Page 52 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“Oliver,” he corrected. “And I’m sure you’ll show me a good time, Rafiq. Won’t you?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m rather boring myself.”

“Such modesty,” he laughed. He wouldn’t call a woman in her position boring, that was for sure.

As they approached the townhouse, she hesitated. “What will you do now?”

A brilliant question. A valid one, and one he didn’t have the answer to.

“I’ll go find a good time, of course,” he said easily, offering her a crooked smile.

She didn’t bite, stopping to stand at the steps to the house with an incredulous expression on her face. “Oh?”

“I’m quite skilled at hunting them down, you know.”

She glanced at the door to the townhouse. “You could stay here, if you need.”

Here. With her. At night, where vulnerability was more potent, her risk of discovery more likely. He almost agreed, all at once tired of this game they were playing. Willing to allow her to back herself into this corner so they might do away with pretense.

So he could throw himself into whatever grave he’d already dug for himself, family history be damned.

He looked at her, slender and sharp featured. He knew how important her disguise was to her, the lengths she went to make sure it was perfect. He wanted her to tell him herself, if possible.

He wondered if it were possible.

“That’s good of you, Rafiq, but I’ll be just fine,” he said. “Off you go. I’ll see you in 107 tomorrow.”

She bit her lip, and he was tempted to knock her wig right off her head so he could run his fingers through her dark curls and—

“Good night, then,” she said, interrupting his decidedly inappropriate train of thought. She reached out, held herself back as if she didn’t know what to do, and then lay an awkward hand on his arm. “Try not to have too much of a good time.”

Worried. She was worried. About him.

“You have my word,” he said with mock seriousness. “In fact, I shall endeavor to have as little fun as possible.”

She scoffed, walked up the stairs and disappeared into the townhouse. He watched her until the door closed behind her.

You should have followed.

Chapter Thirteen

Naturally, Oliver hadn’t managed to hunt down a good time at all. He’d gone to sulk at the Duck, keeping to a corner and nursing a single glass of brandy the entire night—not that he ever allowed himself more than that, despite what others thought. He blinked hard against the bright sunshine streaming through the windows of 107. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep and was barely listening to Comerford drone on about God knows what.

Microscopes, he supposed.

Kalila had been casting worried glances at him all morning, and he was so delirious with sleep that he’d considered pulling her to him, planting a kiss on her head, and assuring her that he was fine.

Just fine. Never mind that he’d never been so mortified in his life. Served him right for bringing anyone to Rosewood, let alone Kalila Darwish.

“Well, gentlemen,” Comerford said, raising his voice an octave, “it is time for us to think about how we’d like to wrap up this program.”

“Thank God,” Oliver muttered to Talbot, who had the sense not to titter aloud.

“Booth,” Comerford warned. He returned his attention to the rest of the room. “Now, what do you all say to a friendly competition?”

Oliver suppressed a scowl as he caught sight of Jennings straightening in interest.

“I will be assigning each of you a partner. I want to see the most unique mount and accompanying diagram you can muster.” He twirled his mustache and twinkled at them. “Bonus points will be granted for a clean dye.”