She’d just opened her mouth to murmur the question to Elizabeth when she caught sight of a familiar face through the haze of cigarette smoke.
“Alexander?” Saffron breathed.
Elizabeth cast her a sidelong glance. “Sorry, love, but I am in no mood to hear about the most recent chapter in the Ashton saga.”
Saffron watched Alexander’s figure as he wove from the bar through the crowd. He reached a table and slipped into the booth to sit.
She was on her feet before she could determine what exactly she’d say to him when she reached him. She was angry he was there, but why was that? Had she imagined the protestations of his interest in her meant he would never go out dancing? Was he there with someone else?
Her last question was answered when she reached the table. A pretty red-haired girl was leaning close, tracing her finger along the rim of the martini glass on the table before him. Her stomach clenched. Not only was he with another woman, but he was drinking alcohol, which he’d told her he never did anymore.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice cold and clear over the noise of the club.
The couple turned to look at her. The girl’s eyes dipped to take in Saffron’s appearance with an unimpressed smirk. The man, however, was not Alexander.
His coloring was the same, with black hair pushed back from his olive-toned face and eyes the same shape and color. But his face was longer, thinner, and his eyes far more deeply shadowed. Not to mention that Alexander had never smiled at her so openly as this man did.
Her mouth snapped closed the moment she realized it was hanging open. “I beg your pardon,” she mumbled, “I thought you were someone else.” She turned away and attempted to disappear into the crowd.
She’d taken not three steps before a warm hand on her shoulder stopped her.
A strong sense of déjà vu claimed her as she turned. It was the man from the booth, and the action of turning her just as Alexander had done the day before sent her head swimming. She wasneverhaving a cocktail and wine in such rapid succession again.
“Excuse me,” he said, shouting a bit to be heard over the band. “But you are …?”
“Er—I’m mistaken, that’s all. I thought you were a friend of mine. Sorry.”
The man’s smile only grew, threatening to overstretch his thin face. “What friend?”
Nonplussed, she replied, “A colleague.”
“Ah, you are from the university?”
Between the man’s slight accent barely audible over the music and his surprising supposition, it took Saffron a moment to understand him. “I—sorry?”
“You thought me to be my brother, I think,” he said. “He works at a university not far from here, so you must as well.”
Saffron’s mouth fell open again. “You’re Alexander’s brother?”
A laugh broke out from the man, and he threw his head back with the force of it. “I am. I am Adrian Ashton. But who are you?”
CHAPTER10
“Adrian,” cut in a hard voice from Saffron’s left.
Alexander, the actual Alexander, had materialized at Adrian’s side. Seeing the brothers next to each other made her question how she’d ever confused the two. Alexander was slightly taller, broader, and infinitely more serious looking. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”
Adrian’s grin didn’t disappear, but he seemed to deflate. Saffron couldn’t make out his reply, but he leaned closer to Saffron and said, “A pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you again, miss.” He disappeared into the crowd.
Saffron rounded on Alexander. “How dreadfully rude you are.”
“May I speak to you?” His eyes only met hers on the last word, following Adrian out of sight.
“No.” A distant, entirely sober part of her knew she was being silly to refuse him after being angry with someone who’d turned out not to be him, but he had been abominably rude, sending his brother away without an introduction.
“Please,” he said through gritted teeth.
She glared at him but waved for him to lead the way. He took her hand to guide her, but rather than using the front door as she’d expected, he led her to a nearly invisible door off the side of the dance floor. It led to a dim corridor devoid of any of the interior’s glamor with its scuffed floor and the paint stained and peeling. With thesound of the band slightly muted, she could make out the sounds of a busy kitchen at the other end of the hall.
