Page 11 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

Dameer, naturally, turned pink at her words. Kalila found herself huddled with Caroline and Amelia in the darkened hallway, barely able to breathe. She heard the sound of footsteps as the men entered the parlor.

“My apologies,” Dameer was saying. Kalila strained to see him, pressing herself against the wall for a better view. “My elderly grandmother is visiting, you see, and my cousin thought she heard her call.”

“It’s quite all right,” came the response. Kalila’s breath caught in her throat for the second time that day as Mr. Booth came into her line of sight. Her initial assessment hadn’t been wrong—he looked just as dazzling inside of the parlor as he had outside on the steps.

“Good Lord,” Caroline whispered. “That is your Mr. Booth?”

“He isn’t my Mr. Booth,” Kalila whispered back.

“He ought to be,” Amelia chimed in. “Look at him!”

“I thought I might come by to introduce myself,” Mr. Booth was saying. He ran a hand through his hair, and Kalila could almost feel Caroline and Amelia suppress dreamy sighs. She, meanwhile, reminded herself that Mr. Booth had done nothing to help her along on her scientific journey. In fact, he very often presented himself as an annoying bump in the road.

A devastatingly handsome bump with an unbearably rakish smile, but a bump nonetheless.

“Surely this could have waited,” Dameer said.

“I’m afraid not,” Mr. Booth responded. “Your papers never cease to astonish us, Mr.—ah, my apologies. I only know you by your initials.”

“Rafiq,” Dameer said automatically. “Dameer Rafiq.”

Another knee-weakening smile. “Rafiq. Well, Rafiq, you’re certainly persistent.”

He pronounced Dameer’s surname in the light way English folk tended to do, the q at the end transformed into a k no matter how hard they tried.

“Indeed,” Dameer mumbled. Kalila noticed he hadn’t offered Mr. Booth a seat and hoped it was part of a plan to be rid of him.

Mr. Booth bounced on his heels and Kalila furrowed her brow. Was he—excited? About Dameer’s—her—work? That couldn’t be true. Ridiculous comments such as his indicated that he found her work pointless. Or boring. Anything but exciting.

“I’m curious to know what your responses to Comerford’s recent comments are,” Mr. Booth said, his brown eyes twinkling in interest.

Dameer’s incredulity was plain. “You aren’t curious to know what my responses to your comments are?”

Caroline placed her hand against her forehead and let out a soft exhale. “What part of get rid of him did your cousin not understand?”

Mr. Booth grinned. “Naturally. But I’d much rather get into the science first.” He scanned the room, having clearly decided to make himself more comfortable. Gesturing to an armchair, he said, “Shall we?”

Dameer let out an abrupt, “No!”

“No? Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes?” Dameer said, sounding unsure as Kalila prayed for the ground to swallow her whole.

“My apologies.” Mr. Booth raised an unconvinced eyebrow. “I can return at a later time.”

“N-no,” Dameer stammered, almost turning his head toward the door that led to the hallway.

“We should do something,” Caroline murmured. “He’s at death’s door out there.”

“We can’t,” Kalila replied. “Well, I can’t. Mr. Booth has already seen far, far too much of me.”

“I’ll help him,” Amelia offered, straightening her skirts and hobbling into the parlor before either Kalila or Caroline could stop her. Both men turned to look at her as she gave an awkward little dip. “Apologies for interrupting, but I forgot my—” She paused for a moment, tapping a finger against her crutch in thought. “My book.”

“Of course,” Mr. Booth said, having the nerve to sound pleased at the sight of her. He gave her a short bow. “Oliver Booth. A pleasure.”

A tingle shot up Kalila’s spine. What was wrong with her?

“Miss Amelia Southcott,” Dameer mumbled. “A friend of the family.”