The Violet Hour by Brynn Chapman Read Free Book Online Page A

waterfall occluding my vision.
    I sprint around the pond’s edge, jamming the lightning rods into the mud till they resemble silver turrets guarding the water.
    The pool flickers ; first with reflection of the maelstrom overhead…but soon the skies quiet and the pool’s surface continues to undulate.
    A current pops and ripples as an image flits by so quickly, one not ready to see would’ve missed it.
    The evening breeze is like a sigh and I wait, holding my breath.
    Lightning flashes and I count, “One, two, three—” and thunder cuts across, too quickly, drowning away my voice.
    “It’s moving away.” Disappointment douses my heart. Each and every time I steel myself, prepare my heart and mind, but always that traitor, hope, finds its way about my defenses.
    My knees buckle and I crumple before the poles, gritting my teeth against the pain. I place my hands between them, wishing for the thickened, gauzy air necessary for my quest.
    “Brighton, you will not succeed without me.”
    I stare at the pool, not giving him the satisfaction of my expression. “Leave me. Now.”

Chapter Six

    LeFroy stares out the window, his brow creased in thought. He remains statue-still, as he has for the past quarter hour, oblivious to the late afternoon sun that bathes his face in a beautiful golden-amber.
    I stare intently, reveling in the rare opportunity to drink in his features.
    His dark curly hair is in need of a cutting and his thin lips turn down as he absently bites the side of his nail, lost to himself. He is not a classic beauty—but the singularity of his face demand’s attention.
    Not all women would swoon for him. But something about him draws me…makes him utterly irresistible.
    The warmth on my chest again. Almost hot this time. I struggle not to look down my dress to examine what I imagined to be an inevitable rash, but all I see is the Magnolia pattern—the patch on my dress, lovingly sewn by my mother’s hand.
    I banish the thought. I shall not think on her now .
    Brighton clears his throat, driving away my mother’s ghost and I struggle for words. When he regards me, my tongue seems to shrivel in my mouth.
    It is his eyes. They… speak . Sometimes whisper, sometimes shout.
    They now squint, as whatever vexing scenario playing on his mind continues to dominate his demeanor. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
    I clear my throat. “So, Mr. LeFroy, shall we discuss the next pyrotechnics show. Or do you think me a mind reader?” I tease, hoping to smooth out those creases on his brow. He is too very young to have such lines already.
    I picture running my fingers across them, kissing them away and shake my head.
    His blue eyes finally flick to mine. “Please, call me Brighton. And might I call you Allegra?”
    I swallow. Such intimacy . “Brighton, then. And yes, you may call me Allegra. The lights , sir?”
    His lips burst into a smile. “I have some ideas, but they’re difficult to put to words. Have you any parchment?”
    I nod and walk past him, down the hallway to Sarah’s room. I am suddenly aware we are wholly unchaperoned.
    No one in Charleston cares a fig for propriety or my chastity. My heart lurches, pumping a tumultuous wave of excitement and worry through my veins.
    Reaching her desk, I rifle through the messy collage of Sarah’s life.
    My fingers touch the paper as I feel him, nay, smell him behind me.
    Woodsy and enticing. I close my eyes and breathe deeper.
    “Thank you. Those will do.” He speaks the words gruffly as if filled with emotion and I picture him in bed, surrounded by blankets. And me.
    I turn, hoping my blush doesn’t bely the thoughts in my mind.
    He nods. “Back to the sitting room? It’s only proper,” he mumbles, eyes dropping to the carpet as if reading my thoughts.
    Or having the same.
    He strides back out into the hallway without waiting for my answer.
    I follow to the sitting room. He is already hunched over the desk, his fingers sketching furiously as I sweep