Page 21 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“We can release it outside,” Oliver interrupted, coming to stand beside her—why was he standing beside her? He tilted his head in the zoologist’s direction. “You might want to do something about that bleeding.”

The zoologist looked at his wounded hand and paled. “Indeed. I think I shall do just that. Thank you.”

With that, he darted out of the room and into the hall, moving quite like the mouse that had been wreaking havoc only moments ago. Oliver gave Kalila a sharp nod. “Shall we?”

“I can take it outside,” she said, moving toward the door. Distance was key, she couldn’t—

“Nonsense.” He fell into stride beside her with very little effort. “It’ll be faster if I help. I know this place well.”

Kalila bit back a sigh, unable to argue with him. I’d rather you didn’t, as your face makes me nervous wasn’t much of an excuse. Truly, it would be a lot easier to remain aloof if Oliver Booth didn’t look the way he did. As irritating as he could be—and she reminded herself again that he could be immensely irritating—he could also be painfully, devastatingly, irresistibly charming.

It was inconvenient. And distracting.

“You were impressive back there,” he said as he led her down the hall and to the entryway. “Not a trace of fear in you.”

Kalila stamped down the pleasure that bloomed at the compliment. “I’ve handled mice before.”

“Have you now?” He opened a door that led into a sprawling back garden and quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “I should like to hear more about these rodent handling escapades of yours.”

Absolutely not, she thought. She would not indulge his curiosity or grant him the opportunity to know her. That was not what she was here for. And besides, she was beginning to think him a little—well, dangerous. He made it far, far too easy for someone to overlook his faults and find themselves absorbed in those boyish smiles of his. Even someone as sensible as herself was susceptible, and susceptibility could only lead to trouble, discovery, or both.

Instead of responding, Kalila crouched and allowed the mouse to dart off into the grass. When she stood, Oliver was staring at her, his face almost expressionless. Something she couldn’t identify flickered in his brown eyes.

“Shall we go?” she asked, feeling as though she might start to fidget if he kept studying her like that.

“Yes,” he said, his voice a little tight. “Let’s.”

*

His Lady Impostor was a marvel.

Oliver knew it was odd to spend his entire break watching Rafiq scribble away at her bench, but he sincerely couldn’t help it. Nothing seemed to rankle her for very long.

Not even him.

He almost wanted to discover what could cut through that tightly controlled facade. Most people he knew would have fainted dead away at the sight of a stray mouse but even that had left Rafiq unruffled. She had simply taken charge, standing up to reveal the wiggling mouse in her hand with a delightful air of victory. Oliver hadn’t been able to help himself, a smile breaking out on his face as soon as she’d looked at him. She had faltered, and it made him wonder what it was she’d been thinking. It was obvious that she was trying to steer clear of him, given that she’d ignored his comment about wanting to hear her mouse-handling stories.

But Rafiq wasn’t all ice. She had, after all, walked that poor little creature out into the garden. If he had to guess, she had felt sorry for the animal all along.

She was just very good at hiding it, and a part of him wanted to know how and why she had picked up that particular skill. His curiosity gnawed at his insides, making it difficult to care about Comerford and his lectures. So much so, that he decided that sating his curiosity ought to take precedent over everything else, science included. He pushed himself away from the bench he was sharing with Dunn and walked over to Rafiq. She was working on what he recognized as that damned paper of hers—he knew the look of that title page better than anyone. She was writing something in a slow, careful fashion. When she noticed that he’d come to stand next to her, she straightened, drawing a strike through whatever she had just put down.

“Yes?” She attempted to rearrange her papers, but he caught sight of at least two letters that had been crossed out: K.D.

Her initials?

“I thought we might drop by the pub tonight,” Oliver suggested, leaning over the bench and staring right into those soulful eyes of hers.

“We?” she squeaked. She cleared her throat, voice dipping in register as she pulled at the ridiculous wig that sat atop her head. Well, ridiculous to him. The others clearly hadn’t noticed that it was a tad too bright to be real. “We?”

“Yes, we,” he said. “You, me, Dunn, Talbot, Young. Jennings too, but only because he’ll run crying to Comerford if we leave him out.”

As expected, she shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can,” he countered. He leaned a little closer, triumph coursing through him as color rose on her angular little face. She smelled like plain soap rather than perfume, every detail of her disguise accounted for. He expected no less. “Quality time with your fellow scientists will bring you one step closer to publication, Rafiq.”

She hesitated, and he knew he’d taken the correct route. Of course she wanted to be published. That was why she kept sending in those fantastical proposals of hers. Her teeth sank into her full lower lip, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she reasoned with herself. While she thought, he began to wonder about the initials he’d seen crossed out on her paper. K.D.

Attempting to guess her name seemed senseless. Whatever blood coursed in her veins, it wasn’t English, which meant that anything he came up with was bound to be wrong.