Page 69 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“But—do you want to fall in love?”

“I think I do, sometimes,” she admitted, vulnerability sitting heavy on her chest. “I sometimes wonder if I even know how. I am so distracted with my work now that it seems impossible I should allow myself to fall in love. Edward once told me that my passion for science was nothing short of alienating, and I—have you ever been that passionate about something?”

He stared at her for a long moment, gaze never wavering as something foreign to her ghosted across his face. “I think so.”

Kalila was struck by how different she felt now, sitting on the floor of Oliver’s laboratory. So much lighter, so much closer to the young woman she had lost all those years ago. So much more aware of what that young woman had needed.

“I cannot promise myself to anyone ever again,” she said, the declaration falling from her mouth before she could stop it. “It will always end with me being asked to choose, and I refuse to do that.”

“What if you weren’t asked to make any promises?” Oliver said, slow and measured. “What if you could see potential attachments through without any expectations? Would that be something you’d want?”

Kalila considered it for the hypothetical question it was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d permitted herself any indulgence.

And, as much as she hated to admit it, she sometimes missed being fawned over by someone outside her family. It had been wonderful for the brief moment she’d believed herself to have had it.

“Yes,” she murmured into the darkness, for all she did not believe the scenario to be a realistic one. Clearing her throat, she added, “Not that I believe men to be particularly skilled at seeing things through, if you understand my meaning.”

“What sort of scientist are you?” Oliver asked. “It would take a series of controlled experiments and any number of tested variables before you could confidently say such a thing.”

Kalila smiled, sure he was poking fun at her. “Are you offering yourself up as a test subject, Mr. Booth?”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, deathly serious, “I am.”

*

Even in the weak light, Oliver saw a rosy blush creep across Kalila’s cheeks. It occurred to him that he was about to make a hard situation far worse, but the thought was dashed out of his head the moment he noticed the soft parting of her lips.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “Do anything, really.”

Yes, I do. And it’s because I’m a single heartbeat away from falling in love with you.

But he couldn’t say that. He was too much of a coward, and she had just told him of her refusal to make promises to anyone ever again. He could put the both of them out of their misery, to throw fuel on the fire that burned between them. He so badly wanted to show her how utterly, pathetically at her disposal he was.

Swallowing his emotions, he presented her with his most rakish smile. “I could use a little excitement in my life. It’s been a bit boring of late.”

Kalila let out a huff before standing. Oliver remained on the floor as he awaited her response. What better way to give her what she wanted than to play the perfect rake?

Placing her hands on her hips she said, “I would never allow myself to be used to satisfy someone’s boredom, handsome or no.”

Oliver scrambled to his feet. “Handsome? How handsome?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you seem to suffer from selective hearing?”

“Never,” Oliver replied. Fine—he’d drop the act. Only honesty would work with Kalila. “I was only teasing.”

“I just—I want to know why you’d agree to do this when you’ve nothing to gain.”

Be honest.

“It’s because I like you, Kalila Darwish,” he said, the simplicity of the statement making him feel almost foolish. “I like you, and I would do most anything you asked of me. Find your paper, rewrite the damn thing if need be, give you pleasure without expecting commitment in return, without assuming that you aren’t capable of deciding what exactly it is you want for yourself. I just—like you. More than you know.”

Kalila’s hands fell to her sides. “More than I know?”

Oliver shrugged. “If you’d known, you wouldn’t have asked the question to begin with.”

“I see.”

“Perhaps I should ask how you feel about me,” he said, despite knowing he may not want to hear the answer.