Chapter Nine
“That’s all I have for today, gentlemen,” Comerford said. “I’m expected to give a seminar at the Royal Society.”
“Traitor,” Oliver grumbled.
Kalila glanced over her shoulder at him, only to be given a cheeky wink.
Last night had been wholly unexpected, although she could admit to enjoying it even if she had received a verbal thrashing from Dameer and Caroline the moment she’d crossed the threshold of the Southcott townhouse.
It was Kalila who had insisted on bringing her and Oliver’s nighttime adventure to an end—partially because it had been late and partially because the long hush that had fallen between them had made her skin prickle.
He, in turn, had fixed her with the strangest look, hopeful and uncomfortable all at once.
That look was gone at present, replaced with his typical mischievous twinkle. She shook her head at him and was rewarded with a crooked grin.
Insufferable.
And yet there was more to him than she had initially anticipated, a revelation she found herself dwelling on as she walked home.
It seemed to her that Oliver Booth spent more time than necessary trying to hide his wounds under a guise of charm and humor.
There was nothing wrong with hurting, she thought later as she removed her disguise and replaced it with a dress the color of yellow butter.
If you allowed it to show, it was sure to attract people who would help you to heal.
You’re one to talk.
Kalila approached her desk, prepared to spend her free time refining her paper. Dameer knocked, poking his head into the room when she called for him to enter.
“I thought we might have tea together,” he said. “I’ve barely seen you these past four days, and I’m expected at Willow House soon.”
Guilt invaded Kalila as she realized how little it had taken for her to disconnect from her real life. “I’m sorry, I—Dameer?”
“Hmm?” He came to stand by her as she ruffled through the piles of papers that sat on her desk. “What is it?”
“Have you seen my paper?”
“No?”
And then it hit her. She’d forgotten it in 107, having pushed it aside after a brief break to return to her microscope. Panic rushed through her, and she spun around to face her cousin.
“It’s at the university. I need to get it.”
A disapproving expression marred Dameer’s features. “I suppose you’ll be changing then?”
Kalila turned to the disguise that currently hung on a hook. She didn’t want to wait. Having her paper at the university made her feel vulnerable, as if she’d left a piece of herself in the laboratory. “I could, but—nobody will be there, you know.”
“I don’t know,” Dameer said, following her as she made her way out of the room. “And neither do you.”
Still, she felt fairly confident that she was correct. Room 107 was only locked after nightfall, especially since Virginia still called the back corner her home and therefore had to be made accessible to the Zoological Society. All Kalila had to do was slip in, grab her paper, and slip out.
And she needed her paper. More than anything.
“You’re welcome to walk with me,” she offered.
Dameer sighed, running his hands through his wild blond curls. “Fine. But I can only walk as far as the university. You have to promise me that you’ll find a hack to bring you home.”
Kalila pulled a bonnet over her hair as they stepped out onto the bustling pavement. “Are you expected at Willow House so soon?”
Dameer sighed. “I am. They’re having a ball tomorrow and are in the midst of tying up all the loose ends. Well, my aunt is, anyway. You know how she is.”
Kalila grinned as she thought of Aunt Dalia, with her henna-reddened hair and disregard for propriety. She was her English husband’s polar opposite—Jasper Wilmot was as sensible as he was subdued. They made an entertaining pair, and Kalila had always enjoyed visits with them.
She looked at her cousin from the corner of her eye. “Will you ask Amelia to accompany you?”
Dameer’s cheeks went from pale to pink with startling speed. “I already have. Caroline, as well. You’ll be expected, too.”
“I’ll be there,” Kalila said, knowing she owed her cousin that much, at least. “I promise.”
They came to a stop a few steps away from the university.
Dameer, ever anxious, began to fidget with his neckcloth before asking, “What if you’re caught?”
“I’ll simply pretend to have lost my way,” Kalila reassured him. “It’ll be fine, Dameer. I saw everybody leave the room myself.”
“And you won’t walk yourself back.”
“I won’t walk myself back,” Kalila promised. “Now, off you go. Tell your aunt and uncle I say hello.”
“Right, well.” Dameer hesitated. “I should see that you make it inside safely.”
“Dameer!”
“What?”
Kalila grumbled beneath her breath. “If it’ll give you some peace of mind, then—” She walked up to the university, ascended the steps, and waved down at him.
