Page 35 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“Virginia is liable to disagree.”

Clenching her jaw, she responded with a tight, “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

It had been a silly attempt to trap her, of course. He already knew Kalila Darwish to be better than to let herself slip so soon.

She would slip eventually, of course. Just not easily.

“The snake that lives in 107,” he explained. “Animals aside, you might have run into any number of unsavory characters.”

“Such as yourself?” she countered, still focused on the bustling pavement.

He tut-tutted. “Now, now, is that any way to speak to your escort?”

She ignored him and they continued their journey in silence. Oliver tipped his hat at a passing acquaintance and, for the first time, Kalila tilted her head to peer at him. Her olive skin almost glowed in the afternoon sunlight, the happy yellow of her dress illuminating her hazel eyes.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve tipped your hat at someone,” she observed.

A thrill shot through him at the idea of being watched by her. “Are you feeling left out?” Winking, he tipped his hat in her direction. “There you go. Free of charge.”

He swore he caught a glimpse of a brilliant blush on her cheeks before she was once again concealed by that dratted straw brim. “That gesture does not typically come with a price.”

“No,” he agreed, “but I might be inclined to start charging, seeing as how I do it so often. What would be a fair exchange, do you think? A tip of the hat for a kiss?”

The suggestion, though presented with an air of nonchalance, seemed to shock Kalila, because her reticule fell right out of her hands and onto the dusty pavement. She bent to pick it up, but Oliver beat her to it, plucking the cotton pouch from the ground and offering it to her.

Seeming to steel herself, she held his gaze, reaching to take the reticule from his hands. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was not high in pitch, but not quite as low as when she was playacting as Rafiq. It was smooth, reminiscent of thick, warm, golden honey.

He held onto the bag for a moment longer, just out of her reach. “What say you, Miss Darwish? Is that a fair exchange?”

It briefly occurred to Oliver that he had no idea what he was doing, or why. Which was typically how he tended to get himself into trouble. He knew better than to use his old tricks on the likes of Kalila Darwish.

“You might ask the next person you consent to an exchange with,” she told him, leaning forward and snatching the reticule from his hands. “I am sure they will be able to enlighten you.”

He chuckled, resuming his position by her side. “I shall take your advice under consideration, Miss Darwish.”

A moment’s silence, and then, “Why were you at the university?”

The question surprised him, and he frowned. “Why not?”

“You were all let out early,” she said before adding, “according to Dameer.”

This time, it was Oliver’s turn to concentrate on the pavement. He stepped around a shredded newspaper. “And?”

She paused, then shook her head. “Never mind.”

With those two words, he knew. He knew that she knew why he’d chosen to linger in 107. She knew, and she’d chosen not to pry, and it occurred to Oliver that he did in fact want to kiss her.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, rather—they came to a stop in front of the townhouse where he’d first encountered her. Kalila seemed to hesitate, twisting the cord of her reticule in her hands.

With some hesitation, she said, “Mr. Booth.”

“Miss Darwish,” he replied, matching her serious tone.

“If you are not otherwise engaged,” she said, her voice quiet, “you are welcome to join us for tea.”

She knew, she’d chosen not to pry, and now she was giving him something to do, telling him he didn’t have to return to Rosewood if he didn’t want to. Inviting him into her space, even as it heightened her risk of discovery.

Kissing her seemed like less of a want and more of an aching need.