Page 113 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

For a moment, they stood with Kalila’s words hanging in the air between them.

Finally, Comerford spoke. “What will you do?”

Kalila considered this, just as she had last night. Did she even need help from men like Comerford? Did she need the Society—or any existing Society, for that matter?

Perhaps what she needed—what she really needed to push her research forward—was herself. Perhaps that was all she’d ever needed. The only thing that had been holding her back from realizing it was fear. Fear and the belief that she needed someone to hold her hand as she crossed this rickety, unstable bridge toward her goals. But she didn’t need anyone, not really. Either she’d cross the bridge safely on her own, or it would collapse. And if it did collapse then, well, she could swim through the choppy waters that flowed beneath.

Keeping her thoughts to herself, she said, “That is irrelevant.”

“Then I would make you one more offer.”

Kalila nodded at him to proceed even as a refusal gathered in her throat.

“I’d like to publish your paper in the quarterly journal,” he said. “With you listed as the sole author. What do you say?”

“Thank you, but no,” she responded, aware that she was letting the one thing she’d dreamed about slip through her fingers. “I think I shall keep my research private for now.”

“You’ll let me know if you change your mind?”

“My mind is quite made up, sir. Will that be all?”

“That will be all,” he said, making his way to the door. “Though I must say, it’d be a shame to keep such fine work to yourself.”

A last-ditch effort. And a pathetic one to boot.

“Indeed,” she agreed. “If only it had been given fair consideration sooner.”

The last thing Kalila would remember of Laurence Comerford was seeing him wince in shame.

Because, of course, she was right. And he knew it.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Kalila sat in the parlor later that afternoon, mind in complete overdrive as she sipped away at a cup of tea.

All she needed was a name.

Despite this, she was distracted by all that had occurred over the past two weeks. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she’d examined the ewer depicting the Tantal at Heatherden and had made the decision to come to London. She’d arrived with the intention of achieving a rather ambitious set of goals, and she still intended to accomplish them.

What she hadn’t intended on was falling in love. Kalila had spent the last nine years believing herself more than a little fearless, only to meet Oliver and realize how terrified she’d been. And now—well, now she felt as wonderful as she ever had, the result of making a brave decision and sticking to it.

The name! You’re meant to be coming up with a name.

Oh, right. That.

Putting her teacup down, Kalila picked up a pencil and reached for a clean piece of paper. It had to be descriptive, but not too long. Something neutral that proved to all who came across it that Kalila Darwish was not one to discriminate on the basis of—

“Aha!” she said to herself under her breath. She began to scribble, her pencil flying across the paper. Just as she underlined the second word in triumph, a pleasant voice met her ears.

“What are you plotting over there, Kalila Darwish?”

Delight bloomed in her at the sight of Oliver in the doorway. He struck a terribly handsome figure dressed in a charcoal-gray suit—the sharpness of which, naturally, was offset by his tousled hair and boyish smile.

“You’ll never believe who paid me a visit this morning,” she said, placing the pencil down.

Oliver strode toward her and held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up into a standing position before slanting his mouth over hers, making her forget she had a story to tell.

“A gentleman caller, perhaps?” he murmured against her lips. “Don’t tell me I have to compete for your affections.”