Then, quite suddenly, a figure appeared, looming up from nowhere. Head lowered against the rain, a man pushed open the station door, entered. Stamped his feet. From the depths of despair, Callie’s heart zipped back up into joy. So she hadn’t been forgotten after all. Of course, he wasn’t Nicholas Trier — oh yes, she remembered everything about Nicholas from their one and only actual meeting in London: golden hair, chiseled features, fine mouth; an elegant tweed jacket, silk shirt and corduroy pants, and the delightful suggestion of a perfectly gorgeous male body hidden under all that fabric. And how she’d reacted to the sight of him! An elemental gut reaction. Primitive. Female to the perfect male of the species.

            This man standing in front of her was not of that same perfect species. He was no tall blond god, she noted. His hairline was receding, and he was solidly built with a broad chest and a strong bear-like torso. No, no Prince Charming, yet, at the moment, he was heaven-sent.

“Thank goodness you’ve come for me,” she blurted out in English. “I’d almost given up hope…” She stopped abruptly, realizing her mistake. She should be using French. “Ah, pardon… mais…”

            The man simply stared at her with what could only be astonishment. Then, slowly, a warm, crinkly smile spread across his face. “Is that so.” His English was slightly accented but absolutely perfect. “I never thought I’d hear those words from a charming stranger.”

            Callie blinked, confused. Was it his tone, or the raw amusement in his dark eyes that told her she’d made a terrible mistake? Or was he poking fun at her because she’d sounded so ridiculously excessive? She hoped so. Time to make herself clear. Thank goodness, she could do so in English. “Well… I thought I’d been forgotten but…” She stopped, suddenly assailed by doubt. “You have been sent to meet me?”

            “I have?” His eyes were still dancing.

            She felt like punching him. “To take me to the Château de Froideval.”

            “Ah.” The smile faded. He shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not.”

            “Oh.” It was all she could come up with. She felt herself flush with embarrassment. What a picture she must be making: a red-faced, soggy, flat-haired woman wearing dripping clothes and babbling nonsense. Callie sniffed. Stood up as straight as possible. When you’ve just come out with provocative-sounding words that a perfect stranger had obviously taken in the wrong way, and you resembled a soaked vole, only dignity could help. “You really didn’t come to meet my train?”

            “Most definitely not.” His head jerked in the direction of the cardboard boxes slumped in the corner. “I came to pick up those packages of gardening tools.”

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