Chapter Thirteen
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.”
“What’s the prize?” Jennings demanded.
Comerford paused for dramatic effect, and Oliver almost nodded off. “Publication in the Society journal.”
The room began to buzz in interest. Oliver’s eyes met Kalila’s, round and wide and full of unrestrained hope. He couldn’t help but smile, and she couldn’t seem to help returning it.
“And partners?” Young asked.
If Oliver could make one request of Comerford, it would be to—
“Right, of course.” Comerford began to read off a piece of paper. “Young, you’ll be working with Talbot.”
—pair him up with Kalila so that he might—
“Dunn, you’ll work with Jennings.”
Oliver’s train of thought was interrupted, and he turned to his friend. “Sorry.”
“I can handle him,” Dunn said, though the mild distress about him said otherwise. He grinned at Oliver. “It looks like you got Rafiq.”
It did look like that, and the realization forced Oliver wide, wide awake. He’d finally, finally been graced with the tiny ounce of luck he’d been wishing for.
“That leaves Rafiq with Booth,” Comerford said, making it all the more real. “No more lectures after this one, gentlemen. Use your time wisely.”
With those words, the room exploded with energy. Young and Talbot had their heads together, whispering away, while Dunn took slow, measured steps toward Jennings, sighing with each one.
Kalila appeared in front of Oliver before he had the chance go to to her. She glowed with excitement. “I have some ideas,” she said.
He responded with a wry, “Of course you do.”
“If you have time, we can get to work right away.”
As if he’d ever turn her down. He’d defy the very concept of time to create as many hours in the day as she needed from him.
“Shall we find somewhere quiet?” he asked, heart beating wildly in his chest. If this time alone didn’t make her trust him, then—
“Why don’t we go to your laboratory?” she suggested.
Oliver frowned. Why in God’s name would she want to return to Rosewood? He’d thoroughly convinced himself that she’d choose to keep her distance—from Rosewood, from his father, and, by extension, from him. And yet here she was, awaiting his response with an eager look on her lovely face.
“We can,” he said eventually, voice a little hoarse. “Of course we can.”
He watched as she went to gather her things, saying her farewells to the friends she’d made in 107. Soon, she was by his side once more, vibrating with excitement.
“I think we can win this,” she chirped as soon as they were making their way down the pavement. “Don’t you?”
Oliver wasn’t the competitive sort, but he was sure she could inspire the trait in him. She chattered all the way to Rosewood, discussing everything from sectioning and mounting to the kind of paper they ought to use for their diagram.
The house was blissfully quiet. Hughes greeted them at the door, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the sight of Kalila.
“I did not think we would see you here again, Mr. Rafiq,” he said, “if you don’t mind my saying.”
“On the contrary,” she replied, allowing him to take her coat, “it would be foolish of me not to take advantage of a private laboratory while I am in London.”
“Indeed,” Hughes agreed. “And I am sure Mr. Booth’s presence only adds to it.”
Oliver cleared his throat.
“That is—” Hughes stammered. He turned to Oliver. “Your father has gone to Kent.”
Relief and surprise flooded through him at the declaration. Suddenly, the air in the house seemed a little fresher and the sun a little brighter. Hell, he’d be happy betting that the climbing roses that covered the brick facade of the house had spontaneously bloomed at the news.
“Thank you, Hughes,” he said, feeling very much like his old self. He nodded at Kalila. “Shall we?”
They went upstairs and, once again, Oliver thought about the possibility of her here all the time. He couldn’t help it—even something as simple as going up the stairs together held the promise of romance at present.
He didn’t need any more proof as to how much danger he was in.
In the lab, Kalila marched up to his bookshelf and began to examine the spines. “I should like to present a unique specimen to Comerford.”
Oliver perched himself at the bench and watched her, wishing they could drop the subject of science altogether. They had days to get around to it. With her intelligence and his resources, there was very little that stood in their way.
“Rafiq,” he said. She kept her back to him as she pulled a book off the shelf. “I’ve been meaning to ask after your cousin.”
She whirled around, book pressed to her chest. “My cousin?”
“Yes.” He gave her a serene smile. “Miss Darwish. Is she in good health?”
“She is,” Kalila responded, tone guarded.
“She’s a curious thing,” he said. “Very defensive about your work.”
Kalila’s posture relaxed. “She simply has an eye for good science.”
“A family trait?” Oliver teased.
A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “You sound jealous.”
“Has she mentioned me at all?”
Kalila frowned at this and began to push the book slowly back onto the shelf. It took her a moment to respond, and he knew it was because she was running through the myriad of ways she could do so. Finally, she gave a simple, “Yes.”
“And?” he pressed.
She joined him at the bench, folding her arms against her chest. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it does,” he said cheekily. “The least you could do is let me know if I’ve lost my touch.”
“What would you like to hear? That she’s taken to her bed, lovesick with the thought of you?”
If only.
He tried and failed to suppress a grin. “Has she?”
“No.”
“Unfathomable,” he murmured. “Is she engaged?”
“Are those her only options? Enamored with you or attached to another?”
“Ooh, maybe she’s in love with someone else entirely,” he said, keeping an eye on her reaction. To her credit, she managed to maintain some level of neutrality.
“Not anymore,” she responded, tone tinged with acid.
*
Drat. Drat, drat, drat.
Kalila pulled a box of slides toward her. She opened it, and—
Broken glass. Of course. It wasn’t as if she’d forgotten.
Oliver reached over and gently closed the lid. “Not anymore?”
