Page 71 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“Now what?”

“I think,” he said, “you’re overdue for a proper tour of Rosewood. Might I suggest we start with the bedchamber?”

Chapter Seventeen

This is madness, Kalila thought, following Oliver deeper into Rosewood, her pulse thrumming in her veins. It was madness, but she wanted it. She hadn’t denied herself the opportunity to join the Society, and so it followed that she should not deny herself this.

She would not deny herself this.

The kiss in the shed had made her most aware of one crucial thing—Oliver wanted her in the way she wanted him. But wanting someone was different than liking them, and there was something terrifying about the fact that he had admitted to both. About the fact that he’d had her admit that she felt the very same. And so, as she trailed him into a bedchamber lit only by a crackling fireplace, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was willfully tossing a match onto something that was destined to become an uncontrollable, painful blaze.

She was momentarily distracted as she took in the finely furnished room. It was fitted with a four-poster bed canopied with forest-green drapes embroidered with twisting, golden vines. A large mirror hung to the left of the fireplace, which cast its light onto a pair of padded chairs that were positioned on either end of a small table piled with books. Kalila wandered over and picked one up, her heart lodging itself in her throat when she saw the title: Ancient Civilizations of Mesopotamia

The book below it was about Mesopotamian art, and she had no doubt she’d find descriptions of metalworking in it if she flipped through.

If she’d wanted evidence of his desire to know her, then these books told her just that.

To her relief, the next volume that caught her eye was about microscopy. Picking it up, she said, “I don’t think I’ve read this one.”

“Kalila.” She pulled her attention away from the object in her hands to see him leaning against the mantelpiece. “Would you tell me what it is that you want?”

She placed the book down, willing herself to stick to the one rule she’d made for them. “I—I don’t have the words for it. I only ever—it happened twice. That’s all. And I didn’t feel very much. Maybe some pressure, but that was all.”

“You didn’t feel very much?”

Kalila shrugged. “I suppose he didn’t know what to do.”

“No,” Oliver murmured, voice rough, “I suppose not. But I think I know who does know what to do.”

“Indeed? And who might that be?”

She was feigning innocence, of course. He would tell her that he knew just what to do to bring her to the heights of ecstasy, assure her that she’d fall apart in his strong hands. Wasn’t that how most men advertised their particular skills?

“You,” Oliver said, pushing himself off the mantel. Slowly, methodically, he began to roll up his sleeves, behaving as if he hadn’t uttered the most shocking thing she’d heard all day.

“Me?” Kalila repeated, giggling despite herself. How could he possibly know—

“You do touch yourself, don’t you?” He paused, his facade of nonchalance melting away as the lopsided grin she was growing so fond of erased the sharp planes of his face. “We agreed to be honest, did we not?”

“We did,” she grumbled, wishing she hadn’t instated that particular rule. Wishing she weren’t so closed off to begin with. Another woman might have dragged him to bed by now, reduced to a puddle by the mere sight of his well-defined forearms. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I do. But I don’t see how that is helpful for you to know.”

His grin shifted from cheeky to wicked in a heartbeat. “It’s very useful. You know as well as I do that practical demonstrations work wonders on scientists looking to learn new techniques.”

“Practical demonstrations?” she squeaked. Her body reacted to his meaning with startling speed, a shiver tripping down her spine and a familiar warmth blooming in her belly.

“It’s up to you, of course,” he said with all the politeness in the world, despite the wolfish smile that still lingered. “Far be it from me to—”

“How do I—we—do that? Show me.”

“Show you?”

“I’ll—I’ll tell you to stop if I’m not enjoying it.”

Take the reins. I don’t know how to do this anymore.

Finally, blessedly, he seemed to read her mind. He approached her, standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body, and cupped her face in his hands. Something like pain flickered across his features as he gazed down at her, but before Kalila could ask about it, he spoke.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, the words husky and soft.