His eyes brightened, but she turned away before she could see whether he remembered his promise or not. Those hushed words spoken when he’d been standing in her room at the end of an impossible night.

She would dance her lobster quadrille. He would juggle his clams. And all the while they would pretend that they were hidden away in a secret sea cave, concerned with no one but themselves.

She was sure all the world would have noticed the longing in her face, except all the world was focused on her hand locked inside the crook of the King’s elbow.

They reached the dual lines of sea creatures, already partnered with their lobsters. The King was far too exuberant to notice how distracted Cath was.

What would have happened if she had asked Jest to dance instead?

What would happen if she chose him?

Was such a choice truly outside the realm of possibility, or did it only seem that way because such a choice had never presented itself before?

She was as empty as a marionette as the dance began, her body leading her through the steps. They advanced, they retreated. Her skirt twisted around her ankles. Her heels sank into the sand. The King’s hands were soggy in hers and the wind was burning her cheeks, and all around her lobsters were being tossed out to sea and their partners were diving in after them. Everyone was laughing and splashing and turning somersaults along with the music. Even the King, caught up in the moment, charged out into the surf, wading halfway up to his calves. He turned back to her, laughing.

Catherine alone remained above the foam, her smile frozen. In her head, she was sequestered away in a sea cave somewhere. In her mind, it was Jest grinning at her, his dimples carved deep into his cheeks. He beckoned to her, and she went.

She knew, in that moment, that she would go to him, if only he asked. She would be his, if he wanted her.

‘Oh no,’ she murmured, her smile thawing, falling, carried away with the undeniable, inevitable, impossible truth of it.

She was falling in love with him.

CHAPTER 27

THE AUDIENCE WAS FIERCE with applause as Catherine set her hand on top of the King’s and they walked together up the beach. The King was soaking wet and a strand of seaweed was caught on the heel of his shoes and he could not have sounded any more delighted than if the entire festival had been a surprise unbirthday party thrown in his honour.

Catherine, her thoughts in turmoil, did her best to keep her eyes locked on the white overhanging cliffs so she wouldn’t be tempted to seek out Jest in the crowd. She was sure that with one look at her, he would know the depth of her thoughts.

The orchestra leaped into a waltz and Catherine could feel the King gathering his courage to ask for another dance, and so she thanked him exuberantly for the quadrille and escaped into the crowd before he could find the words.

All around her, the festival’s guests began to divide into couples and line up for the next dance. Cath avoided meeting anyone’s eye, unwilling to be drawn into a conversation or another dance, to be captured in the endless turns and figures and trivial chatter until the festival ended and they all dispersed, afraid to be caught in the dark now that a monster was on the prowl.

She snapped from her thoughts to the sound of her own name roaring in her ears. The crowd had pushed in towards her. A dozen women were chattering about the rumours of her courtship, a dozen men were inquiring after her dance card and then backing away jokingly, pretending that they didn’t want the King to take offence. Hands brushed her sleeves and smiles hovered Cheshire-like before her face. ‘Lady Catherine, how lovely you looked during the quadrille.’ ‘Quite the favourite with the King these days, aren’t you, Lady Pinkerton?’ ‘You looked beautiful out there – positively regal!’ ‘Catherine –’ ‘Catherine –’ ‘Catherine –’

Lowering her head, she tried to shove her way through, begging to be allowed to pass. Her mind was spinning, tumbling, as the crowd thickened with congratulations and compliments and twittering praise. The grins of strangers who were too blind to see the frustration behind her pretty face and pretty clothes and pretty life—

A cloud of white smoke burst at her feet, filling the air around her with startled gasps. Catherine froze. Within moments the smoke was so thick she couldn’t see her own hands outstretched before her.

Then there was a gloved hand in hers, fingers entwined, tugging her forward. Jest.

She followed without question, disconcerted at the press of confused bodies.

The smoke thinned as she was pulled up an embankment of craggly white stones, a narrow path tucked into an alcove beneath the cliffs. Jest glanced back to check that she was all right, before guiding them behind a wall of fallen boulders. Their surfaces sparkled with bits of quartz.

It was not as private as a sea cave, but it was serene and they were alone, at least for a time. Catherine, panting, was warm from her brow to her toes, but the shaded spot was comfortable and already her breaths were coming easier.

‘Are you all right?’ Jest said, cupping her hand and looking at her with the same concern he’d had when she’d awoken in the gardens.

She nodded. ‘Better already, thank you.’

‘I thought you were going to faint again. Have you eaten anything today?’

She gulped. ‘Y-yes. A meat pie, when I arrived this morning.’

His mouth quirked. ‘Excellent choice.’

The past few minutes faded away and once again Cath was standing on the surf, staring out into the sea, and realizing with sudden certainty that she was losing her heart to this fool.