Read Online Dreamspinner by Olivia Drake - Free Book Online
Authors: Olivia Drake
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, Romance, Historical, E.L. James, Regency, Historical Romance, Bestseller, Romance fiction, Regency Romance, Victorian, adult fiction, Barbara Dawson Smith, nineteenth century, loretta chase, liz carlyle, 50 Shaedes of Gray, Stephanie Laurens
Ads: Link
been set free from the restrictions of an uneventful life. The warm summer day held the thrill of a treasure hunt, a search for rare species of plants, many of which she recognized only from her textbooks.
Kent acted the consummate gentleman and the benevolent host. When she dirtied her hands, he smiled indulgently and offered her his linen handkerchief. He’d brought a picnic luncheon, which they shared beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak. As they ate a simple meal of cheese and bread, the air sang with the mellow cooing of wood pigeons and the staccato notes of a nuthatch. Afterward, he stayed close by her side, calling her attention first to a patch of stitchwort, then to a clump of wild garlic.
Too content to worry about her sapphire silk skirt, she knelt to examine a jagged toothed leaf. “Leucanthemum vulgare.”
He chuckled. “A fancy name for the common oxeye daisy.”
She smiled back. “But still an uncommonly pretty flower.”
His relaxed mood made him all the more endearing. He crouched beside her, so close she detected the heat radiating from his body. Today no tension marred the handsome angles of his face. Even his eyes shone lighter, a mellow walnut brown beneath the slash of charcoal brows. The musky odor of humus blended with his faintly earthy scent. How happy he made her, Juliet thought in sudden melting warmth.
Impulsively she said, “Do you remember the first plant you grew from seed? Watching those tiny leaves push out of the soil and unfurl must be like seeing your child for the first time.”
A shadow passed over his face. Only belatedly did she recall that his unborn baby had died, that Kent had been denied that unique joy. With a blush of dismay, she stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you... ”
His strong hand closed around hers. “Don’t apologize for opening yourself to me, Juliet. You’re right... there is a certain magic to life. A magic I’ve let myself forget.”
“Because you’re afraid of being hurt again,” she ventured.
His eyes devoured her, and she feared she’d touched a nerve. He looked down, studying the clasp of their hands, her skin a delicate ivory against his tanned fingers. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I suppose I am.”
“What was she like... your wife?”
“Why don’t you tell me first what you’ve heard about Emily?”
“I know only that she fell from the parapet of the castle.”
“Who told you so?”
His grip tightened and she wondered at the interest burning in his eyes. “Lord Breeton, when he saw you at the ball.”
“Breeton,” Kent said in disgust, releasing her hand. “When that popinjay’s not talking about hounds, he’s spreading more gossip than a flap jawed servant.”
Determined not to be distracted, Juliet moistened her dry lips. “Your wife... was she at all like me?”
He cast her an oblique look before glancing down to toy with a daisy. “Actually not. Emily lacked your frankness, your zest for life. She was shy and frail, the kindest person I’ve ever known.”
He made her sound like a paragon of womanly virtue, the sort of woman Juliet could never tolerate being. Then why did she feel so suddenly wretched? “You must have loved her very much.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You married her, despite the circumstances of her birth.”
“Are you referring to Emily’s bastardy?”
His tone of chilly detachment sparked heat in her cheeks. She fought to hold her gaze steady. “Yes. I... I wondered if people ever shunned her.”
“I never brought her into London society. She preferred a quiet country life.” He stood, a towering figure lined by the filtered rays of sunlight. “It’s getting late. Shall we go?”
The finality of the gesture closed the discussion. Somehow, without her noticing, the afternoon shadows had lengthened. Regretfully she accepted his hand as he helped her into the cabriolet. He sat down beside her, and the gray gelding started toward the city.
Kent acted the consummate gentleman and the benevolent host. When she dirtied her hands, he smiled indulgently and offered her his linen handkerchief. He’d brought a picnic luncheon, which they shared beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak. As they ate a simple meal of cheese and bread, the air sang with the mellow cooing of wood pigeons and the staccato notes of a nuthatch. Afterward, he stayed close by her side, calling her attention first to a patch of stitchwort, then to a clump of wild garlic.
Too content to worry about her sapphire silk skirt, she knelt to examine a jagged toothed leaf. “Leucanthemum vulgare.”
He chuckled. “A fancy name for the common oxeye daisy.”
She smiled back. “But still an uncommonly pretty flower.”
His relaxed mood made him all the more endearing. He crouched beside her, so close she detected the heat radiating from his body. Today no tension marred the handsome angles of his face. Even his eyes shone lighter, a mellow walnut brown beneath the slash of charcoal brows. The musky odor of humus blended with his faintly earthy scent. How happy he made her, Juliet thought in sudden melting warmth.
Impulsively she said, “Do you remember the first plant you grew from seed? Watching those tiny leaves push out of the soil and unfurl must be like seeing your child for the first time.”
A shadow passed over his face. Only belatedly did she recall that his unborn baby had died, that Kent had been denied that unique joy. With a blush of dismay, she stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you... ”
His strong hand closed around hers. “Don’t apologize for opening yourself to me, Juliet. You’re right... there is a certain magic to life. A magic I’ve let myself forget.”
“Because you’re afraid of being hurt again,” she ventured.
His eyes devoured her, and she feared she’d touched a nerve. He looked down, studying the clasp of their hands, her skin a delicate ivory against his tanned fingers. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I suppose I am.”
“What was she like... your wife?”
“Why don’t you tell me first what you’ve heard about Emily?”
“I know only that she fell from the parapet of the castle.”
“Who told you so?”
His grip tightened and she wondered at the interest burning in his eyes. “Lord Breeton, when he saw you at the ball.”
“Breeton,” Kent said in disgust, releasing her hand. “When that popinjay’s not talking about hounds, he’s spreading more gossip than a flap jawed servant.”
Determined not to be distracted, Juliet moistened her dry lips. “Your wife... was she at all like me?”
He cast her an oblique look before glancing down to toy with a daisy. “Actually not. Emily lacked your frankness, your zest for life. She was shy and frail, the kindest person I’ve ever known.”
He made her sound like a paragon of womanly virtue, the sort of woman Juliet could never tolerate being. Then why did she feel so suddenly wretched? “You must have loved her very much.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You married her, despite the circumstances of her birth.”
“Are you referring to Emily’s bastardy?”
His tone of chilly detachment sparked heat in her cheeks. She fought to hold her gaze steady. “Yes. I... I wondered if people ever shunned her.”
“I never brought her into London society. She preferred a quiet country life.” He stood, a towering figure lined by the filtered rays of sunlight. “It’s getting late. Shall we go?”
The finality of the gesture closed the discussion. Somehow, without her noticing, the afternoon shadows had lengthened. Regretfully she accepted his hand as he helped her into the cabriolet. He sat down beside her, and the gray gelding started toward the city.
Similar Books
