The look he gave her was already peeling back her layers of fortitude. How dare he look as though he were nervous or afraid, when she was the one with a gavel thumping inside her chest?

‘That’s not what I said at all,’ she breathed.

‘I know, but I’m hoping it’s what you meant.’ He licked his lips – a small, cruel movement that made her own lips tingle. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you, Lady Catherine Pinkerton of Rock Turtle Cove. I’ve been trying, but it’s useless. You’ve had me mesmerized from the first moment I saw you in that red dress, and I don’t know what to do about it, other than to use every skill at my disposal to try and mesmerize you back.’

The wind whistled through the rocks, the waves whispered on the beach, and Catherine had no response.

He let his attention drop to the ground, and she was able to almost-breathe again. Jest reached up to scratch his temple, but seemed surprised to find his three-pointed hat there, so he whisked it off and the bells jingled and his hair was matted and messy and when he wasn’t looking directly at her he could pass as timid, though she found it hard to fathom.

Timid or arrogant, charming or infuriating, and Catherine was falling, falling, falling.

‘His Majesty keeps coming to me for advice.’ He looked up again, misery in his expression. ‘He seems to think I’m an expert on how best to court you. What to say, what gifts to send.’ He hesitated. ‘Of course I help him, because . . . well, I have to. But also, I sometimes pretend that it’s me, instead of him. I suggest he do the things that I would do, if I were . . . deserving of you.’

Her heart drummed. ‘You mean, if you were nobility.’

‘I mean.’ He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said, that there can be no more nights like . . . like the tea party. And you’re right. I was a terrible cad to sneak you around like that, and I know the harm that could be done. Not only because of the Jabberwock, but . . . the dangers to your reputation, and your courtship, and . . . it was selfish of me.’

‘I hope you’re not taking all the credit.’ Her voice held little of the fire she wanted it to. ‘I made the choice as well as you did.’

‘I accede your point.’

Her fingers itched to reach out to him, to touch him. She refrained. ‘I swear to you, I’m not meaning to be fickle. I don’t want to be in this courtship. It’s just . . .’ She laughed, a dismal sound. ‘I didn’t think it would be so hard, but how does one reject a king? Not to mention my parents. My mother. Oh—’ She groaned. ‘She wants it so much. She’s so happy when she talks about the courtship, and I can’t stand to think how disappointed she’ll be.’ She squirmed and pulled her hands through her knotted hair, tugging it over her ears.

Disappointed did not begin to cover her parents’ reactions if she were to reject the King, especially once she told them that she’d fallen in love with the court joker instead.

‘I want to make them proud,’ she said, ‘but we have such different opinions on what my future should hold. It’s as though . . . if I love them enough, surely I could learn to love the King too. I know that’s how my mother sees it. She would think that I failed in this most simple of obligations. To be a good daughter who marries the King. Who makes them proud.’

‘You talk as if love is doled out like prizes at a festival. Surely they just want you to be happy.’

‘Of course they want me to be happy. They just think I’ll be happy with the King, but I know they’re wrong. I never could be. Which is why . . .’ She squared her shoulders. ‘When he proposes, I won’t – I cannot accept him. You must believe that.’

He eyed her for a long, long moment, before he said, ‘I believe that you believe it.’

She frowned. It was not the confidence she’d hoped for, but she couldn’t blame him. Until now, she’d done little to dissuade the King’s advances. ‘I can tell when the gifts and the poems are from you and not him.’

He flashed a wry smile. ‘I should hope so.’

She looked away. ‘Jest . . .’

‘Lady Pinkerton.’

She chewed the inside of her cheek, unable to find the words she wanted to tell him. Not sure that she was brave enough to tell him anything at all.

He edged closer. ‘I understand how much the King has to offer you, and how very little I have in comparison. I’ll understand should you accept him.’

‘Jest—’

‘Truly. He’s the better choice in every way.’

‘Certainly not every way.’

‘Please don’t give me false hope.’ His voice chipped, forcing her to meet his gaze again. Her pulse thundered. ‘I can’t compete with a king, and I won’t compete with the man who’s given me employment, who’s offered me a place in his court when he had no need to. I don’t mean to make your choice more difficult than it already is. He’s a good man. I believe he would do his best to be a good husband.’

Catherine’s mouth ran dry. A crack was burrowing through her chest, threatening to break her open.

‘But,’ he said, his voice tender and low, ‘should you decide to refuse him . . .’

She blinked back the mist in her eyes.

‘Then I hope it won’t cause offence if I were to . . .’ Jest hesitated. There was a new tension in his shoulders, an unexpected self-consciousness to the set of his brow. ‘To call on you. Or . . . your father.’