Page 79 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“I didn’t think I’d be published so soon,” Jennings responded, all innocence. “Indeed, I have much thanks to give to Mr. Comerford. His guidance is unmatched.”

“I didn’t think you were this pathetic, Jennings.”

Oliver had approached, a frown marring his perfect features.

“Booth!” Comerford scolded. “I will not have members of my Society addressing each other with such disrespect.”

“For God’s sake—” Oliver growled.

“This is the best possible outcome,” Comerford insisted. “Collaboration is what keeps a Society standing.”

“But—” Kalila attempted.

“If this is about a first author credit,” Comerford said, “we can discuss it later. In the meantime, I’ll ask you to return to your seats.”

“Sir—”

Comerford shot Oliver a look Kalila could not decipher. “Booth.”

Just like that, Kalila saw Oliver back down, his shoulders slumping in a gesture of defeat.

What was that?

“Why won’t he listen?” Kalila whispered as she and Oliver retreated to the back of the room.

“He’s stubborn.” Oliver propped himself on a stool. “It’s almost impossible to change his mind.”

“What can we do?”

Oliver sighed, his composure unnerving. “I don’t know. I didn’t think Jennings would sink so low. Comerford will want proof, and—”

And God knows where the original is, she thought, feeling tears threaten.

“I think I’ll leave,” she said, knowing she was minutes from dissolving into sobs. “I’ll find you at Rosewood later.”

“Kal—Rafiq,” Oliver said gently. “If you’ll only give me some time, I’ll—”

“I know,” Kalila said, forcing the words out. “I know. But I need to be alone.”

He stared at her for a moment before nodding. “As you wish.”

As Kalila made her way down the hall, only one thought echoed in her head, repeating in an incessant beat.

I should never have come here.

*

Oliver knocked at the door of the townhouse, shivering in the drizzle that had begun to fall. Kalila had not come to find him at Rosewood.

It hadn’t surprised him, given how upset she’d been. He knew she was angry at Jennings and Comerford, and rightfully so. But whether she was angry with him remained to be seen. He likely deserved to have a bit of fury thrown his way, if only because he had, for the umpteenth time, been unable to stand up to Comerford.

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just—

His thoughts were dashed away by the motion of the door opening before him. Caroline Southcott stood on the threshold, her violet eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“It’s you.” She nodded at the small boxes he held in his hands. “What have you brought?”

“Supplies for our project,” he replied, hoping she didn’t mean to leave him out in the rain. “Miss Southcott—”