Page 33 of Mail-Order Viscountess

She couldn’t let herself care.

“The storm stopped.” She kept her tone as level as his, as though they hadn’t spent the night wrapped around each other. As though she hadn’t lain beside him while he shared about Charles and the grizzly.

“Hours ago, from the looks of it.” Thomas crouched by the fire, poking at the flames with a stick. He didn’t look at her. “Sun’s been up a while.”

She moved to join him, her legs unsteady as blood flow returned to her feet. “How long do you think it will take to find the others?”

“Less than an hour probably. We should be able to cross above the waterfall, then it’s just a matter of getting back to the main trail. I suspect they all spent the night at the Walton place, about a quarter hour from the river.”

The Walton place. She didn’t know who Walton was—probably some rancher or settler who’d carved out a life in these mountains. But knowing Clara had shelter made the knot in her chest loosen a little.

“We should go then.” She moved toward her cloak, now piled beside their makeshift bed. The fabric had dried stiff, but it would be better than nothing.

Thomas finally looked at her, and something flickered in his expression before his features went guarded again. “You should eat something first. I have jerky in my coat pocket.”

Her stomach clenched—hunger she’d been ignoring. But the thought of sitting here, drawing out this strange intimacy while pretending last night hadn’t happened, made her want to bolt into the snow.

“I’m fine.” She fastened her cloak with fingers that fumbled more than they should. “Clara’s been alone all night. I need to get to her.”

“She hasn’t been alone.” His voice carried an edge now, frustration bleeding through the careful tone. “Rose and James were with her. She’s probably had a hot meal and a warm bed while we’ve been freezing in a cave.”

The words stung more than they should have. She tightened her jaw as she finished with the clasp. “I’m aware your family is taking care of her. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s probably terrified something happened to me.”

Thomas stood, the movement stiff despite his attempt to hide it. “You’re right.” The fight drained from his voice as quickly as it had appeared. “Let me put out the fire, and we’ll go.”

He kicked snow over the flames, the hiss and steam rising between them like a wall. The silence felt different than it had last night—heavier now, weighted with all the things they’d said and couldn’t unsay.

He gathered his coat from the ground and shrugged into it, his face tightening as the movement pulled at his ribs. She looked away before he could catch her watching.

They left the hollow without speaking, stepping between the ice curtain and the rocky cliff. Ahead, the blinding white of sun on snow glared so sharp, she had to raise a hand to shield her eyes.

The snow crunched beneath their boots as they rounded the frozen cascade. Thomas moved ahead of her, his shoulders hunched against the cold, breath forming white clouds in the crisp morning air.

The world had transformed overnight. Snow blanketed everything in pristine white, unmarred except for the tracks of some small animal that had ventured out at dawn. The river stretched ahead, its surface a solid sheet of white where yesterday’s break had already been covered by fresh snowfall.

A horse’s whinny cut through the stillness.

She snapped her head toward the sound. There—at the river’s edge, perhaps twenty strides downstream—sat a man on horseback. Dark coat. Expensive by the cut of it, even from this distance. The horse beneath him was a fine bay gelding, the kind that cost more than most families earned in a year.

Recognition slammed into her chest.

Edmund Hartwell.

“Who is that?” Thomas had stopped beside her, his attention following her gaze.

She couldn’t answer. Her throat had closed around the words as Mr. Hartwell turned his horse toward them. Even across the distance, she could see the moment he recognized her—the way his posture shifted from casual observation to rigid attention.

The horse picked its way through the snow, each step deliberate as they came closer.

Kate’s pulse hammered against her ribs. What was he doing out here?

Mr. Hartwell reined his horse to a stop a few strides away, his gaze sweeping from Kate to Thomas and back again. His silver hair caught the morning light, perfectly styled despite the weather, and his dark coat showed barely a wrinkle. Even his gloves looked pristine—expensive leather that had probably never seen a day of real work.

“Miss McKinney.” His voice carried the same cultured tone it had when he spoke during the stage ride. But underneath it ran something cold. “I must say, this is quite unexpected.”

She forced herself to stand straighter, to meet his gaze without flinching. “Mr. Hartwell. What brings you out in this weather?”

“I might ask you the same question.” His attention shifted to Thomas, lingering on the bruised face and rumpled clothes with obvious distaste. “Though I believe I’m beginning to understand the situation.”