Page 62 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“I’ve got it,” Kalila bit out, a puff of air escaping her as the fish pulled viciously at the line. She was right at the edge of the lake, so she gave a hefty tug and was rewarded with a glimpse of the offending fish. As if in response, the fish gave one final, powerful yank. Kalila returned the gesture, pulling so hard that the fish flew out of the lake as she lost her balance and fell into it. Adrenaline coursed through her as she sputtered and righted herself. She glanced up, expecting to see Oliver in a fit of laughter.

Instead, he was giving her an odd sort of look, his eyes breaking from hers to shift to the right.

“What?” she demanded, following his gaze.

It was her wig.

It floated on the lake’s surface, sad and drenched. In a panic, Kalila reached up to touch the crown of her head, only to find that her own hair was equally drenched and very much visible to Oliver. The linen of her shirt was plastered to her slender body, revealing so much that there was no point in trying to come up with a creative excuse for the wig.

She’d been revealed.

By a fish.

Which was ironic, considering the idea for her disguise had come from a mythical terror of the marshlands.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

Oliver, who did not seem at all surprised, bent down with a wicked grin on his face. “Oh, yes.”

Kalila splashed helplessly for a moment before pulling herself into a standing position. She tugged at the translucent fabric that had pasted itself to her in an attempt to tidy herself up.

Wait.

“What do you mean by that?” she snapped, boots slipping on the muddy bank as she tried to return to dry land. She didn’t know how to react to her current situation. So much so, that anger was the only emotion rising to the surface. Reluctantly, she took the hand Oliver held out to her. He hauled her out of the water in one strong motion, keeping a firm grip on her even as she found her footing again.

“It means,” he said, sounding entirely too delighted for her liking, “that I’ve known about your disguise all along, Miss Kalila Darwish.”

Kalila’s mouth fell open as she pulled her hand away from his. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no way you could have known.”

“You thought I wouldn’t notice the differences between yourself and Dameer,” he said. “Didn’t you?”

“How could you? You met him for all of five minutes. Nobody—”

“You’re not the only talented microscopist in England.”

Kalila fought the overwhelming urge to strangle him. “But—you didn’t do anything about it! You can’t have known.”

“I think I’ve done quite a lot,” he said, quirking an eyebrow in her direction. “No?”

Kalila blinked in bewilderment. That meant—the mouse, the pub, the encounter at the university, the party at Willow House, the butterfly, the carriage ride they had just shared, the way he treated her—

Letting out a growl of pure frustration, Kalila began to march away. She’d been so careful. She’d paid attention to every last detail.

“Where are you going?” he called, following after her.

A thought occurred to her, and she whirled around. “Who else knows?”

Oliver put his hands up in surrender. “Nobody!” he said. “Well, Hughes. But nobody else.”

Kalila resumed her marching. She’d failed from the very start. And to think she’d been proud of her little charade, to think—

“If you knew,” she said, turning around once more, “then why were you so taken aback when I suggested allowing women into the Society?”

He hesitated at that. “I-I didn’t think you’d come with some grand plan beyond having your work published.”

“I see,” she ground out, stomping away again.

For the second time, he asked, “Where are you going?”