“Saffron …” Alexander said, his dark eyes on her face.
“Yes?” Saffron was very aware of his nearness, the warmth of his arm not quite touching her neck. She hadn’t expected to go from breaking into an office to being stashed away in a dimly lit room with Alexander. She certainly didn’t mind.
His steady gaze was intense, confident. Alexander reached to her face and brushed back a lock of hair come loose from losing her hairpins. He tucked it behind her ear, looking at her mouth.
“I just wanted to say …” His face, golden in the dim light, drew nearer to hers.
“Y-yes?” Anticipation made her voice shake.
Inches from her, Alexander murmured, “That was a stupid thing to do.” A switch clicked on behind her, flooding the room with light and extinguishing the spark of want he’d so effectively fanned to life.
Saffron blinked at him with an open mouth. Alexander fell back onto the cushions behind him, a look of satisfaction on his face.
“Are you serious?” Saffron hissed, hitting him on the arm.
Alexander chuckled. “Not so funny, is it?”
“Oh, shut up—it was your fault I was nearly caught to begin with!” Saffron huffed, face hot. It was only fair that he got her back, but she didn’t have to admit it any time soon. “Do you want to hear about what I found or not?”
“I do,” Alexander said with a grin, “but not tonight. I need to concentrate.”
“Concentrate on what? I thought you were finished working for the night.”
“I am. I need to concentrate on cementing the look on your face into my mind. I never want to forget that.”
CHAPTER 15
Alexander’s flirtatious revenge had utterly distracted Saffron. When she and Alexander parted ways, her head had been filled with the melting look he’d given just before scolding her. That look had helped Saffron put from her mind the unease she felt whenever she remembered that Berking had some of her father’s papers. However, walking to work through cool mist the next morning, it was all Saffron could think about.
She’d never gone through her father’s things, having been just young enough when he died that her mother deemed it inappropriate and locked all his papers away. At the time, her fourteen-year-old self had scoffed at the idea that journals detailing plant growth and disease could be inappropriate, but considering how affected her mother had been by his death, she hadn’t risked upsetting her by asking. Now, she wished she’d taken the folder from Berking’s cabinet. Plant breeding, the subject of the document she’d barely skimmed, would not have been a new concept to Violet Everleigh when her husband had died—especially since she was a botany enthusiast herself—but perhaps the concepts of sexual reproduction in plants were what made her keep Saffron from reading her father’s papers. Researchers spent years on work that never saw publication, and Saffron hadn’t had any idea what her father had been working on before he left for war. Apparently, it was related to creating hybrid plants. That line of research held as little interest for her as plant pathology did, unfortunately. It would have been nice if her father’s work had been something she could continue for her graduate studies.
There would be another few years of work and study, all under the uncomfortable gaze of Dr. Berking. At least he would be absent for the next few months. Maxwell had encouraged her to wait a year or two to apply, but she didn’t see why she should. She simply needed a topic that captured her interest and for Berking to approve it.
Alexander, like Berking, would be leaving in less than two weeks, she thought with a sigh. She hadn’t fallen madly in love yet, but she certainly liked the man. Maybe she should do what Elizabeth suggested and set something up between her and Alexander, though she didn’t know what that would look like considering he was leaving England for six months.
Her thoughts carried her all the way to the university, her mind full of swirling possibilities.
Wedged in her office door was a note from Dr. Aster requesting her assistance that morning, forcing her to postpone her plan to immediately go to the library to decipher the few legible parts of the formula on the torn paper. It was lunchtime before she managed to find time to get to the library.
Clear blue skies and the clock indicating the lunch hour meant that the Quad was buzzing with life. She had to dodge students sitting in clusters on the steps to the portico to get inside the Wilkins Building. She’d barely crossed into the Flaxman Gallery when she heard her name.