Free Dreamspinner by Olivia Drake Page A

at the traffic.
    She tugged on the velvet bell pull to signal the coachman, and the brougham rumbled to a stop. A liveried footman helped the two women down in front of a confectioner’s shop. The scent of fresh baked pastries wafted through the air. A bright hued array of shoppers strolled the sidewalks and peered into the store windows.
    Maud seized Juliet’s gloved hands. “I wish I were off to such an adventure with a man.”
    Affection flooded Juliet. “Your time will come. Then I’ll have a chance to help you.”
    Turning, she walked swiftly down the street. The throng of elegant shoppers thinned as she neared Picadilly, yet she kept her face lowered on the chance that an acquaintance might spot her.
    Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she spied the approach of a familiar plump pigeon form. Lady Breeton! The woman minced down the street, her maid a step behind. Juliet ducked into a milliner’s shop and affected an interest in a display of fans. Curbing her nervousness, she let the proprietress show her one of violet silk gauze.
    She forced herself to tarry for ten minutes. When she stepped cautiously from the shop, Lady Breeton was nowhere to be seen. The close call alarmed Juliet. Discreetly lifting a hand, she hailed a passing hansom, and gave the address to the rear seated driver. Her stomach still aflutter, she settled herself in the small interior of the cab.
    The breeze flowing through the open front cooled her heated cheeks; her heart thudded in rhythm with the swift clop clopping of the horse’s hooves and the jangle of harness. At last... at last the interminable hours of waiting were nearly over.
    Like a light starved plant reaching for sunshine, her need for Kent grew with each meeting. She loved the low melody of his voice, the absorption on his face as he drove his carriage, the brush of his callused fingers as he handed her a flower. Not since that day at the Embankment had he kissed her. She ached to relive the tender touch of his lips...
    The hansom jolted to a halt before the stately town homes of Grosvenor Square. She handed the fare through the trapdoor in the roof, then mindful of her skirts, she stepped down.
    As the cab rattled away, Juliet stood still, caught by the sudden snare of conscience. How horrified her mother would be if she knew her daughter was about to visit a man unchaperoned! And how furious her father would be if he knew that man was Kent Deverell.
    To calm her galloping heart, she took as deep a breath as her tight laced corset would allow. She was an adult now, capable of directing her own life. Capable of judging the merits of a man.
    Taking a swift glance around, she hastened up the steps and rapped with the brass knocker. A minute dragged past.
    Then the knob rattled and the door opened. A man stood there, but he resembled no butler or footman she’d ever seen. A flat gray turban topped his head, and a pale muslin robe swathed his lean body. For one astounded instant, Juliet blinked, sure he was the ancient street sweeper. But this man looked younger, his skin dusky, his shoulders straighter.
    Recovering herself, she held out her calling card. “I’ve an appointment to see the duke.”
    The servant studied the small, engraved square. A corner of his thin lip lifted slightly; then he bowed and waved her inside.
    “His Grace is in the study,” he said, a musically foreign note to his voice. “If you would care to wait, I’ll inform him of your arrival, Miss Carleton.”
    The faint inflection on her name radiated disapproval. He pointed a dark finger to a doorway, then glided silently away, leaving her standing in the entrance hall.
    Taken aback by his rudeness, Juliet walked through the doorway and discovered a small drawing room. The furnishings were warm and charming, yet the peacock blue sofa was faded, the dhurri carpet frayed at the edges. A tiger skin rug lay before the hearth. As in her father’s library, brass and ivory artifacts scattered the room. Odd,