Page 46 of Mail-Order Viscountess

The thought, the possible idea of giving over control, made fear surge in her throat. Clawing.

She forced it back. Forced herself to think. What questions should she ask? What details did she need to know to make the best decision?

Only one rose up. She swallowed so she could form the word. “Why?”

Thomas blinked. “Why what?”

“Why would you do this?”

His brow furrowed. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

The right thing. The statement landed hard, though his tone held no cruelty. Just honesty—the same bare honesty he’d shown in the cave when he told her about Charles and the grizzly.

“The right thing.” She worked to keep emotion from her voice. “So this is about honor? About fixing the damage to my reputation?”

“Partly.” He didn’t look away, didn’t soften the truth with pretty words. “I won’t lie to you, Kate. What Hartwell saw—what he’ll say—it matters. Marriage would restore your reputation. Give you and Clara security. But that’s not the only reason.”

“Then what is?”

He stayed quiet a long moment, and his gaze dropped to his hands. When he looked up again, something raw flicked in his hazel eyes. “Because when I think about you leaving—going back to Columbia or even just staying here as a guest—something in my chest feels wrong. And when I think about you marrying me, about building a life together...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. But it doesn’t feel like a trap. It feels like maybe—maybe it could be real.”

The confession hung between them, vulnerable in a way she wouldn’t have expected from Thomas Balfour. This man, who sometimes used charm like armor, who deflected with easy humor whenever conversations grew too serious—he’d just stripped that away and shown her his true self. A part of him anyway.

Her hands trembled around the coffee cup. She set it on the table before she spilled the drink.

“You’re still planning to go to California.” It took everything in her to keep her emotions controlled as she spoke.

His jaw tightened. “I was. But plans can change.”

That should have brought relief. Instead, everything inside her pulled tighter, coiling like a spring wound too hard.

“Can they?” She held his gaze. Locked into his so he would hear her next words. “I won’t be your obligation, Thomas. I won’t be the weight that drags you down from your dreams just because you feel guilty about a storm neither of us could control.”

“That’s not—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through his composure. “You think this is guilt?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.” His voice came out fierce. Then softer. “It’s not guilt.”

“Then what is it?”

He hesitated a long moment. Outside, a bird called—bright and sharp in the cold morning air. “I don’t know how to explain it.” He turned to look toward the window, his profile sharp against the morning light. “I’ve spent months planning my escape. California was supposed to be freedom—a place where no one knew about the title I didn’t earn or the man who died because I froze when I should have acted. A fresh start where I could build a life that was mine alone.”

Her insides knotted tighter. The last thing she wanted was to take that fresh start away from him.

“But then there was you.” He looked back at her, and the intensity in his expression made her forget how to breathe. “Prickly and stubborn and so determined to protect your sister, you’d cross the entire country to give her a better chance. You looked at me in that cave and called me brave when I felt like anything but.”

He turned to face her fully. “I’m not offering this out of guilt, Kate. I’m offering it because I’ve come to respect you, and I think we could build a good life together. I can’t promise you love.” His eyes nearly shimmered with the earnestness in his voice. As though he wanted her to hear the nuance of every word. “Not yet. I don’t know if I even know what that looks like. But I can promise you partnership. Respect. A home that’s yours as much as mine, not charity or dependence but something we build together.”

The tightness in her throat made it almost impossible to swallow.

Everything in her should want to pull back, to protect herself from wanting something good that could be taken away. But she couldn’t bring herself to turn away.

She drew in a shaky breath, then another. The walls she’d spent years building—stone by careful stone—trembled under the weight of what he was offering.

Partnership. Not rescue. Not obligation. Something they would forge together.

Thomas Balfour had proven himself a good man. He didn’t hold back the truth, even when it was hard. But he didn’t intentionally hurt with his words. He’d protected her over and over since that first meeting in the cafeteria. From the way he’d given the hard truth, to every one of his actions in the storm. Even this offer of marriage now proved his integrity.