Page 48 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

The words interrupted Oliver’s pacing, and he turned to Hughes. “I’m a complete idiot.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Hughes said, continuing to fold linen napkins one by one. “I asked if you’d sit down.”

Oliver sat at the dining table, pulling a napkin from the pile and attempting to replicate Hughes’s neat folds. “Of course she came here with a plan. It shouldn’t have caught me by surprise.”

But it had. It had all been fun and games, thinking that Kalila had been angling to have her paper published as Rafiq, believing that she’d come to London simply to learn. Maybe for a taste of freedom. But it had been stupid of him. Of course she wanted to change things, to carve out a space for herself. A space for Kalila Darwish, not Dameer Rafiq.

He understood her desire. Agreed with it, even. But he hadn’t made that clear. No, he’d choked out a few nonsensical sentences, overcome with shock. God, the disappointment in her eyes—

“She’ll come,” Hughes said. Oliver tracked the therapeutic folding of a napkin before dramatically dropping his head onto the table. “And you’ll explain yourself.”

In something of a panic, Oliver had sent a note over to the townhouse. It had been half peace offering, half lure. Really, it had been all he’d been able to come up with after feeling sick to his stomach the entire afternoon. Dunn had noticed his unusual behavior, which in turn had resulted in Oliver claiming a slight hangover.

If she did come, he needed to make it absolutely clear that he was on her side.

Enough to face Comerford?

He’d never challenged Comerford before. Not really, and certainly not in any meaningful way. How could he? Comerford was his mentor, one of the few people who had actually noted something resembling intelligence in him, and yet—and yet he was still wrong for shutting Kalila down as he had. And he deserved to be challenged for it.

A knock echoed through the house, and Oliver shot to his feet.

“At ease, sir,” Hughes said, having the nerve to sound amused. His bones creaked as he stood. “I’ll show the lady in.”

“Don’t let on,” Oliver warned. “And we don’t even know that it is her.”

Oliver began to fidget as soon as Hughes left the room. He ought to thank every deity known to man for his father being holed up in some pub or another, because the last thing he could take was—

“A Mr. Dameer Rafiq to see you, sir,” Hughes intoned from the doorway. “Shall I send him up to the laboratory?”

A thrill shot through Oliver, making him feel as if his blood had been replaced with bubbles. “Yes. And Hughes?”

“Sir?”

“There’s no need to be so smug about it.”

In lieu of a response, Hughes only grinned.

Oliver allowed a few moments to pass before taking a series of very measured steps up the stairs. There was no need for him to create any kind of awkwardness, especially given that Kalila believed her disguise a continued success. He’d resolved to wait for her to tell him herself.

If she ever told him.

But he could pave the way for that tonight, if he only chose the correct words.

His gaze was drawn to her as he entered the room. She stood by his bench, examining the electric bulb that sat atop it. In her hands, she clutched the note he’d sent.

“Rafiq,” he said by way of greeting. The word came out as a croak, and he wondered when he’d lost his charm.

She straightened and fixed him with a pointed look. “Well?” she asked, holding up his note. “What was it that Comerford taught that was so important?”

He’d enticed her into coming here by heavily implying that she’d be behind if she wasn’t brought up to speed on the day’s lecture. It was the only predictable thing about her, this desire to learn, to know more, to know the most.

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging. “I only wanted to apologize to you.”

A frustrated frown, then, “You already did. I don’t appreciate having my time wasted, Oliver.”

“Then I’ve more than one apology to offer,” he said, wringing his hands together. Really, when had he lost all of his charm? “Look—”

“You could have sent a written apology,” she interrupted. “You could have come to the townhouse yourself.”