Keys to the Castle by Donna Ball Page B

someone’s at the door. Tell the boys I love them.”
    â€œWe love you, too,” replied Dixie, shouting a little to be heard over the ever increasing excitement level in the background. “Send photos!”
    â€œI will. Bye, Dixie.” She flipped the phone closed and swung open the door, expecting the maid with more food, wine, or flowers.
    It wasn’t the maid. It was a tall, blond man of about her age in a gray cashmere sweater and perfectly creased charcoal slacks that looked Italian, and custom-made. His features were patrician; his light hair was thick and wavy and worn just long enough to curl slightly around his ears. The sleeves of his sweater were stylishly pushed up to bare his forearms, and the shine on his oxblood loafers—which again looked Italian, and handmade—was a deep gloss. He had deep blue eyes and wore the beginnings of a polite smile. He looked like every American’s idea of a European aristocrat, and was so perfectly suited for these surroundings that he might have been hired for the part.
    Good God , she thought, a little dazed. It’s Prince Charming.
    But what she said was, “Um . . . you must be the Beast.”

FIVE
    He replied smoothly, “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think, on such short acquaintance?” His accent was British, his expression amused and slightly quizzical. “Which is not to say,” he admitted with a small, considering tilt of his head, “that you won’t yet be proven right.”
    â€œLawyer,” Sara amended quickly. “I meant lawyer. Owner, that is.”
    â€œPart owner,” he corrected politely, and extended his hand. “I’m Ashton Lindeman. Welcome to Château Rondelais.”
    She was confused. That was the name of the law firm, which meant he was partner. Why would they send a partner all the way to France to meet her? Moreover, she was meeting him for the first time wearing nothing but a bathrobe.
    She fumbled self-consciously with the open collar of her robe, trying to pull the two pieces a little closer together. “But—I’ve been dealing with a Mr. Winkle.”
    He smiled. “I hope I won’t disappoint.”
    She noticed his still-extended hand and took it quickly, still clutching the collar of her robe. “No, of course not. I’m Sara Graves. Sara Graves Orsay.” The name sounded clumsy when she said it out loud, and she probably blushed a little, because he gave her an odd look.
    â€œYes,” he murmured. He held her fingers another moment, still smiling, but regarding her with a strangely curious look on his face. Then he said, “It’s the oddest thing. I don’t suppose we might have met before.”
    She said, “I don’t think so.” He was still holding her hand, and it was beginning to make her a little uncomfortable. He must have noticed, because he released her fingers, and the puzzled expression on his face smoothed into easy courtesy.
    â€œForgive me,” he said. “For a moment you must have reminded me of someone; I can’t think who. At any rate, it’s delightful to meet you, Sara. So sorry to disturb. I just popped by to make certain you were comfortable, and to place myself at your service.”
    â€œOh. Yes, thank you.” She felt foolish, clutching her robe together like a schoolgirl, so she dropped her hand and instead tightened her belt. “What I mean is, how could I not be?” She gestured backward into the opulent room. “This room is . . . unbelievable.”
    He nodded, smiling a little. “Yes, it is a bit over the top, isn’t it? We had a wedding here some years back and the bride insisted on redoing the entire suite for her wedding night.”
    Sara’s eyes widened. “For one night?”
    â€œIndeed. No insult intended to the lovely bride, but there is a saying, I believe, about a fool and her money. Nonetheless, we made out rather well