‘Actually, it just gets in the way. Besides, I was right. It does look better on you.’ Reaching overhead, Jest grabbed on to a low-hanging branch and pulled himself into the tree. Catherine backed up to peer into the shadows. He was pleasant to watch, so nimble and fast.

Crouching on a low bough, he held his hand towards her. ‘Now give me your hand.’

She traced the limbs of the tree up to her window, apprehensive. ‘Have you run out of magic?’

‘Some things, like climbing trees, are best done without. Your hand, my lady.’

She twisted her mouth to one side. ‘You don’t understand. I’m not . . . like you.’

His hand started to sag. ‘Like me?’

‘Graceful. Strong.’

Jest’s expression warmed.

‘You might be surprised how often I’m compared to a walrus, actually. And walruses do not climb trees.’

At this, his growing smile vanished. He hesitated, momentarily speechless, before retracting his hand. ‘Of all the nonsense I’ve heard tonight, that’s the worst of it. But suit yourself.’ He straddled the tree branch, his boots kicking at the air. ‘Go ahead and use the front door, if you prefer. I’ll wait here.’

Cath pressed the hat down tighter to her head and scanned the tree branches again. She considered his proposal and could already hear the loud squeak of the front door that she’d been hearing all her life.

Huffing, she held her arms up towards him.

His grin returned and he shifted into a more stable position.

A flash of panic flickered through Cath’s mind as he latched on to her wrists – what if she was too heavy for him to lift? – but moments later Jest was pulling her up without any apparent difficulty. He waited until he was sure she had her footing and one hand clasped around a branch before he let go.

The climb was easier than she expected, though Jest was doing most of the work. He instructed her where to place her hands, which branches to grab hold of, how best to leverage her weight. It felt like being a child again, scrambling through the trees, make-believing she had been born into a family of chimpanzees. She had to stifle her laughter so she wouldn’t wake anyone in the house.

Her bedroom window was still open. Jest stepped inside before turning to help her over the gap. It was the most daring part, trusting that her legs could span the distance, and she had to hold her breath until her toes were on the windowsill and Jest’s hands were on her waist, pulling her across.

Catherine gasped and fell into him, hat bells jingling. Jest’s arms encircled her and he turned, catching her mid-fall. Cath found herself hanging in his arms, her fingers digging into his shoulders, one foot still on the windowsill and the other scraping against the carpet. Her heartbeat danced between them and a tea-drunk giggle threatened to intrude into the chilly quiet of the morning.

Jest was grinning, and though it was too dark to see the colour of his eyes, she could picture exactly what shade they were.

Gulping, she removed the hat and returned it to Jest’s head. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, hoping he knew it wasn’t just for helping her up the tree and through the window. Hoping he knew it was for everything. The thrills, the laughs, the secrets he’d shared. The night may have had moments of panic and terror, but it had also been an entire night when she didn’t have to be the daughter of a marquess.

He didn’t set her down. Didn’t let her go.

‘When will I see you again?’ he whispered.

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. Marvellous. 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 mouldings and silver candlesticks and tapestried bed curtains.