‘The King . . .’ he started, and Cath flinched, glad that Jest was too busy inspecting the gloves to notice. ‘He truly cares for you. I think he honestly means to make you happy.’
She expected him to go on, but silence fell, and that seemed to be all he meant to say.
‘Are you telling me to accept him?’
‘No,’ he stammered. ‘I’m saying that if you did accept him, I would understand. I would be happy for you.’
She clenched her fists. ‘How comforting that at least one of us would be.’
Jest looked up at her again, his brow tight. ‘Something happened, down on the beach,’ he said, dropping the gloves on to a rock. ‘You came back from the quadrille looking like you’d seen a ghost.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She folded her arms protectively over her chest. ‘I entered a cake into the baking contest. I suppose I’m nervous about it.’
A weak smile slipped over his features. ‘I can’t believe that.’
‘What would you know about it? I can be nervous if I want to be.’
He shrugged. ‘We both know you’re going to win the contest.’
‘I do not either know it.’ She stood straighter. ‘I assume that I will win, yes, but that isn’t the same thing. And I’ll have you know that wasn’t much of a compliment.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be, but if it’s a compliment you want . . .’ His gaze softened. ‘You are stunning in that absurd hat. Absolutely, undeniably stunning. I trust that was Hatta’s goal, but he can’t know how well he accomplished it, else he would have deemed it improper to let you leave his hat shop so adorned.’ He hesitated and cleared his throat, looking almost shy. ‘That’s what I wanted to say before.’
She scoffed, but it was coupled with a quickened heartbeat. ‘You’re infuriating.’
‘You’re not the first to mention it.’ His momentary bashfulness turned to another maddening smile.
She squeezed her arms in tighter, still shielding herself, or perhaps in an effort to keep from reaching out to him. ‘You act as though you know me, but you don’t, not really. You don’t know what I like, or what I want, or what I dream about . . .’
‘You dream about me, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘I never should have told you that.’
His eyes glinted.
‘And all I know about you is that you sneak into girls’ bedrooms in the middle of the night and you take their corset laces when they’re unconscious and you seem to want me to accept the King but then you call me stunning or touch me when you shouldn’t. And you’re always laughing at me and you’re on some secret mission from the White Queen but I haven’t the faintest idea what that means and I can’t tell what’s real or what’s an illusion and I – I have to get back.’ She pivoted away from him. ‘Thank you for rescuing me from that crowd, but I do have to get back.’
‘I can’t stop thinking about you, either, Lady Pinkerton.’
Without having gone a single step, she felt her feet digging into the sand. This time, she didn’t dare turn around. She didn’t have to. A moment later he slipped in front of her, not touching her this time, but close enough that he could have.
The look he gave her was already peeling back her layers of fortitude. How dare he look as though he were nervous or afraid, when she was the one with a gavel thumping inside her chest?
‘That’s not what I said at all,’ she breathed.
‘I know, but I’m hoping it’s what you meant.’ He licked his lips – a small, cruel movement that made her own lips tingle. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you, Lady Catherine Pinkerton of Rock Turtle Cove. I’ve been trying, but it’s useless. You’ve had me mesmerized from the first moment I saw you in that red dress, and I don’t know what to do about it, other than to use every skill at my disposal to try and mesmerize you back.’
The wind whistled through the rocks, the waves whispered on the beach, and Catherine had no response.
He let his attention drop to the ground, and she was able to almost-breathe again. Jest reached up to scratch his temple, but seemed surprised to find his three-pointed hat there, so he whisked it off and the bells jingled and his hair was matted and messy and when he wasn’t looking directly at her he could pass as timid, though she found it hard to fathom.
Timid or arrogant, charming or infuriating, and Catherine was falling, falling, falling.
‘His Majesty keeps coming to me for advice.’ He looked up again, misery in his expression. ‘He seems to think I’m an expert on how best to court you. What to say, what gifts to send.’ He hesitated. ‘Of course I help him, because . . . well, I have to. But also, I sometimes pretend that it’s me, instead of him. I suggest he do the things that I would do, if I were . . . deserving of you.’
Her heart drummed. ‘You mean, if you were nobility.’
‘I mean.’ He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said, that there can be no more nights like . . . like the tea party. And you’re right. I was a terrible cad to sneak you around like that, and I know the harm that could be done. Not only because of the Jabberwock, but . . . the dangers to your reputation, and your courtship, and . . . it was selfish of me.’
‘I hope you’re not taking all the credit.’ Her voice held little of the fire she wanted it to. ‘I made the choice as well as you did.’