Page 56 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

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.