She glowered. ‘Don’t imagine you can tell me anything I don’t already know. I have given this much more consideration than you have.’
His gaze turned intense, peering into her as if he expected to find a weakness in her plan. She seemed to have rendered him speechless.
When the silence had dragged on for so long Cath found herself in danger of telling him everything – the fight with her parents, the deal she’d struck with the Duke, even how she’d gone to Hatta for help, which, now, knowing his ulterior motives, seemed painfully naïve – Catherine instead straightened her spine and forced herself to say, ‘I would ask you to take me home then. As you said, everyone will be worried, and I’m sure you must have much to do. Finding another heart to steal, stopping a war, and all of that.’
She still did not move.
He didn’t either.
Instead, Jest said, ‘Once you have your bakery’ – as if long minutes hadn’t dragged on since she’d made this confession to him – ‘and you’re no longer in danger of . . . of me. Would there be any way . . .’
Her pulse began to flutter, but she tried to keep her expression blank. She waited, not daring to hope. Not even sure that she should hope.
Jest licked his lips. ‘I understand if you’ll hate me forever, but if there were any way you could trust me again. No more lies, no more tricks . . .’ His knuckles whitened, his fingertips pressing into his knees. Cath found herself staring at those hands. The lithe fingers, tight with tension, showing more than his face would allow, telling her more than his words.
She was hoping, still hoping, no matter if she should or not.
She cocked her head to the side, and though she wanted to be flippant, she couldn’t. ‘Are you suggesting you would still want to court me, Sir Joker? A lowly baker, with no hope of being the queen?’
‘More than anything in this world, Lady Pinkerton.’
Her traitorous heart stuttered. ‘What of your mission?’
‘If there is no queen, there is no mission.’
‘And if the King should marry someone else?’
‘Another girl with a heart like yours? She doesn’t exist, not here in Hearts. I’m sure of it.’
Her brow knit together. ‘What of the White Queen? What of the war?’
Jest shrugged helplessly. ‘We could do nothing before and we can do nothing now.’ His shoulders sank. ‘Cath, there is nothing for me there. A never-ending war. Almost certain death. I’m not sure if I meant it before, but I mean it now. If I had a reason to stay in Hearts, I would. Hatta and Raven will probably hate me forever, or maybe they’ll stay too, I don’t know. But I would stay. For you. If you want me. If—’
‘I want you.’
Jest fell silent, his lips half formed around some new declaration.
Her breaths quickened. Her body hummed with nervous energy, renewed uncertainty, but there was no taking the words back, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
‘You have my heart, Jest. I don’t know if you deserve it or not. I can’t tell if you’re a hero or a villain, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Either way, my heart is yours.’
He stared at her, his eyes wide, burning, stunned. Her heart continued to pound. Her words hung in the space between them.
Finally, Jest whispered, ‘Now that you’ve said that, you must promise me you will reject the King.’
‘I promise,’ she said, without hesitation.
Relief washed over him, then he was on his knees, reaching for her hands. She gave them willingly, and his lips were on her fingertips, brushing over each one. ‘Catherine,’ he said, breathing her name into her palms. ‘Dear Catherine. I have wanted to kiss you from the moment you awoke in that rose garden.’
She licked her lips, a reflex, the result of a hundred daydreams. A hundred daydreams about him.
The glen was quiet but for the drum of her heart. Cath could imagine it. Everything about it. His lips, his arms. His body pressing her back on to the soft grass, the golden light of a timeless day cascading over them.
She curled her fingers over his. ‘Kiss me, then.’
She offered no resistance when he pulled her to her knees, trapping their interlaced fingers between their bodies. His nose brushed against hers.
‘My heart is yours,’ he whispered, sending a chill down her spine.
The corners of her lips lifted, in anticipation, in joy. ‘Do be careful, Sir Joker,’ she said, remembering Hatta’s riddle. ‘A heart, once stolen, can never be taken back.’
‘I know,’ he said, and kissed her – soft, at first. ‘But I’m giving it to you willingly.’ Another kiss, hesitant, growing bolder. ‘Catherine,’ he murmured against her, ‘you taste like treacle.’
Catherine grinned, delirious once more, and pulled him down on to the grass.
CHAPTER 37
CATHERINE WAS GIDDY when Jest’s mysterious tower of stone deposited them into the Crossroads – arms linked, faces flushed, and lungs full of laughter. Her hair was a tangled mess, her toes were uncomfortably cold on her one bare foot, and Cath had not known before what happiness was. Her whole body was smiling. She felt that she could step off the chequered-tile floor and fly up, up, up if she wasn’t careful.
They found the door to Rock Turtle Cove, and Jest opened it for her with an elaborate bow. ‘After you, my lady.’
She curtsied. ‘Why thank you, good sir,’ she said, dancing through the door and out on to the riverbank. The bridge above them was sullen and quiet, the air still but for the chirping of crickets and the crackle of lightning bugs.