Chapter 18
The wedding breakfast had stretched into early afternoon, a blur of laughter and stories and Mrs. Wang’s seemingly endless supply of food. Thomas smiled through all of it, playing the part of the happy groom—which wasn’t difficult, really. He was happy.
He just didn’t quite know what to do about it.
Now that the celebration had finally wound down, he needed to find Kate. She’d slipped away sometime between Mrs. Wang’s third course and Enoch’s surprisingly heartfelt speech about their family growing stronger.
As the jade silk of her dress had disappeared around the corner, something had tightened in his chest.
His wife.
The words still felt foreign, like wearing a new pair of boots that hadn’t quite broken in yet.
Kate Balfour. Lady Balfour, technically, though she might not want to use the title any more than he did his own.
She’d slipped away from the great room perhaps a half hour ago, Clara following close behind. Probably needing a moment to breathe after all the attention.
He knew that need well—the desire to escape when too many eyes watched, too many voices offered congratulations he didn’t really deserve.
Now he finally had a chance to spend time with his bride. Maybe do some proper courting, even if they’d gotten the order backward by marrying first.
He’d been thinking about tonight too. About what she might expect. What he should say.
He’d decided not to push. Not to assume.
They’d married to protect her reputation, yes, but also because they’d both felt something worth exploring. That deserved time. Deserved the chance to grow without the pressure of obligations neither of them was ready for. Well…an obligation she might not be ready for anyway.
He’d tell her that. Make sure she knew he didn’t expect her to share his bed until they were both ready.
He checked the great room first, then the kitchen, where Mrs. Wang shooed him away with a wooden spoon and a knowing smile that made heat climb the back of his neck. Not in the parlor. Not on the porch.
He climbed the stairs two at a time. Kate had been sharing Clara’s room since they’d arrived at the ranch—the same guest chamber their mother had once kept for visiting relatives.
He paused outside the door and ran a hand through his hair. Then knocked.
Footsteps approached, lighter than Kate’s purposeful stride. The door opened to reveal Clara, her honey-blonde hair slightly mussed and her warm hazel eyes widening at the sight of him.
“Thomas.” She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. “If you’re looking for Kate, she’s not here.”
“Do you know where she went?”
A small smile played at Clara’s lips—the same knowing expression Mrs. Wang had worn. Did all women share some secret language?
“She’s taken her things to your room.” Clara’s grin widened at whatever she saw on his face. “About twenty minutes ago.”
Thomas blinked. “She—my room?”
“Your room.” Clara tilted her head, studying him a bit too much like her older sister did. “I suppose it’s her room now too.”
Of course she had. Because he hadn’t talked to her yet about his plan.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
He turned and strode toward his own chamber. She’d moved her things without discussion. Without waiting for him to offer or even ask. She’d simply done what she believed was expected, because that’s who Kate was. Someone who faced hard things head-on, chin lifted.
The door to his room stood slightly ajar.
He tapped on the wood as he eased it open. “Kate?”
She stood by the window, her back to him, still wearing the green silk dress that made her blonde hair shimmer. Her trunk sat at the foot of his bed, and a smaller valise rested on the chair near the wardrobe.
She turned at his voice. The way the soft afternoon light framed her figure made his mouth go dry. She was stunning.
His wife was stunning.
A few rich blonde strands had escaped her chignon to curl against her neck. The sight made his fingers itch to touch, to trace the line of her throat, to—
He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus. “I didn’t expect you to move your things so quickly.”
“It seemed the logical step.” Her voice carried that practical edge, the one she used when she was nervous but refused to show it. “We’re married after all.”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The click of the latch sounded too loud in the quiet room. “I wanted to talk to you about...arrangements.”
Something flickered across her face—too quick to read. She folded her hands in front of her. Braced. Ready.
It made his chest ache.
“Kate.” He moved closer, stopping when three strides still separated them. “We don’t have to—that is, I don’t expect—” He blew out a breath. Usually words came easily. Usually he could charm his way through any awkward situation.
But this mattered too much.
