Page 28 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“Would I continue to submit my work if I thought inane comments meant anything?”

Oh. She was talking about him.

“Come now, Rafiq,” he said, attempting to placate her, “surely you won’t hold my own foolishness against me.”

She tilted her head, the artificial color of her wig glinting in the weak light. “Why do you do it?”

“What?”

“Why do you leave those ridiculous comments on my papers?”

“I—”

“They don’t exactly inspire me to keep working,” she said. “And nobody wants to publish a paper that isn’t taken seriously.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling a little helpless. “I didn’t—”

And then it hit him.

Comerford was right. Maybe. Probably.

“Well?” she pressed, folding her arms across her chest.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m a little jealous of you?” he asked, giving her what he hoped was a rueful-yet-charming smile.

“No,” she said. Her tone was emotionless, but he thought he saw a flicker of something forgiving in those brilliant eyes.

“It’s true,” he said, admitting it to himself almost as much as to her. “I don’t have anything intelligent to contribute because—well. I don’t understand.”

“So why write anything?”

“And have Comerford see me for the completely brainless fool I am?”

His own words surprised him, having slipped out with little forethought. He couldn’t—if Comerford thought him stupid, then—then his father was right. And his father couldn’t be right.

Rafiq studied him, her expression unreadable. When she finally spoke, it was to very gently say, “If you’d like me to explain it to you, you need only ask.”

He almost melted into a puddle on the spot. Desperate to escape the deluge of emotions that threatened, he said, “Let’s go.”

Rafiq picked her coat up. “Home?”

“No,” he said. “Not home.”

Chapter Eight

Kalila pulled her coat around her, marveling at the sight of London so late in the night. The streets were empty, bathed in the light pouring out of the gas lamps that towered above her.

And she was walking with Oliver Booth.

Truthfully, she hadn’t been inclined to believe his little spiel about being jealous of her. But then an air of confusion had come over him as he’d explained himself, almost as if it had taken the words tumbling out of his mouth for him to understand the reason behind his foolishness.

If there was one thing Kalila was weak in the face of, it was sincerity.

Besides, it didn’t help for her to make enemies at the Society. Not when she needed them on her side for her inevitable confrontation with Comerford. There was strength in numbers, both in and out of the realm of scientific research. Booth would make a good ally—he was, for some reason, in Comerford’s good graces and was well-liked by the other men. All in all, it made more sense for Kalila to be friendly with him than not.

Following Oliver, she listened to the pleasant sound of his voice as he made casual conversation. The silhouette of Regent’s Park came into view, empty and glowing in the weak light. She wondered why he didn’t want to return to his own home. Surely, someone was expecting him.

“How’s that family friend of yours doing?” Oliver’s tone was cheeky as he led them through the grass and onto a path. “Miss Southcott.”