Visibly satisfied, Dameer nodded and made for Willow House. She couldn’t fault him his worry, seeing as how she’d all but disappeared the night before. She needed to be more sensible, she thought.
But it was so easy to get carried away with the freedom of it all.
Making her way into the entrance, Kalila ducked her head and shuffled toward 107.
The hallway leading to the room was, blissfully, empty.
All she had to do was go to her bench, grab her paper, and then return to the peace of the attic.
She walked into the laboratory noiselessly, careful not to leave the door wide open.
Her heart dropped when she saw a figure at a far bench blinking at her through a pair of spectacles.
Oliver Booth. In a pair of spectacles.
Part of Kalila was frustrated that she couldn’t even go half a day without running into Oliver in some way, shape, or form.
A bigger part of her was abuzz as she drank in the image of him with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, waistcoat pulled tight against his broad chest. Why, with his tousled, sandy hair and spectacles, he looked positively—academic.
But in the most tantalizing of ways.
She took a deep inhale, and the spell was broken. Oliver, as if remembering himself, removed his spectacles and shoved them into his waistcoat pocket, his embarrassment betrayed by the color blooming on his cheeks.
“I—”
“Excuse me—”
They stopped speaking at the same time, and Kalila once again damned her terrible luck. A layer of protection was missing, replaced only with the thin fabric of her yellow dress.
“I’ve seen you before,” Oliver said, standing up and, much to Kalila’s disappointment, tugging his sleeves down to cover his beautifully formed arms.
Kalila, who had not elected to remove her bonnet, dipped her head. “Indeed? I cannot recall.”
Which was the most blatant lie she had ever told, as no woman would ever forget the sight of Oliver Booth on her doorstep.
“At the townhouse,” he prompted, coming to a stop before her. “I asked for your cousin.”
She made to respond but was rendered silent by the wicked grin that had come over him.
“You slammed the door in my face.” He gave her a short bow. “And now we meet again, Miss—?”
“Darwish,” she blurted out. “Kalila Darwish.”
Oh, well done, she thought a split second later.
“What brings you to the university, Miss Darwish?” he asked with that same knowing smile.
“My—my cousin left his paper here, I’m afraid,” she explained. “I offered to come pick it up, as he’s indisposed at the moment.”
“Indeed? How very unlike him to be so forgetful.” Oliver went to the bench Kalila typically sat at, retrieved the sheaf of papers, and placed them on the worktable beside her. “Does your cousin keep you well informed on his research, Miss Darwish?”
“Not at all,” she said, eyeing the papers. “I’ve no interest in science myself, Mr. Booth.”
“No? Well, perhaps it’s better that you’re spared. Rafiq has some rather unique ideas. Some might even call them ridiculous.”
As if on cue, she bristled. What happened to her work having merit? To his being embarrassed by his inability to understand the complexity of it? Had he merely been trying to placate her?
“Ideas are not ridiculous simply because one does not understand them,” she said, tone clipped. “In fact, my cousin is one of the few scientists brave enough to continue to challenge this Society on theories surrounding development and advanced microscopy.”
A lazy smile pulled at Oliver’s mouth. “No interest in science yourself, Miss Darwish?”
She almost cursed herself for having taken the bait so easily. What was it about Oliver Booth that constantly had her making a fool out of herself?
“I must take my leave, Mr. Booth,” she said. “I’ll be sure to send your regards to my cousin.”
He retrieved his coat, pulling it over his broad shoulders. “How lucky that I, too, was meaning to leave. Might I walk you home? I’m sure your cousin would be most grateful.”
Kalila froze, cycling through the consequences of each response that popped into her head. As women so often were, she was bound by politeness. A vehement refusal would do nothing but make him think her odder than he likely already did. A joyful agreement would make her seem a touch desperate.
Detached consent would do.
“If you insist, sir,” she said.
“Oh, believe me,” he replied. “I do.”
*
Kalila Darwish.
The woman he had known only as Rafiq strolled beside him in the bright London sunshine, back stiff and mouth buttoned shut. Her hands were clasped in front of her, a small yellow reticule bouncing against her skirts with every step.
“Quite irresponsible of Rafiq to let you loose in the university all by yourself,” he said, attempting to break the silence for what felt like the thousandth time.
Her face remained concealed by the shade of her bonnet. “I do not think the university is known for being dangerous, Mr. Booth.”
“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.