Her chin lifted. “I’m aware of my duties as a wife, Thomas. You don’t need to—”
“That’s not what I mean.” He held up a hand. “Kate, I’m not going to push myself on you. I won’t even ask you to share my bed until we’ve had time to know each other better.”
Her brows drew together. “But we’re married.”
“We are.” He took another step closer, searching her face for any sign she understood.
“And I plan on being married to you for the rest of my life. That’s a long time.
You deserve the chance to get to know me before we.
..” He nodded toward the bed and did his best to fight down the heat climbing up his neck. “Before we do anything more.”
Confusion flashed through her eyes. And was that…hurt? Her hands smoothed down the front of her dress. A nervous gesture, no doubt. He was making a muddle of this.
“I committed to this marriage.” That determined edge returned to her voice. “I’ll fulfill my obligations.”
Obligations. The word twisted a knot in his gut.
“Kate, I’m not asking you to fulfill obligations. I’m asking you to let this develop naturally. Without pressure. Without feeling like you owe me something just because we spoke vows.”
Her jaw tightened, and the elegant lines of her neck flexed. “You’re saying you don’t want—” She stopped as her cheeks turned pink. “You don’t want me in your bed.”
“That’s not—” He dragged a hand through his hair. Surely she didn’t actually think that. “Kate, of course I want you. That’s not what I mean.”
Her jaw tightened. “Then what else do you want?”
The question hung between them, raw and honest in a way that stripped away every easy answer he might have given.
What did he want?
He wanted her to look at him the way she had in the cave—like he was someone worth trusting.
He wanted to earn the right to touch her, to hold her, to make her his in truth.
He wanted her to choose him, not because circumstances forced her hand, but because she wanted to.
He swallowed. Could he say all that? Would it overwhelm her? Instead of taking the pressure off, would it simply add more?
He focused on the easiest part of it. “I want you willing, not dutiful. I want you to come to me because you choose to, not because you think it’s expected.”
She stared at him, her hazel eyes searching his face with an intensity that saw everything. “I don’t understand you.” Or maybe not everything.
He almost smiled, though his pulse hammered against his ribs. “That’s exactly my point. We barely know each other. You don’t understand me, and I certainly don’t understand you yet. But I’d like to. I’d like us to have the chance to build something real before we...”
“Consummate the marriage.” She said it flatly, like stating a business transaction.
His chest tightened. “Yes.”
She pulled back. Maybe not in physical distance. But a wall dropped over her eyes, shuttering her feelings away from him. “I’ll move my things back to Clara’s room then.”
He’d hurt her. In trying to be noble, once again, he’d messed up.
He had to fix it. Now.
He stepped sideways to block her from moving around him. “Kate, I would be honored—truly honored—if you would share this room with me. I won’t touch you until we’re both ready, but I’d love your company.”
She paused and eyed him. He held his breath, praying she could see his sincerity. For a long moment, she simply stared at him.
Then it came—just a flicker, there and gone. A shadow of relief passing through her eyes before she hid it.
He’d made the right choice.
“You mean that.” It wasn’t quite a question.
“I do.” He allowed a small smile. “Seems I’m saying that a lot today.”
The corner of her mouth twitched—not quite a grin, but close enough. Some of the tension eased from her shoulders.
“Very well.” She inclined her head in that formal way she had, like a queen accepting the terms of a treaty. “I appreciate your...consideration.”
It wasn’t consideration—it was simple decency, the bare minimum any man should offer his wife. But Kate had likely known too little of decency in her life to recognize it as standard rather than unusual.
So instead, he just nodded. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Take whatever space you need in the wardrobe. Just move my clothes over or set them aside.”
He escaped before he could say anything else foolish. Before he could tell her how beautiful she’d looked walking down the stairs. Before he could admit that the taste of her lips during their wedding kiss had kept him distracted through the entire breakfast.
Time. They both needed time.
A few hours later, he stood in the hallway outside his own bedchamber door again. He’d become like a stranger in his own home.
He’d given Kate time to prepare for bed, staying overlong in the great room to sit by the dying fire and pretend to read. James had given him an odd look. Robert raised an eyebrow. Mrs. Wang had pressed a cup of warm milk into his hands with a sympathetic pat that somehow made everything worse.
