Page 76 of Mail-Order Viscountess

Cumberland. And Viscount Balfour…

That was his own title since his knighting. But these men couldn’t be sending a telegram to him. He hadn’t lived in England since he was two years old.

Which meant they were contacting someone else who used that title.

Reginald.

His father’s cousin. The man who had tried to have Will kidnapped when they were children. The reason their mother had brought them to Montana in the first place—to escape his schemes.

“And what message would you like to send?” Mrs. Holbrook’s voice kept its pleasant tone.

Did she think the direction odd at all? She had to. The Holbrooks had lived in Walnut Springs from before his family arrived. She handled the occasional telegram they sent to their father for urgent business that couldn’t wait for a letter. She would recognize Cumberland.

Jake leaned against the counter. “Tell him we found our assignment right where he said it’d be. And tell him…”

The man paused, and Thomas pressed himself closer to the shelf, barely daring to breathe.

“Tell him we’ll finish the job within the day.”

Finish the job.

The words echoed in his head like gunshots.

These weren’t random troublemakers. These weren’t men who’d happened to be in Butte when Thomas walked into that saloon. They were assassins—hired by his father’s cousin to eliminate the Balfour heirs once and for all.

And they planned to do it today.

His mind raced. How had Reginald found them? They’d been so careful all these years, living quietly, avoiding attention. Had someone from the hunting party talked? Had the knighting ceremony drawn notice none of them anticipated?

It didn’t matter how. What mattered was that these men knew where the ranch was. Knew his brothers were there. And they were planning to attack.

Within the day.

He had to get home. Had to warn Enoch and James and Robert.

But first, he had to get out of this store without being seen.

He eased backward, keeping his movements slow and silent. The shelf of canned goods provided cover as he worked his way toward the front of the store.

Each step felt like an eternity. His pulse pounded in his ears, and every creak of the floorboards tightened his insides more.

Mrs. Holbrook was talking now, giving the fee and commenting on how long it took to send messages all the way to England.

He reached the door and kept his back to them as he eased the handle sideways. It took everything in him not to jump when the bell overhead sounded. Instead, he strode out and closed it behind him as if he didn’t care a whit.

Kate. He had to find Kate.

He scanned the street, his heart hammering against his ribs. There—halfway down the boardwalk, just emerging from Dr. Morrison’s office.

Relief flooded through him.

He strode toward her, forcing himself not to run. Running would draw attention. Running would make those men in the mercantile look out the window and see him. See her.

Kate’s expression shifted when she spotted him—confusion replacing whatever emotion had been there before. He must look half-wild.

“Thomas? What’s wrong?”

“We need to leave. Now.” He took her elbow, pulling her back toward the wagon.