She’d never had this conversation with anyone. Oliver regarded her with interest, though she thought she detected a glimmer of irritation in his eyes.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Why should Oliver Booth be irritated at the idea of Kalila having been in love?
“I didn’t think you a gossip,” she said.
“I’ll forgive the mistake,” he replied, charming and easy as always. “What do you mean, not anymore?”
“It’s quite self-explanatory,” she said, trying to pry the slide box away from him. “It means she thought she was in love once and isn’t anymore.”
“She thought so, did she?”
Kalila was seriously beginning to doubt her own intelligence, given her inability to choose the right words. She looked away from the slide box and met his gaze, bright with curiosity.
Still shadowed with the tiniest glimmer of irritation.
“It’s easy for one to think themselves in love,” she explained, wondering how much she’d be tempted to divulge. Something about him always tempted her to share, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
He released his hold on the box and sat back. “Is that so?”
She began sorting through the shards of glass. “You disagree?”
“I do.”
“You’re quite confident,” she said, piecing together a slide on the bench top, “for someone who has never been in love.”
“Who says I’ve never been in love?”
Kalila’s head snapped up. Oliver’s face was all innocence, his mouth lifted in a small, crooked smile.
“You—the conversation we had at Regent’s Park—”
“Just because I’m—what was the word you used? Ah, yes—scared of marriage, does not mean I’m immune to falling in love, Rafiq.”
This time, it was Kalila’s turn to have curiosity eat away at her. She abandoned the glass and bent forward. “Who were you in love with?”
He gave her a smug look. “I didn’t think you a gossip.”
“It isn’t the same thing, and you know it.”
“In any case,” he said, with that same insufferable expression, “it doesn’t matter who I’ve been in love with. It matters that I’ve always been certain about my feelings as I was feeling them.”
Kalila had been sure. Well. She’d been convinced. Wooed, really. If she hadn’t kept it such a secret, someone might have shaken her out of it. It might have saved her some time.
It was almost embarrassing to think about.
“Good for you,” she said. “Since you’re such an expert, why don’t you enlighten me? How does one know for sure that they’re in love?”
“That’s easy,” he said, not even pausing to think. “Have you ever returned to a quiet house after a big event?”
Kalila knit her brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Bear with me,” he said. “Have you?”
She thought back to a particularly energetic ball she’d attended at Willow House one summer while traveling with her aunt. She’d slipped out halfway through, returning to her room in a silent wing of the house.
“I suppose,” she said finally. “I’ve gone to a quiet place, at least.”
“Good,” he said. “And what did you feel when you were in that quiet place?”
Heaviness.
And it was true. Arriving in that dark, quiet wing of Willow House, Kalila had felt a heavy weight settle on her shoulders. She’d grown tired of watching the others dance, so she’d gone to her room to begin undressing. It had been equal parts freeing and lonely.
“Heavy,” she told him, the word coming out in a strained whisper. How hadn’t she noticed it before? It was the same sensation that followed her home after every outing, every social engagement. Why hadn’t she named it?
What was it, anyway?
“A sort of intimacy, wouldn’t you say?” Oliver placed his forearms on the bench top and leaned forward. “Comfortable but lonely.”
He’d taken the words right from her mind.
“Yes.”
“And you think to yourself that you’d like to share it with someone, no matter how private it feels. No matter how vulnerable you feel in those moments.”
Vulnerable. That was the right word for it. Private, vulnerable, heavy.
“Your point, Oliver,” she said, wanting to return to the safe, guarded world of scientific discovery.
“It’s simple, really,” he said. “You know you love someone when you want to let them into the quiet parts of your life. No matter how unguarded you are during them.”
She blinked. Once, twice. “That can’t be right.”
He laughed. “Why not? Too romantic for your tastes?”
“It has to be more complicated than that,” she insisted, knowing full well she’d never wanted Edward to share in that quiet with her.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
Kalila stared, lingering on the most perfect parts of him—his disheveled hair, his sharp jaw, his broken nose. She could imagine—
No. There was no need to make this any messier than it had to be. She’d resolved to finish up the lecture series and go home. All that stood between her and the privacy she needed to lick her wounds was the project Comerford had assigned to them.
“Oliver—”
“Tell your cousin,” he interrupted. “It’s foolproof. And if she ever does take to bed over me, promise you’ll send word.”
Kalila bit back a laugh. “She isn’t for you.”
I’m not. I can’t be.
The mirth melted from his features. “What? Why not?”
“Don’t tease,” she admonished, wondering if he was truly as wounded as he appeared to be. “Can we get back to work, please?”
“Maybe,” he said, dejection clear in his tone, “we should go hunting.”
Kalila’s nose wrinkled in revulsion. “Absolutely not.”
Oliver brightened, seeming to sense an opportunity to needle her. “Weak stomach, Rafiq? We might find something unique to dissect. Something Comerford has never seen before.”
“No hunting,” she said.
“I can’t believe a strapping young lad such as yourself has never hunted. Is it not a rite of passage in Gloucestershire?”
“No,” she said firmly.
“Oh, fine. I wouldn’t want you to see how terrible my aim is, anyway.” His easy friendliness had returned, much to her relief. “How about fishing?”
Kalila considered this before nodding. “That could be interesting.”
“Very good.” Oliver hopped off his stool. “I’ll come around at five day after tomorrow.”
“Five?”
“In the morning.”
“In the morning!”
Oliver gave her a devilish grin. “Would you prefer four?”
“No!” she gasped. “No, five suits me just fine.”
“I thought it might.”