Chapter Sixteen #2
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.
A hush fell, one that would have broken his heart if it had gone on a moment longer. Without warning, an affectionate smile bloomed on Kalila’s angular face. “I think I liked you the moment I saw you.”
“Oh?”
“All of us did,” she said. “Amelia and Caroline thought you were terribly attractive. So did I. That’s why I didn’t speak when I opened the door to the townhouse that first day. I was—” She cut herself off. “I really ought to stop talking, or you’ll think yourself unparalleled among your sex.”
“By all means, continue,” he said, even while hoping she thought more of him than that.
“I was very much prepared to dislike you. I had, after all, spent years in Painswick thinking you my worst enemy.”
“Your enemy!” Oliver laughed. “And all thoughts of rivalry went up in smoke when you saw how charming I was?”
Kalila giggled, an unexpected sound that Oliver delighted in. “The day the mouse got loose, I saw you stand up for Talbot. After that, I began to notice it.”
“Notice what?”
“You’re kind, Oliver,” she said. “You may have a mischievous streak, but you—you’re a good person.”
“A good person,” he echoed. How long had it been since someone had called him kind?
He was Oliver Booth, cheeky, fun loving, handsome, occasionally foolish, but kind?
He was more likely to be called idiotic or a failure than kind.
The word was so simple, so direct and clear, that it pierced him right between the ribs. “Kalila, I—”
“You said I was the most interesting person at Willow House,” she said, large, hazel eyes meeting his. “It meant a lot to me.”
“It’s true. Not just at the ball—you’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met, full stop.” Then, because he couldn’t resist, he said, “Now’s your chance to tell me that I’m the most interesting person you’ve ever met.”
“You’re the most arrogant person I’ve ever met, more like,” she retorted. Still, it was impossible to miss the smile playing about her mouth. “Well—how shall we proceed?”
“I’ll follow your lead,” he assured her, bending over the bench. “What do you want?”
She thought about it, leaning across from him, hands clasped before her. “I want us to be truthful with one another. We shall enter into this agreement with no expectations, but if anything changes, then we must tell each other at once.”
Things will change.
He wondered if she could sense that he was half in love with her already. That she’d changed everything he’d ever thought about love.
Forcing nonchalance into his voice, he asked, “And what do we do then?”
“End it.”
And what if we both want the same thing from each other?
Oliver nodded, choosing not to vocalize the thought.
He was willing to have his heart broken if he could be with Kalila while she remained in London.
He knew her, knew that she likely doubted that they would ever want the same thing.
And perhaps she was right. Perhaps he would be the only one left wanting.
Whatever happened, he wouldn’t stifle her with expectations and antiquated traditions, no matter how appealing they seemed to him now.
“Another thing,” she said.
“By all means.”
“We are scientists first, which means I would see this project through. And attempt to have my paper published. Scientists first, lo—” Her mouth snapped close. “Scientists first. Are we in agreement?”
Oliver grinned. “Were you going to say lovers?”
“No,” she said, cheeks flashing crimson. “Are we in agreement?”
“We can think of a better word, if you’d like.”
“Oliver,” she said in sharp warning.
“Oh, all right. You have yourself a deal, Miss Darwish.”
And you, he thought to himself, will have a broken heart to tend to quite soon.
“Now what?”
“I think,” he said, “you’re overdue for a proper tour of Rosewood. Might I suggest we start with the bedchamber?”