My Sweet Folly by Laura Kinsale Read Free Book Online

himself to her, and yet as she looked at him now, she knew that she had held a picture of him in her mind and heart; a bright image of a man who laughed easily, perhaps light-haired, with gentle brown eyes. He loved legends and tales of magic and adventure; puns and wit; dragons and firebirds were alive for him. Between the lines, she had read that he was not very happy to be a soldier, that he felt misplaced, that his powerful father thought him hopelessly frivolous and a severe disappointment to the family.
    None of those things seemed to fit the man before her; none even seemed possible. In true life his strongly angular cheekbones and gray eyes gave him a baleful look, and if his mouth ever managed a smile, it would be the grin of a predator. She could not imagine him laughing. He was too haughtily tall to be her Robert; he was dark where he should be fair; he was taut and broad-shouldered where her Robert should be easy, perhaps even a little slouched from so much reading. Folie was woman enough to have hoped he would be handsome, but in a...a more friendly way. Not this brutal sort of male purity, for Melinda was right—he was in his own bizarre manner as gorgeous as some maddened night prowler in the Indian jungles.
    She could not see him as her own dear Robert. It was simply impossible. There was no connection at all.
    With a sense of relief, she ceased to try. He was a stranger, Melinda’s guardian, an eccentric gentleman she had never met or known before. The thought brought a lift of her spirits; she could bear with him that way. She had a goal, Melinda’s debut, and he could add a great deal to the success of it if he would.
    She took a sip of soup.   “If you are to be established here now, Mr. Cambourne, we hope that you will honor us with a visit during Miss Hamilton’s coming out,” she said, firing her first serious shot in the campaign. “We plan to go up to London by the first of April—though I have had some difficulty in locating a suitable town house.”
    He shook his head. “You must stay here.”
    “Here?” Melinda echoed faintly.
    “Oh, you will be thinking of expenses,” Folie said, “but I have put by quite a nest egg just for this purpose.” That was true, although after paying for Melinda’s wardrobe, the egg was hardly large enough to let a shabby house in Kensington.
    “Expense is not a consideration,” he said flatly. “I desire you to remain here.”  
    ‘But—’’ Melinda began.
    “Pray do not be pert, Melinda,” Folie said sternly.
    Melinda gave her a look, a wry combination of surprise and distress. She was not accustomed to being pulled up short; in fact more usually it was she who chided Folie’s transgressions against propriety. But she bent her head in obedient silence, soft light blonde curls falling over her shoulders, the picture of a chastened girl.
    Folie made no comment on this convenient transformation, though she could think of several. But they were in league now, with the same aim in view.
    “Certainly we will be delighted to visit here for as long as you wish,” Folie said to him, “but you will agree that Miss Hamilton must be in London well in time to be launched properly. I have already seen to her introduction at Court; she is invited to attend the Drawing Room on the twelfth of April.”
    “That is out of the question,” he said, looking down at the table before him as Lander removed his untouched soup.
    “I beg your pardon, Mr. Cambourne, but it is—”  
    “You are to call me Robert,” he said abruptly.  
    Folie took a silent breath. “Perhaps you are not aware, Robert,” she said evenly, “that your ward will turn nineteen in June. It is perfectly appropriate for her to be introduced into London society this spring. Indeed, it is quite vital.”
    He looked at Folie with a cool lift of his black eyebrows. “Why?”
    Melinda made a faint sound, but then pressed her lips together tightly, looking to Folie with anxious