Read Online Sweet Unrest by Lisa Maxwell - Free Book Online Page A

chair set in front of a wide sweep of velvet drapery and arranged herself. “Whenever you’re ready, sir, you may begin.”
    Alex examined the camera before depressing the lever. He watched her for a moment and then turned his attention back to the room. “Monsieur Lyon, he paints as well?” He pointed to a portrait of a young slave girl that hung over a low-slung settee.
    “Yes, but that one is mine.”
    He turned, surprised. “You painted this?”
    “And the rest,” she told him, careful to keep her mouth as still as possible.
    “Remarkable. You have an eye for color and motion.” He gazed at her then, his admiration clear. “You have a remarkable talent to be able to capture this girl as you have—to show the haunted quality in her beauty. The pain in her eyes, even as she holds herself with a sort of quiet grace. It is quite … ” He waved his hand, as if unable to come up with the right words.
    Absurd pleasure bloomed in her chest. Few but Jules knew she painted. Fewer had thought to comment on her talent, but this man had done more than comment. He’d looked at the portrait of a girl who most people in the city wouldn’t even see —really looked at it. And he’d understood what she’d attempted to do with a bit of canvas and paint.
    She felt unaccountably thrilled in that moment. And unaccountably exposed.
    He didn’t speak again, and so they sat in silence, Alex focused intently on the paintings hanging on the wall, and the girl focused on him. I could feel her long for him to turn and to look at her, to understand her as he had understood her painting. I could sense her despair at knowing he never would.
    He turned back and found her watching him. “Please forgive me, but I must ask you. You said you were not Madame Lyon?”
    A feeling precariously close to hope bubbled up in her. “My uncle,” she murmured. It was an easier explanation than the truth.
    “I see,” he said. The short minutes of exposure time stretched on until she grew hot and breathless under his gaze. After what felt like an eternity, he closed the aperture.
    “Now what happens?” he asked, turning back to her.
    “Now, monsieur … I’m sorry, I didn’t think to ask your name.” She walked over to where he was standing and began to remove the camera from its stand.
    “Alexandre Jourdain. Please, you must call me Alexandre. And you are?”
    She looked up at him. “Armantine. Armantine Lyon.”
    “Armantine. A charming name.” He smiled and brushed a curl back from her face, shocking her with the intimacy of the gesture. “What happens now, Mademoiselle Lyon?”
    “Please,” she said, pushing aside custom and swallowing down everything in her that was screaming no . “You must call me Armantine as well.”
    That’s when I woke up.
    “Are you even listening to me?” Chloe’s sharp tone cut into my thoughts and brought me back to earth.
    “Yeah?” I didn’t even sound convincing to myself.
    “Right,” she said dryly, her arms crossed and her hip kicked out to show her displeasure. “Are you going to tell me why it’s so important that you go see Mama Legba, or not?”
    I thought for a second, measuring how much I thought I could tell her without coming off as completely insane. “Remember how I asked Mama Legba about dreams?”
    Chloe nodded.
    “I thought maybe Mama Legba could tell me how to figure out whether a dream means anything or not.”
    “What have you been dreaming about?”
    I didn’t like to talk about the Dream. Describing it, somehow, made it feel more real. But this new dream wasn’t any easier to talk about. “Well, lately about Alex.”
    “Who’s Alex?”
    “He works here.”
    Chloe’s brows drew together, like she was confused. “I don’t know an Alex. He must be new.”
    “Really? He made it sound like he’s worked here for a while.”
    She shrugged. “Is he hot?”
    “You could say that … ”
    “As hot as my Piers?”
    “No one could be as hot as your Piers,” I