"I won't," she said. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him.
"There is a tree. See?"
She pointed to an oak tree growing near the balcony. A thick branch stretched out, about four feet away from the railing.
"It is too far," Rowan argued. He reached out to grab her arm. "This is madness. Let me call for the constable. Let me help you properly."
She dodged his hand. She looked at him, and for a second, a small, crooked smile appeared on her lips beneath the mask.
"You have already helped me, my lord," she said. "But unless you want to marry me right now to save me from that old goat, I suggest you let me jump."
Rowan opened his mouth, but no words came out. Marriage? To a stranger?
She laughed softly. It was a dry, humorless sound. "That's what I thought. So, the tree it is."
She stepped up onto the stone bench that ran along the railing. She grabbed her skirts in her free hand.
"Blast," she muttered, looking down. "It is high."
"Please," Rowan tried one last time. He held out his hand. "Come down from there. We can find another way. The servants' entrance—"
"No time," she said. "They are coming."
She took a deep breath. Then, to Rowan's absolute shock, she began to hum. It was a little, bouncy tune. A nursery rhyme? It was wildly out of place for someone about to risk their life.
She yanked her dress up. She did not stop at her ankles. She pulled the fabric all the way up to her thighs to free her legs for the jump.
Rowan saw the white cotton of her drawers. He saw the pale skin of her legs.
He quickly turned his head away. He stared aggressively at the stone wall. "Madam! Your modesty!"
"My modesty is the least of my concerns right now!" she called out.
He heard the rustle of silk. He heard a grunt of effort.
"One, two… three!" she whispered.
There was a sound of movement, a gasp, and then a heavy thud as she hit the tree branch.
Rowan spun back around, forgetting about propriety. "Are you alright?"
He leaned over the railing.
She was clinging to the thick branch of the oak tree. Her dress was tangled around her legs. She was breathing hard.
"I'm fine!" she wheezed. "Just… ouch."
She began to scramble down. It was not graceful. She slipped. She scraped her arms against the bark. She cursed again, this time more harshly.
She reached the lowest branch, which was still five feet off the ground. She hesitated.
"Let go!" Rowan called down, his heart pounding in his throat. "The grass is soft!"
She let go.
She dropped. She hit the ground with a muffled thump and rolled over.
Rowan gripped the railing, his knuckles turning white. "Madam?"
She lay still for a second. Then, she popped up. She shook the leaves out of her hair. She grabbed her shoes from where they had fallen in the grass.
She looked up at the balcony. Even in the darkness, Rowan could see her white teeth as she smiled. It was a smile of pure victory.
"Thank you, 'My Dear'!" she called up softly.
Then she turned and ran. She ran barefoot across the cold grass, disappearing into the shadows of the hedges.
Rowan stood there for a long time. The cold wind bit at him, but he didn't feel it anymore. His heart was racing faster than it had during any duel or horse race.
He looked down at his empty hands. He realized he was still holding his breath.
He looked at the floor of the balcony.
Something was glittering near the stone bench where she had climbed up.
Rowan knelt down. He picked it up.
It was a small, silver button. It must have popped off her dress when she climbed the tree. It was shaped like a tiny, intricate bird in flight.
He rubbed his thumb over the silver bird. It was warm from where it had been close to her skin.
The balcony door opened behind him.
"Rowan?" his aunt Margery's voice called out. "Are you out here? The Duchess is asking for you."
Rowan stood up. He closed his hand into a fist, hiding the silver button. He slid it deep into his pocket.
He looked at the dark garden one last time. The woman was gone. He didn't know her name. He didn't know her face. He only knew the smell of rain, the taste of a desperate kiss, and the sound of a French curse word.
"I am coming, Aunt," Rowan said.
He walked back toward the light and the noise of the ballroom. But as he picked up his coat that fell off her shoulders, Rowan Hamilton knew one thing for certain.
He was going to be incredibly bored with every other woman he ever met.