Heartless(57)

A tickle erupted in her stomach.

He wanted to see her again.

Happiness coursed to the ends of her limbs.

She could be his reason to stay in Hearts. She wanted to be.

But with that thought, the gut-deep ache of her situation returned full force.

In Hearts, he was not a Rook. He was a court joker, and she was being courted by the King.

Cath planted both feet on the floor and extricated herself from his hold. He didn’t try to stop her—perhaps the worst disappointment of all.

She propped herself against a rose-covered bedpost, her legs still shaky. “We can’t,” she said, before amending, “I can’t.”

His dimples faded.

She tried again. “Tonight was…” Magnificent. Marvelous. Magical.

But also horrible and dangerous.

“Tonight can’t happen again.”

His half smile quirked, more sardonic this time. “I know. That is the way of Time.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You should go.” She was painfully aware of how easily their voices could carry through the walls. Soon Mary Ann would come to light the fire and fill the washbasin. Jest had to leave, and he couldn’t ever come back to her window again, and she could never admit to anyone this night had happened.

She had been to a real tea party. She had made friends who weren’t in the gentry. She had narrowly escaped death and watched the poor Lion being carried away into the night.

But she could never speak of these things. She, too, had a secret now to keep.

“Perhaps I’ll see you at the Turtle Days Festival?” said Jest. “If not more of His Majesty’s garden parties.”

His tone was light, but it felt forced. Clinging to optimism.

Cath shrugged, growing more tense by the moment. “I’ll be at the festival. It’s my family’s festival, after all.”

Surprised, Jest glanced around the room, taking in the elaborate crown moldings and silver candlesticks and tapestried bed curtains.

“That’s right,” he murmured. “You’re the daughter of the Marquess.”

As if he’d forgotten.

“It’s tradition that I start the dancing. I’ll be dancing the lobster quadrille. I expect … I expect I’ll be dancing with the King.” She stuck out her tongue in distaste.

Jest’s expression brightened. “As I expect I’ll be performing for him.”

He stuck his tongue out to mimic her.

One of her embarrassing snorts escaped, unwilled, and Catherine buried her face in her hands.

“What if…,” Jest started.

She lowered her hands. He had taken a step closer to her.

“You dance your lobster quadrille, and I’ll juggle some clams, and we’ll both pretend to be hidden away in a secret sea cave, where we don’t have to think about courtships or royal missions or anything but ourselves.”

“That does sound lovely,” she said, struggling to remember why this was a bad idea. Everything about him was a bad idea, and yet …

“Then I will see you at the festival?”

She started to shake her head, to be firm in her stance that this, whatever this was, could not continue past this night, this morning, this very moment. “Jest…”

His eyebrows lifted and he looked pleased at the intimacy of his name. No Misters, no Sirs.

“You should go,” she stammered.

As if she’d summoned them, footsteps sounded outside her door.

Cath spun around. The knob jiggled.

There was a soft thump behind her and the crackle of leaves.

She glanced back and Jest was gone.





CHAPTER 22

THE DOOR OPENED and Mary Ann was there, her maid uniform silhouetted in the hallway light, along with a pail filled with kindling and long fireplace matches.

Mary Ann took two steps inside, heading for the fireplace on her silent servant’s feet—until she spotted Catherine standing in the light of the open window.

Mary Ann screamed.

The pail dropped to the floor and toppled over with a clamor, matches scattering across the carpet.

“It’s all right! It’s just me!” Catherine rushed forward, waving her arms.

Mary Ann placed a hand against her mouth and stumbled against the door frame. “Cath! Goodness! What are you—good heavens, my bones jumped right out of my skin! I thought you were the Jabberwock, climbing in through the window!”

Cath shuddered as memories of the monster cascaded over her. She tried to shake them off.

“Do I look like a monster to you?” Scurrying past her, Cath glanced down the hallway and, seeing that no alarm had yet been raised from her parents’ rooms, shut the door.

“What were you doing by the window?” Mary Ann said, her voice warbling. “It’s freezing in here. You’ll catch your death! And … what are you wearing? Are you dressed?”

“Hush, Mary Ann. You’ll wake the whole house, if you haven’t already.”

Dropping to the floor, Mary Ann started scooping up the fallen contents of her pail, while Cath bustled back to the nightstand and lit an oil lamp.

Even after righting the pail, Mary Ann stayed on her knees with her hand pressed to her chest. Cath felt bad for scaring her, but also glad that she hadn’t been Abigail.