Page 34 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“Excuse me—”

They stopped speaking at the same time, and Kalila once again damned her terrible luck. A layer of protection was missing, replaced only with the thin fabric of her yellow dress.

“I’ve seen you before,” Oliver said, standing up and, much to Kalila’s disappointment, tugging his sleeves down to cover his beautifully formed arms.

Kalila, who had not elected to remove her bonnet, dipped her head. “Indeed? I cannot recall.”

Which was the most blatant lie she had ever told, as no woman would ever forget the sight of Oliver Booth on her doorstep.

“At the townhouse,” he prompted, coming to a stop before her. “I asked for your cousin.”

She made to respond but was rendered silent by the wicked grin that had come over him.

“You slammed the door in my face.” He gave her a short bow. “And now we meet again, Miss—?”

“Darwish,” she blurted out. “Kalila Darwish.”

Oh, well done, she thought a split second later.

“What brings you to the university, Miss Darwish?” he asked with that same knowing smile.

“My—my cousin left his paper here, I’m afraid,” she explained. “I offered to come pick it up, as he’s indisposed at the moment.”

“Indeed? How very unlike him to be so forgetful.” Oliver went to the bench Kalila typically sat at, retrieved the sheaf of papers, and placed them on the worktable beside her. “Does your cousin keep you well informed on his research, Miss Darwish?”

“Not at all,” she said, eyeing the papers. “I’ve no interest in science myself, Mr. Booth.”

“No? Well, perhaps it’s better that you’re spared. Rafiq has some rather unique ideas. Some might even call them ridiculous.”

As if on cue, she bristled. What happened to her work having merit? To his being embarrassed by his inability to understand the complexity of it? Had he merely been trying to placate her?

“Ideas are not ridiculous simply because one does not understand them,” she said, tone clipped. “In fact, my cousin is one of the few scientists brave enough to continue to challenge this Society on theories surrounding development and advanced microscopy.”

A lazy smile pulled at Oliver’s mouth. “No interest in science yourself, Miss Darwish?”

She almost cursed herself for having taken the bait so easily. What was it about Oliver Booth that constantly had her making a fool out of herself?

“I must take my leave, Mr. Booth,” she said. “I’ll be sure to send your regards to my cousin.”

He retrieved his coat, pulling it over his broad shoulders. “How lucky that I, too, was meaning to leave. Might I walk you home? I’m sure your cousin would be most grateful.”

Kalila froze, cycling through the consequences of each response that popped into her head. As women so often were, she was bound by politeness. A vehement refusal would do nothing but make him think her odder than he likely already did. A joyful agreement would make her seem a touch desperate.

Detached consent would do.

“If you insist, sir,” she said.

“Oh, believe me,” he replied. “I do.”

*

Kalila Darwish.

The woman he had known only as Rafiq strolled beside him in the bright London sunshine, back stiff and mouth buttoned shut. Her hands were clasped in front of her, a small yellow reticule bouncing against her skirts with every step.

“Quite irresponsible of Rafiq to let you loose in the university all by yourself,” he said, attempting to break the silence for what felt like the thousandth time.

Her face remained concealed by the shade of her bonnet. “I do not think the university is known for being dangerous, Mr. Booth.”