Dreamspinner by Olivia Drake Page B

blood brimming with that exciting turmoil of danger and desire. No gentleman would kiss a lady on a public street, yet she wanted him to do so again, to take her into his arms and hold her close, to nurture the tender bond growing between them.
    He stood motionless, watching her, and for an unguarded moment she read the same fierce yearning in him, a yearning that enchanted her. “Have you ever been to Highgate Wood?” he asked.
    Unable to trust her voice, she shook her head.
    “Tomorrow, can you get away most of the day?”
    This time she managed to whisper, “Yes.”
    His fingers squeezed hers. Through clenched teeth, he said roughly, “My God, Juliet. You shouldn’t be so bloody agreeable.”
    The torment in his voice bewildered her. “I don’t understand, Kent. Don’t you want me to meet you?”
    “You hardly know me. You shouldn’t trust a man so readily.”
    Gentle feeling washed away her confusion; his protest stemmed from concern for her reputation. Brushing her thumb over the broad back of his hand, she murmured, “I know that a man who shows kindness to a street sweeper couldn’t possibly harm me.”
    His jaw tightened and she thought he meant to deny his considerate nature. But he merely drew a deep breath. “Tomorrow, then,” he said in a subdued tone. “Meet me here at ten o’clock.”
    Pivoting, the duke strode away, past the carriage where Maud gawked openmouthed. Juliet watched him, her spirits soaring dizzily, until his broad shouldered form disappeared into the throng of laborers and tradesmen.
     

     
    “You’ve made plans to go where?” Her fine brow drawn into a frown, Dorothea Carleton laid down her pen on the gilt edged writing desk and gazed up at her daughter.
    That displeased look made Juliet quake with guilt. What if her mother saw through the lie? Glancing out the window of the morning room at the dull gray sky, she thought longingly of Kent and gathered her courage.
    “I promised Maud I’d go with her to Wimbledon tomorrow,” she repeated, forcing her eyes back to her mother. “Her grandmother is having another of her spells, and you know how demanding the dowager Lady Higgleston can be. Maud is afraid to go alone.”
    “Lady Maud Peabody has never been afraid of anything.”
    At the suspicious tone, Juliet swallowed. “What I meant was, Maud is hoping to use my presence as an excuse to return on the late train. If she goes alone, her grandmother will coerce her into staying for weeks, and then she’d miss half the Season.”
    Dorothea pursed her lips. “Your father will be none too pleased about this. Lord Breeton left his card while you were gone. I was about to compose an invitation to tea tomorrow.”
    “Couldn’t we invite his lordship the day after? After all, you wouldn’t want him to think we’re overeager.”
    Mrs. Carleton tilted her head in resignation. “You have a point, darling. All right, then, you may go. But next time,” she added, shaking a slim finger, “do consult me before making your plans. Mr. Carleton has charged me with the task of seeing you married well.”
    “Yes, Mama. Thank you so much.”
    Awash with giddy relief, she bent and kissed her mother’s cheek. Only at Dorothea’s startled expression did Juliet recall she wasn’t supposed to act excited at the prospect of spending the day in the company of a querulous old lady. Lowering her lashes, she veiled her glorious anticipation of freedom and hugged her excitement inside her heart.
    The outing with Kent stirred her romantic dreams and fired her botanist’s blood. Highgate Wood skirted the northern edge of the city, and sheltered a vast variety of wildflowers: honeysuckle, wood violet, yellow archangel, sorrel. Few people frequented the park on this quiet Friday; a man walked a terrier, two boys stalked a fox, an elderly couple shared a pair of opera glasses to study the birds. Even though she could glimpse the red brick houses of the village, Juliet felt as if her spirit had