhood.

“Anyway, I went to Fort Benton to meet Lord Weldon’s party. They’d set up camp outside the fort—wanted the frontier experience.” He didn’t succeed at keeping the bitterness from his voice. “We were three days into the hunting expedition when a grizzly wandered into camp.”

Kate’s breathing went shallow, her attention fixed on his face.

“It was dusk. Most of the party had gathered near the fire for dinner. I was checking my horse when I heard the screaming.” The memory rose sharp—the raw terror in those voices, the way his pulse kicked into his throat. “The bear went straight for Lord Weldon. Just charged through the camp like the rest weren’t even there.”

His hands had started to shake. He pressed them against Kate’s side, using her warmth to anchor himself in the present.

“Lord Weldon’s valet—a man named Charles—he tried to stop it. Threw himself between the bear and his lord.” Thomas’s throat tightened. “I grabbed my rifle. But my hands shook so badly I nearly dropped it. The bear swiped at Charles, sent him flying. Then it turned toward Weldon again.”

The fire crackled, and somewhere beyond their shelter the wind shrieked. Yet the echo of that grizzly’s roar still vibrated through his body.

“I fired. Hit it in the shoulder. Should have aimed for the head or the heart, but I panicked. The bear turned on me instead.” His chest clenched so hard, he had to remind himself to draw breath. “It charged, and I—I froze. Just stood there like a simpleton while death came at me on four legs.”

He could still feel the paralyzing fear, but something about the dark and the cold and the way her hand still rested in his made it easier to break through.

“Charles threw himself at the bear again. Gave me time to get another shot off. This one hit the heart.” He’d managed to make his voice flat now. Feeling these emotions would make him too raw. “The bear went down. Everyone cheered. Called me a hero. Said I’d saved Lord Weldon’s life.”

“But Charles?”

“Died three hours later from his wounds.” Thomas couldn’t make himself meet her gaze. “While I sat in a tent drinking brandy with Lord Weldon, being congratulated for my bravery. They gave me a knighthood. Threw a ceremony in Fort Benton with the territorial governor in attendance. Made speeches about courage and honor.”

He forced air out through the rock on his chest. “The whole time, all I could think about was Charles’s face. The way he looked at me before he threw himself at that bear the second time. Like he knew. Like he’d accepted he was going to die so I wouldn’t have to.”

“Your brothers don’t know?”

“They know Charles died. They know I was knighted. They think...” He had to stop and breathe through the pressure building in his chest. “I guess they were hoping it would settle me down. Then when it only made it worse…”

Kate’s fingers tightened around his, and he finally made himself look at her face.

He expected disgust. Judgment. Confirmation of what he already knew—that he was a fraud wearing a title he hadn’t earned.

Instead, her eyes held something that looked almost like understanding.

“You think you don’t deserve the knighthood because someone else died.” Her voice carried no accusation, just simple observation. “You think going to California will let you escape the guilt.”

“I think staying here means living with everyone believing I’m something I’m not.” It was hard to speak through the lump in his throat. “My brothers look at me like I finally did something worthwhile. Like the knighthood proves I’m not just the reckless youngest anymore. But they’re wrong. I’m the same person who froze when it mattered. Charles was the brave one, and he’s dead while I get to wear a title and pretend I earned it.”

“And now you’re trying to earn what you think you didn’t deserve.”

The words landed like a fist to his already-bruised ribs. They’d known each other less than two days, spent most of that time arguing or trapped by circumstances. Yet somehow she’d looked past his easy smiles and deflections straight to the rot underneath.

“I froze. When it mattered most, I froze. And a good man died because of it.”