Page 59 of Mail-Order Viscountess

“Yes.” Kate swallowed against the thickness in her throat. “Clara became the one person.”

A pause. Then, “And now you have me too.”

She hadn’t known how to respond to that. Hadn’t trusted herself to speak around the pressure in her chest.

But somehow, in the silence that followed, her hand had found his across the space between them. Just the lightest brush of fingers. A connection as fragile as spider silk.

They’d fallen asleep like that, barely touching. And when she awoke at dawn to find her hand still resting near his on the mattress, something had budded inside her.

Something terrifying. Something that felt almost like hope.

Now, in the bright light of midday, that midnight vulnerability felt distant. Unreal. She was Lady Katherine Balfour—the title still sat awkwardly on her shoulders—wife of a viscount, sister-in-law to three English lords turned Montana ranchers. She had a place in this household, work to do, people who seemed to value her presence.

It was more than she’d ever dared imagine for herself. It should be enough.

It was enough.

So why did some traitorous part of her keep wanting more?

The sound of boots on the porch scattered her thoughts. In the great room, the front door opened, followed by male voices—James and Robert, from the sound of it. Maybe Enoch too.

But no Thomas.

Kate’s hands stilled on the fabric, her ears straining even as she told herself not to. She’d become too attuned to the particular cadence of her husband’s voice, the way it carried differently than his brothers’.

Lower. Warmer.

The other women had slipped into action, gathering coffee cups and food they’d already prepared.

Kate set aside her work and stood to help. Mrs. Wang placed a tray of mugs in her hand and nodded toward the open door to the dining room. Kate followed Rose, who carried twin plates of sliced bread.

James entered the dining room first, stamping snow from his boots, followed by Robert and Enoch. They moved with the easy coordination of men who’d worked together their whole lives, unfastening coats and settling around the table while the rest of them laid out the simple meal—thick slices of bread, cheese, cold meat from last night’s supper, and a heaping pot of coffee.

She’d just started to turn back to the kitchen when Thomas stepped through the doorway.

He looked...different in the daylight. His copper-brown hair tousled from the wind, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He moved with that easy grace that was his own, all loose-limbed confidence, as though the world had been built specifically to accommodate him.

His eyes found hers across the crowded dining room, and warmth flickered in their depths.

Heat crept through her. This man. This incredibly handsome, far-too-charming man was hers.

Thomas broke the moment first, offering her that easy half-smile of his—the one she was beginning to realize hid more than it revealed. He crossed to the table and took a seat beside James, accepting a cup of coffee from Mandie with murmured thanks.

But his gaze kept drifting back to her.

And she didn’t return to the kitchen. Instead, poured coffee while Mandie laid out plates. Thomas’s gaze tracked her progress, the weight of it like a physical touch. She had to work to keep her hands from trembling.

“How are the new horses settling in?” Mandie laid a dish in front of her husband.

Enoch smiled his thanks. “Well enough. The bay mare’s still skittish, but Thomas has been working with her.”

“She just needs patience.” Thomas leaned back in his chair. “She’ll come around.”

James snorted. “You always say that. Hopefully she won’t turn out like that stallion.”

“She won’t.” Thomas’s tone was light, but there was a slight tightening around his eyes. She was learning to read the small signs—the places where his easy charm was a mask rather than a mirror.

The conversation continued as they all sat to eat, ranch talk she only half followed—something about feed stores and the condition of the north pasture and whether the early March thaw would hold.