Page 24 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“You’re upset,” he said.

“I am not.” She brushed past him. “I’m expected at home.”

Oliver trotted to keep up with her tiny, fast footsteps. “Ignore Jennings, won’t you?”

She came to a halt again. “Should I? Why was I invited to the university?”

“I—” Oliver hesitated. “I don’t—I shouldn’t lie to you. I did play a role in it.”

“Why?”

“I—don’t know,” he said, speech stilted, even though deep down he did know. “Curiosity, I suppose.”

She resumed her journey down the pavement. “You shouldn’t have intervened. I should have been invited on my own merit or not at all.”

“But you do have merit,” Oliver protested as heat began to rise to his cheeks. “That is—your work has merit.”

She shot him a sardonic scowl. “Oh? Is that why you always leave such intelligent comments on it?”

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t pleaded with anyone since childhood, and he’d certainly never had to do it with a woman. “Look, Rafiq—”

“It doesn’t matter, I suppose,” she said, shoving her hands in her coat pockets. She glanced at him through the corner of her eye. “Will you do something for me, Booth?”

“Yes,” he said, a touch breathless. The first word on his tongue had, ridiculously, been anything, but he felt the abrupt need to respect her disguise and treat her like he would Dunn, Talbot, or Young.

“Next time I submit my work to the Society,” she said, “do not take it upon yourself to review it. I think I have had more than enough of your input.”

With that, she left Oliver in the middle of the pavement, shame ricocheting through him as he watched her retreating form.

Chapter Seven

I don’t care how or why I got here.

Kalila left the townhouse the next morning, stopping at the door to position her hat on her head.

And I will not indulge Oliver Booth’s curiosity about me.

Walking down the steps, she took a right and began her daily trek to the Polytechnic University.

I’m here now, and that’s all that matters.

She ran a hand over her face, exhausted from having stayed up all night overcome with embarrassment. She hated to feel embarrassed. And it wasn’t just humiliation that had set up a home in her chest. It was—well. She also felt a bit silly.

“Admit it to yourself, at least,” she said under her breath.

Fine. She felt silly because a very, very, very small part of her had been prepared to push aside all of her disdain for Oliver Booth and fully replace it with the fondness that had planted itself somewhere deep inside of her a few days ago. It was hard not to find him endearing, what with his effortless, lazy charm and devastating smiles. And although Kalila liked to see herself as purely logical and in control of her composure, she was still human and just as much at risk of losing herself in someone as anyone else.

Annoying, that.

He’d told her that he’d been curious about her, that her work had merit. And, damn her, it was so easy to focus on that rather than what she had come to London to do. She had a set of objectives to meet. There was no time to linger on what Mr. Booth really thought of her and her work. And besides, she’d declared herself officially done with men after her last debacle.

Wrong direction of thought, she chided. Her mind was insisting on taking a romantic bent when there was nothing romantic about the situation at all. Even if she presented herself as Kalila, there was no reason to believe that Mr. Booth of all people would be falling at her feet.

Please. The one man who had pretended to fall at her feet had only been looking to stifle her. And Kalila would not be stifled.

She walked into 107 with renewed purpose, careful not to make eye contact with Mr. Booth. Still, she could feel his gaze boring into her back as she took a seat at a bench. She knew he felt a touch guilty, what with the apologetic manner he’d approached her in last night. While her softer side was appreciative, she forced herself to dismiss it, reminding herself once again of her true goal at the university.

“Rafiq—” His voice came from behind her, quiet and desperately sheepish.