Heartless(106)

“Pardon my intrusion.” A voice as warm and soothing as melted chocolate slipped between them.

A shock jolted down Catherine’s spine. She fell silent, her lips hanging open.

“If the lady’s card isn’t full,” continued the voice, “might I request the honor of this next dance?”

Soft leather brushed against her upper arm. Her gaze fell, watching as a gloved hand pried Peter’s fingers off her, one by one. She was afraid to look up. Afraid to meet the speaker of the voice and find she was wrong.

For he couldn’t be here. Not even his bravado would have brought him here.

It was … impossible.





CHAPTER 40

CATH SLOWLY TURNED HER HEAD and dared to peer up at—not a joker. A gentleman.

He wore a fine-cut suit, all in black, with long coattails and a satin cravat, a black top hat and a face mask covered in silky raven feathers. Only his eyes defied the darkness of his ensemble. Bright as sunshine, yellow as lemon tarts.

As soon as he’d freed her from Peter’s grasp, he trailed the leather of his palmed glove over her bruised arm, like he wanted to rid her skin of Peter’s grip. Goose bumps followed where he touched.

Peter forced himself between them and Jest’s hand fell away. He was nearly a head shorter than the gigantic farmer, but there wasn’t a hint of intimidation as he met Peter’s glare.

“The lady and I,” Peter growled, “were having a conversation. So why don’t you mind your own—”

“That will be all, Sir Peter,” Cath said, trying to channel her mother’s domineering spirit. She noticed that people were watching them and had probably been watching since the moment Peter had accosted her. He was a sore thumb in their pristine world, after all.

But none of them had stepped forward to interrupt or defend her, no doubt hoping the drama would resolve itself.

“In fact, my dance card is quite empty,” she said, louder still, and threaded her arm around Jest’s elbow.

Jest tipped his hat to Peter and before there could be any argument, he was leading her onto the dance floor. Her heartbeat outpaced the music—still livid over Peter’s treatment of her, and afraid that Jest would be recognized at any moment. But mostly she was exhilarated.

He was here. He had come for her.

The fool had come.

She turned to face him. Their hands linked together and a waltz began. Her feet knew the steps, though she barely heard the music.

They were dancing, in front of everyone.

There was no alarm from the crowd. No guards were sent to apprehend him. There were no whispered rumors of his presence.

In this ballroom full of masks, no one would know it was him. It was easy to believe that he was nobility, like any of them. Not an entertainer, or a fool, or a wanted man. He was as refined a gentleman as any guest.

They pressed their palms together and turned in a half circle and Jest took the opportunity to dip his head toward her. “You seem surprised, my lady.”

She stifled a laugh and turned toward the next girl in line, twirled around, gripped loose hands with the lady’s partner and found herself returned into Jest’s waiting hands. “What are you doing here?” she whispered. “You’re…”

He grinned. “A wanted man?”

She ducked beneath the raised hands of the next couple. Rotated back. Curtsied.

“Exactly,” she said as her palm found Jest’s again.

“Good,” he said, his dimples showing, “I hoped you might still feel that way.”

They finished the rest of the dance in silence, and by the end of it Cath knew she was wearing a silly, dazed expression, but she couldn’t escape it. Jest leaned over her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckle, and in that touch she felt a slip of paper being pressed into her palm.

He stepped away, watching as she looked down at the piece of crumpled confetti, just like those he had once scattered across the ballroom.

On it was printed a tiny red heart.

She wrapped her fingers around it and looked up again. She swallowed hard, bracing herself. “I’m going to accept the King’s proposal.”

Jest’s face froze. They stood in agonizing silence, staring at each other for a long moment, too long, before the storm came into his gaze. He moved closer, his toes brushing against the hem of her gown. She had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.

“You promised,” he growled. “You promised that you wouldn’t.”

“That was before you ruined any chance we might have had of being accepted—by my parents or the court or the entire kingdom. They all think you’re a liar and a cheat. They all think you’re a villain.”

“I was trying to save your reputation,” he whispered back at her. “Besides, you made it clear at the festival that a courtship between us would never be accepted, no matter what I did.”

She licked her lips. His eyes followed the movement, creating a flutter in her stomach that was painful to ignore. “You’re right, it wouldn’t. Which is why I have to accept the King.”

Hurt crossed his face, drawing deep wrinkles across his brow. “Catherine—”

“Then, when I give you my heart, it will truly be the heart of a queen.”

He sucked in a breath and started to shake his head, but she plowed on.