She gave thanks to patient, reliable Daisy, who’d followed the path to town on her own. At the moment, the horse seemed to possess more intelligence than her owner.
The same scene kept repeating itself again and again in her mind, just as it had done all last night and this morning.
“When I was in my trance, did I kiss you, Johanna?”
She touched her lips. The kiss in the vineyard was nothing compared to the one he’d given her during his first hypnotic session, yet it had been all she could do to preserve her mask of indifference and walk away as if she remained unmoved.
Was he finally remembering that first kiss? Did he remember her uninhibited response?
She could only pray he did not. At least she’d given him no encouragement. And they would both have more vital concerns to explore in their next session.
If there was a next session.
She sat up straighter in the buggy’s seat and patted the top of her hair. All pins were in place, and she wore her best dress—the only one really suitable for meeting a fellow physician. For the next few hours, she hoped to be thinking and speaking of nothing but professional matters.
Silverado Springs’s main street was sleepy at this time of day, when luncheon was past and anyone who had no need to be working outside sought shelter from the heat. Even the usual loafers at the general store were absent. But as Johanna drove Daisy to the Silverado Springs Hotel, she passed a handful of townsfolk who looked at her askance and walked quickly away.
Quentin had warned her. He’d warned her about many things, if she’d had the common sense to listen.
She arrived at the hotel and gave Daisy into the keeping of the stable boy, providing the lad with enough coins to see to her comfort. There was no mirror to check her appearance, so she satisfied herself with a few more minor adjustments to her coiffure and brushing off the narrow skirt of her dress.
The Silverado Springs Hotel was no longer the fashionable place it had been a decade ago, but it did enough business to maintain the gardens, grounds, and mineral baths that were its claim to fame. The lobby was empty save for a tourist couple discussing possible local excursions with the concierge.
Johanna scanned the lobby a second time and sat down to wait in one of the slightly worn chairs. She was early, and it wouldn’t do to seem overeager. This Dr. Bolkonsky might prove to be a disappointment, after all.
She picked up a magazine and was idly perusing an advertisement for women’s hats when she smelled the strong and woody scent of expensive cologne.
Her gaze moved up from the man’s highly polished black boots with white spats, snug gray trousers, single-breasted blue coat over a gray silk waistcoat, immaculate shirt and cravat to the face above his starched stand collar. There she stopped, catching her breath.
He was beautiful. No other word would suit. And though her head had never been easily turned by masculine beauty—at least not until two weeks ago—she found herself hardly able to believe this man was real.
Golden hair spilled in waves to his shoulders, framing a face made to inspire angels to flights of song. His features were strong enough to be completely male, but delicately carved, refined with the aesthetic appeal of a true intellectual. His eyebrows were several shades darker than his hair, lending his expression greater definition; his nose held an aristocratic arch. The sensitive mouth curved up in a charming smile.
Charming, beautiful, perfect. Too perfect, she decided. A man without flaw must inevitably grow tiresome. Quentin’s face—attractive but humanly imperfect—hovered in the back of her mind.
“Dr. Schell, I presume?” the man asked, banishing Quentin’s image. He tipped his top hat and clicked his heels. “I am Dr. Feodor Bolkonsky, at your service. “Sehr erfreut, Sie kennenzulernen, Frau Doktor.”
“You speak German!” Johanna rose, offering her hand.
He took it in a firm clasp that did not condescend to her gender. “Sagten Sie nicht, Sie hätten in Deutschland studiert, Herr Doktor?”