She pulled her hand away and turned to peer through a crack in the rocks. On the beach, the smoke was clearing fast, leaving a fine mist over the baffled onlookers. The orchestra was still playing, though, and the confusion was giving way to another dance.

Jest brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder. ‘You don’t enjoy dancing?’

She shut her eyes. His fingertips lingered on the bare skin of her neck and she couldn’t resist leaning into them. ‘We can’t all be great performers.’

‘Yet you are a lovely dancer.’ He was so close she could feel the heat coming from him, cutting through the chill of the wind. ‘Beside you, even the King looked half respectable. It’s easy to see why he wants you for his queen.’

Her stomach dropped. There was no bitterness in his tone. She wondered why. Surely, if their roles were reversed and Jest was in the midst of courting another girl, it would have been shredding her to bits. Her emotions would have been lemon peel dragged across a grater.

She stepped away and opened her eyes, keeping her hands anchored to the glittering white stone. ‘You shouldn’t touch me,’ she said, her voice strained around the rapid beating of her heart.

Jest leaned against the stone. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ She couldn’t tell if he meant it.

Her heart tugged towards him. She wished that she hadn’t pulled back. She wished that he had pulled her closer.

‘Tell me, Sir Rook, did you behave this way with all the ladies in Chess too?’

‘Which behaviour are you referring to? My good manners, my charming witticisms, my beguiling charisma—’

‘I was referring to your determination to make me blush, for no other purpose than to laugh at me later.’

He blanched, then took a step closer. Cath could hear the creak of his leather boots. ‘I assure you that when I replay this conversation in my head later, it will not be in laughter.’

Cath lowered her lashes, her insides fluttering. ‘I should get back. My parents will worry.’ She turned away.

‘Wait?’

It was a question, not a demand, and so she waited. Stupid hope coursed through her veins.

‘It isn’t my place, of course . . .’

Gulping, she turned back. Jest had removed his gloves and was busy choking them in his fists. Though his expression was calm, his hands said otherwise.

‘The King . . .’ he started, and Cath flinched, glad that Jest was too busy inspecting the gloves to notice. ‘He truly cares for you. I think he honestly means to make you happy.’

She expected him to go on, but silence fell, and that seemed to be all he meant to say.

‘Are you telling me to accept him?’

‘No,’ he stammered. ‘I’m saying that if you did accept him, I would understand. I would be happy for you.’

She clenched her fists. ‘How comforting that at least one of us would be.’

Jest looked up at her again, his brow tight. ‘Something happened, down on the beach,’ he said, dropping the gloves on to a rock. ‘You came back from the quadrille looking like you’d seen a ghost.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She folded her arms protectively over her chest. ‘I entered a cake into the baking contest. I suppose I’m nervous about it.’

A weak smile slipped over his features. ‘I can’t believe that.’

‘What would you know about it? I can be nervous if I want to be.’

He shrugged. ‘We both know you’re going to win the contest.’

‘I do not either know it.’ She stood straighter. ‘I assume that I will win, yes, but that isn’t the same thing. And I’ll have you know that wasn’t much of a compliment.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be, but if it’s a compliment you want . . .’ His gaze softened. ‘You are stunning in that absurd hat. Absolutely, undeniably stunning. I trust that was Hatta’s goal, but he can’t know how well he accomplished it, else he would have deemed it improper to let you leave his hat shop so adorned.’ He hesitated and cleared his throat, looking almost shy. ‘That’s what I wanted to say before.’

She scoffed, but it was coupled with a quickened heartbeat. ‘You’re infuriating.’

‘You’re not the first to mention it.’ His momentary bashfulness turned to another maddening smile.

She squeezed her arms in tighter, still shielding herself, or perhaps in an effort to keep from reaching out to him. ‘You act as though you know me, but you don’t, not really. You don’t know what I like, or what I want, or what I dream about . . .’

‘You dream about me, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘I never should have told you that.’

His eyes glinted.

‘And all I know about you is that you sneak into girls’ bedrooms in the middle of the night and you take their corset laces when they’re unconscious and you seem to want me to accept the King but then you call me stunning or touch me when you shouldn’t. And you’re always laughing at me and you’re on some secret mission from the White Queen but I haven’t the faintest idea what that means and I can’t tell what’s real or what’s an illusion and I – I have to get back.’ She pivoted away from him. ‘Thank you for rescuing me from that crowd, but I do have to get back.’

‘I can’t stop thinking about you, either, Lady Pinkerton.’

Without having gone a single step, she felt her feet digging into the sand. This time, she didn’t dare turn around. She didn’t have to. A moment later he slipped in front of her, not touching her this time, but close enough that he could have.