Page 76 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

They spent the next several moments scanning the floor for their discarded clothing. Kalila caught sight of herself in the mirror once she was fully dressed, hands flying to the wild hair that sat proudly atop her head.

“You should be fine.” Oliver appeared behind her and ruffled her curls. “I’ve been to the university at this hour. I guarantee it’ll be empty.”

“I need to think of something before today’s lecture,” Kalila said, taking the hat he offered her.

“I can also guarantee that Hughes will have you sorted out,” Oliver assured her, steering her out of the room and down the stairs.

“You seem terribly insistent on not having me worry,” Kalila grumbled, shivering as they stepped out into the foggy London morning.

“Very perceptive of you.”

They walked in what Kalila found to be surprisingly comfortable silence. The last time she’d taken a similar walk—one that had had certain activities precede it—she’d felt giddy and awkward.

She thought you were supposed to feel giddy and awkward. But with Oliver, it was gentle. Unassuming.

Her contemplation was halted by the sight of the university. As Oliver had promised, the grounds were completely empty. The entryway and halls were so quiet that she almost felt as though they were breaking some unspoken law by being there.

“After you,” Oliver said, holding the door to 107 open for her. He led her to a shelf that sat collecting dust in a corner. “Loose pieces of paper usually end up here.”

They began to rifle through all they could get their hands on, finding papers dated as early as 1839. Kalila let out a huff of frustration as they reached the end of the pile, wondering why it was her own work was so determined to make her life so difficult.

“Maybe we should—did you hear that?” Oliver asked, cutting himself off.

Kalila placed a book back on the dusty shelf. “Hear what?”

“Footsteps.” Without further elaboration, Oliver grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into the supply closet that sat a few paces away from the door.

“Are you sure?” Kalila whispered, blinking as she became accustomed to the gloom. The supply closet was full of slide boxes, empty glass tanks, and what appeared to be ancient microscopes. Something poked into her back as she tried and failed to avoid pressing her body against Oliver’s.

“I’m—”

“Shh!” she said, straining to hear. “You’re right, I—”

The door to the supply closet remained cracked open, unable to fully contain its two intruders. Kalila leaned over Oliver to peer into the laboratory.

Jennings. The person in 107 was Andrew Jennings.

Kalila’s eyes met Oliver’s in the weak light. A frown played at his lips, which told her that he, too, had spotted Jennings through the partially open door. Jennings milled around the laboratory, seeming to search for something. Finally, he produced a length of string and seated himself at the bench closest to the supply closet.

Kalila gave Oliver a questioning look, receiving only a shrug in return. For a moment, she was intensely aware of just how tangled in one another they were. How his hard body radiated heat against hers, how his hands seemed to find her waist so as to steady her, how—

It was then that she saw it.

As Jennings rifled through the papers he’d brought with him, she caught sight of an all too familiar diagram.

Her diagram.

Andrew Jennings was tying up her paper, the rat. Kalila was overcome with the instant, urgent need to burst out of the supply closet and snatch her work away from him. Oliver held her back, his grip firm as they watched Jennings fold her paper, tie it up, and leave the room. Kalila gave up her struggling, and she and Oliver stood in silence, their labored breathing the only sound reaching her ears.

Finally, Oliver pushed the door open and stepped out into the laboratory. He turned to her. “You can come out now.”

Kalila remained rooted in place, her blood cold in her veins. “Why did you do that?”

He frowned. “Do what?”

“That was my paper, Oliver.”

“I know it was.”