Page 10 of Mail-Order Viscountess

“I apologize for my appearance.” He kept his voice level despite the way his jaw ached with each word. “There was an altercation earlier. Nothing to do with—” He gestured vaguely at the table, at the situation, at the disaster his brothers had created. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Kate McKinney’s eyebrow climbed. “An altercation.”

The way she said it—flat and disbelieving—made it sound like he’d claimed the sun rose in the west.

“A disagreement that got out of hand.” He met her gaze and held it, though something about those hazel eyes made him want to look away. “I was helping someone. It escalated.”

“Helping someone.” She repeated his words again, stripping them of meaning through her clear skepticism.

“Yes.” He spoke a little too forcefully. Something about her tone—the way she made everything sound like an accusation—set his teeth on edge. “A girl was being mistreated. I intervened.”

“How noble.” Still that flat delivery, though her fingers had moved to rest on her sister’s arm. Protective. Possessive, even.

So similar to Jake's movements in the saloon and yet entirely different. Gentle where Jake’s had been brutal, reassuring where his had been controlling.

Still. The comparison lodged in his mind and wouldn’t shake loose.

Rose cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should order some food? I’m sure you ladies are hungry after your journey.”

“We’re fine, thank you.” Kate’s words cut across Rose’s suggestion. She leaned forward, and he had the distinct impression of being pinned by a hawk. “Mr. Balfour, I think we need to discuss the nature of this arrangement.”

His stomach dropped. She knew. Somehow she already knew this whole thing was a sham.

He glanced at James, but his brother’s face had gone blank. No help there.

“The nature of the arrangement.” He repeated the words to buy himself time to think. His cheek throbbed, and the pain made it hard to focus. “Yes. We should discuss that.”

Clara’s hand moved to clutch her sister’s arm now, fingers white-knuckled against the dark fabric. Her face had gone pale beneath the travel dust, and something about that look—hopeful and terrified in equal measure—made his chest tighten.

She’d come all this way believing in something that didn’t exist. Believing in him, or at least the version of him his brothers had invented in their letters.

“Miss McKinney—both of you—there’s something you need to know.” The words tasted foul. He’d never been good at disappointing people. That was supposed to be his gift—the charm that smoothed over rough situations, the easy smile that made people like him even when they shouldn’t.

But there was no charming his way out of this mess.

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“I didn’t know about this arrangement.” The confession came out blunt and graceless. “My brothers made it without consulting me. I never wrote those letters. I never asked for—” He stopped himself before he could say something truly rude. “A bride.”

The words landed like stones in still water. Clara’s face crumpled—just for a moment before she caught herself.

But he saw it. The hope draining away, replaced by something that looked like humiliation.

His throat tightened. This was worse than getting punched. At least with Jake’s fists, the pain had been clean and straightforward.

“You didn’t know.” Kate’s voice hadn’t changed—still that same flat skepticism—but her fingers tightened on Clara’s arm. “Your brothers arranged a marriage without telling you.”

“That’s correct.” The admission burned worse than the cut on his cheek.

James shifted in his seat, and Thomas could feel his brother preparing to launch into some explanation. Some attempt to smooth this over and make it all sound reasonable.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“My brothers—all three of them—decided I needed settling.” The words came easier now that he’d started. Like lancing a wound. “They wrote the letters. Made the promises. Set up this whole arrangement without telling me.”

Clara made a small sound—not quite a gasp, not quite a sob—and pressed her hand to her mouth. Her eyes had gone bright and glassy.

Thomas forced himself to hold Kate’s gaze rather than look at her sister’s devastation. Cowardly, maybe, but he couldn’t bear to see what his honesty did to her.