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 on to the windowsill, and held his free hand towards 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 towards 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.

A scream clawed up her throat but was captured and muffled against her clenched teeth. There was a sudden swoop, her stomach flipping inside her, and a drop – but a gradual one. Shaking, she peeled her eyes open. She turned her head so she could see beyond Jest’s shoulder, to the brick and window trim of her house as they drifted to the ground.

It was over too soon.

They hit the ground easily. She did not, could not release him until her legs regained their strength, but he didn’t complain. His grip didn’t loosen until hers did, but he also didn’t try to keep her once she pulled away.

As Catherine gaped up towards her bedroom window, glowing with firelight, Jest returned the parasol to his hat.

‘How will I get back up?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, sliding a gloved hand into hers, in a way that seemed almost more intimate than their recent embrace. She didn’t pull away, although she knew she should. ‘I have a trick for that too, Lady Catherine.’

‘In your hat?’

He chuckled. ‘My hat isn’t the only magical thing about me.’