Now the house had settled into nighttime quiet—just the creak of old timbers and the distant howl of wind across the mountains. The strip of light beneath his door had dimmed, suggesting Kate already extinguished most of the lamps.
He was regretting his noble promise.
Not because he intended to break it—he’d meant every word. But standing here in the cold hallway, knowing his wife waited on the other side of that door, knowing he would lie beside her all night without touching her...
God had a sense of humor, clearly.
He raised his hand and knocked on his own door.
“Come in.” The wood muffled Kate’s voice.
He turned the handle and stepped inside.
The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp on the bedside table turned down to its lowest setting. Kate already lay in bed, the quilts pulled up to her chin, her honey blonde hair in a much looser braid than her usual tight style.
She looked...
What was the right word? Beautiful, yes. But more than that. Soft in a way Kate almost never allowed herself to appear. Younger. More vulnerable.
The sight hit him somewhere beneath his sore ribs.
Thank you. The prayer rose from a little-used part of him. I don’t deserve her, but thank you for this woman.
His bed was positioned against the wall—had been since he was a boy, when he’d liked having something solid on one side so he didn’t roll off. Kate had scooted all the way over to that wall, leaving as much space between her and his side as the double mattress allowed.
He should say something charming. Something to ease the tension that hung thick as woodsmoke in the air.
In his mind, he’d imagined making some kind of show of preparing for bed—removing his cravat with exaggerated flourish, perhaps, or commenting on the quality of Mrs. Wang’s quilting.
Something to prove he was perfectly comfortable, perfectly at ease, perfectly unbothered by the presence of a beautiful woman in his bed.
But looking at Kate now—at the way her fingers clenched the edge of the quilt, at the careful blankness of her expression that didn’t quite hide the wariness beneath—he couldn’t bring himself to perform.
She looked more vulnerable than he’d ever seen Kate McKinney—Kate Balfour—look.
So he simply moved to the other side of the bed. Removed his boots. Shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the chair. Kept his shirt and trousers on, though he normally changed into a nightshirt.
“Do you want me to turn out the lamp?” he asked quietly.
“Please.”
He blew out the flame. Darkness swallowed the room, broken only by thin moonlight seeping through the window curtains. The bed ropes creaked as he lowered himself onto the tick, staying carefully on his side, leaving space between them.
The quilts smelled a little like lavender. Kate’s doing, perhaps, or Mrs. Wang’s thoughtfulness.
Silence settled over them like snow.
He stared at the far wall he couldn’t see. Behind him, Kate’s breathing barely sounded—far too controlled to be natural.
He should let her rest. Should keep his mouth shut and his eyes closed and pray that exhaustion eventually claimed them both.
Instead, he said, “You know, you’re Lady Balfour now.”
A pause.
“What?”
“Lady Balfour.” He turned his head toward her, though he could barely make out her shape in the darkness. “That’s your title. Since we’re married.”
More silence. When she spoke again, her voice held a note of confusion. “I...hadn’t considered that.”
“It’s true.” He couldn’t quite keep the smile from his voice. “You’re a viscountess now. Married into the English peerage.”
The blanket rustled as she shifted. “That feels...strange.”
“Welcome to the madness.” He kept the words light, no matter how much truth lay beneath them. The absurdity of titles and bloodlines had chafed at him for years. “Though I have to say, Lady Katherine Balfour has a rather nice ring to it.”
“Kate.” She spoke almost automatically. “Just Kate.”
“Kate.” He let her name settle on his tongue, simple and strong. Like the woman herself. “Just Kate. Viscountess of these Montana mountains.”
A sound escaped her—something that might have been a laugh, quickly suppressed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’ve been told.”
The darkness didn’t weigh as much now. Some of the tension had eased from the air between them, replaced by a sense of companionship.
“Go to sleep, Thomas.” Kate’s voice had softened.
“Yes, my lady.”
This time, the sound she made was definitely a laugh.
He smiled into the darkness and closed his eyes. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his wedding night. But lying here beside Kate—the warmth of her presence drifting across the distance between them, hearing the quiet rhythm of her breathing—he didn’t mind at all.
They had time.