Heartless(45)

“I don’t keep a very large supply of rocks up here.” A sudden bout of heat rushed up her throat, realizing that he was right. There was a boy at her window. At night. They were alone—excepting his Raven friend, at least. She frowned. “Though if you’re insinuating that I might have questionable morals, you are sadly mistaken.”

His eyes widened. “That’s not—” He paused, and suddenly started to chuckle. “It was intended as a kindness, I assure you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Either way, I think you’re wrong. I’m not different. I’m…”

He waited.

She swallowed, hard, a twitch starting in her cheek. “What do you mean by that, anyway? Calling me different.”

“It’s true. I knew it from the moment I saw you twirling at the ball, your arms raised as if you hadn’t a care in all the world.”

She blinked.

“Of all those ladies and all those gentlemen, you were the only one who twirled.”

“You saw that?”

“In that gown, it would have been difficult not to.”

She wrinkled her nose. “My mother chose it. She thought it would be my engagement ball. I honestly had no idea.”

“I see that now.” He squinted at her and opened his mouth once to speak, but closed it again.

Catherine swallowed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s true.” He lowered himself on the branch, like a cat ready to spring. “Lady Pinkerton, have you ever been to a real tea party?”

“Oh, countless.”

“No, my lady, not like at the castle today. I mean, a real one.”

The question crystallized between them as Catherine shifted through all the parties, galas, gatherings she’d attended over the years, and she couldn’t fathom what he meant.

“I … I suppose I’m not sure.”

He smiled, a little mischievously. “Would you like to?”





CHAPTER 17

SHE DUCKED INTO the washroom under the guise of tying back her hair. Her heart was dancing as she combed back the long locks and knotted a ribbon at the nape of her neck. She didn’t know what she was thinking. Perhaps she’d gone raving mad.

She shoved the doubts aside. She couldn’t change her mind now. Or rather, she could, but she knew that she wouldn’t.

It was only for one night. She would do this once. To see, to experience, to make her own choice.

She pinched her cheeks, dabbed rose water on her wrists, and was at the window again before her nerves could overtake her.

Jest was still in the tree boughs, playing with his deck of cards. Raven was cleaning his feathers. Noticing her, Jest perked up and slid the cards back into some secret pocket.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his whole face lighting up in a way that filled her with warmth and sugar.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“That’s because it’s most likely a very bad idea.”

With one easy movement, he stepped across to her windowsill and hopped down into her bedroom.

A certain amount of shock skittered down her spine. There was a man in her bedroom—unchaperoned. Unsupervised.

In secret.

She said nothing of this nature, only took half a step away from him. Her heel brushed against the white rose she’d dropped.

Jest took off his hat and turned it upside down. “This is going to work,” he said, reaching into the hat. “But it’s going to require a certain amount of faith.”

He pulled his hand out, revealing a black lace parasol with an ivory handle. He popped it open above their heads.

“What are we doing with that?”

“You’ll see.” He set the hat back on his head, stepped back onto the windowsill, and held his free hand toward her.

After a count of three, during which she determined that she had lost her wits, Cath placed her hand into his and allowed him to pull her up beside him.

“You’re not going to scream, are you?”

She didn’t bother trying to hide her terror when she met his gaze.

Frowning, Jest ducked his face closer and released her hand so he could instead grasp her elbow. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”

She shook her head, though it had no confidence behind it. She risked a glance at the ground, two stories below.

“Lady Pinkerton,” he said warningly.

She looked up again and moved her trembling hands toward his tunic. “I wonder if it would be terribly inappropriate for me to hold on to you.”

“I think you’d better, anyway.”

She nodded once and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face into his chest. She clutched him as one might a buoy in the sea.

Jest stiffened and wrapped his free arm around her waist.

There was a moment of suspension around them. She could feel his heart beating near to hers, and his breath in her hair. Something about him seemed crafted for her, and that thought made her face flame, like she was standing too close to a fire.

“All right then,” he said, and she wondered whether it was her imagination that made him seem suddenly nervous. “No screaming.”

She pressed her lips together.

Jest took a step off the windowsill, pulling her along with him.