My Sweet Folly Read Online Free PDF Page B

an instant she had thought it would be Robert, but she saw that this must be the actual butler—he kept his hands behind his back and made no move of welcome or greeting, only a small deferential bow.
    Besides, he did not look at all like Robert. She had never known what he would look like, but certainly not this. In the dim light this man’s hair was black, his expression utterly forbidding—he never looked at her but seemed to be watching for something, his attention moving restlessly to the doors and corridor.
    “Lander will take you up,” he said. “Dinner at eight.”
    “Eight,” Folie repeated, rather cross at this cursory hospitality. “May we make our salutations to Mr. and Mrs. Cambourne before that?’’
    He turned his head a fraction to the side as he glanced toward her, as if she were a light that was too bright. “I beg your pardon. I am Robert Cambourne.” Then, for just an instant, he gave her a clear gray-eyed look, a gaze outlined in black lashes. It was like being caught in the direct stare of a wolf.
    Folie gazed back at him. If he knew her, if he even recognized her name, there was no hint in his perfect features. Like some Renaissance prince, he was sinister and flawless, but his face held nothing of civilized humanity. High cheekbones, straight nose, skin sunburnt to darkness; a bleak mouth and black brows. And his eyes—light and violent, like a caged beast’s.
    His glance lowered again, finding nowhere to rest. “Mrs. Hamilton.” He made his faint, stiff bow. “Miss Hamilton. Welcome to Solinger Abbey.”
    Folie stood rooted to the floor. You are not! she wanted to exclaim. You are not Robert. That cannot be true!
    Melinda put her hand on Folie’s arm. “We are honored to meet you, sir,” she said, making a sketch of a curtsy. Her fingers squeezed. “Let us go up, Mama.”
    Propelled by her stepdaughter’s hand, Folie turned blindly and followed the servant down the corridor and up the stone stairs. She did not see anything that she passed. Her whole body felt numb.
    She found herself in a pleasant yellow bedroom, but she could not seem to make herself move beyond the middle of it. Melinda came up behind her.
    “Do try not to look so horrified, Mama!” she said gently. “I’m sure you must have hurt his feelings.”
    Folie looked at her. “I don’t believe that is him.”
    Melinda’s mouth curved unhappily. “I’m so sorry if you’re disappointed. But perhaps when you get to know him a little better—”
    “I do know him!” Folie turned away and sat down on the bed. She shook her head, laughing without humor. “I thought I did. I would have thought—’’ She made a little shrug. “He might have been more—pleased to see us.”
    “Perhaps he is a little shy.”
    “I never thought he would look like that! He is so...” She shook her head.
    “Devilish?” Melinda suggested wryly.
    “Decidedly satanic!” Folie exclaimed. She spoke in jest, but a shiver seized her.
    “I thought him quite handsome. Rather beautiful, really. For a gentleman.”
    Folie shook her head again. “He cannot be Robert Cambourne,” she exclaimed. “My God, his eyes. I believe he is mad!”
    “Mama, you are working yourself into a state. This is not like you.” Melinda gave her a hopeful look. “But perhaps you are just rehearsing for your novel?”
    Folie realized that she was well on the way to frightening her stepdaughter. With an effort, she summoned some steadiness. “Oh, there—you’ve found me out!” she said with forced cheerfulness. “Where have they put you, next door?”
    “Round the corner,” Melinda said. “The bedrooms are quite lovely, and every one we passed is different. Mine is all in red and yellow chinoiserie. I think they’ve just been fitted out not long ago.”
    “Oh, that is a bad portent,” Folie said balefully. “Prepared for our arrival! We had best make a thorough inventory of the secret doors.”
     
     

 
     
    TWO

     
    Robert stood in the