The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

He pulled her close and snugged her into his embrace. “Every nook and cranny of my being is calling yer name.”

His statement was like a punch to a place low within her. His words made her want to take the leap her heart had always resisted taking. She moved against him until she found perfect alignment, one which sent heat jolting through her. His arousal spoke not only from his heart but from his need. Angling her head to see him clearly, she gazed into his face, lined with character and honor, and tumbled headlong into his huge eyes, her heart saying what words couldn’t express.

She took his hand and studied the ropy veins with her fingertips. This hand had grabbed her and saved her life. Lovingly, she pressed it against her breast, close to her fast-beating heart. The universe was contained in this moment, the heat and texture of his skin, his touch, rough and tender and so alive. His nostrils flared, breathing in the scent of her as she did of him. But there was another scent in the air, the musk of desire. She wanted to consume him like the fires they had escaped, to burrow inside him and know him, every inch of his flesh and blood and heat.

Her name escaped as a moan while his lips rushed over her face. His tongue slipped into her mouth, giving and taking. She cried out, and she pressed herself against him, clawing to be closer to his skin. He devoured her mouth, his short whiskers rasping her chin. Holding the back of her head with one hand, he moved the other slowly, crossed over her breasts and up her shoulders to her neck, where he held the side of her face with his large callused hand. His thumb rubbed her cheekbone rhythmically and intoxicatingly, making her giddy with anticipation.

With his breath warm against her face he said, “If we’re going to stop, we have to stop now.”

“If you stop, I’ll scream.”

“I’m protecting yer reputation. There’s a house full of people downstairs waiting for us.”

“I don’t care.”

He looked at her, into her, and she was barely able to pull herself back from the raw and powerful need in his eyes. He wanted to claim her as much as she wanted to be claimed.

“We’ll go to Washington tomorrow, to the Georgetown house, and spend a few days together without interruptions.” He took her hand and placed it over his arousal. “Never doubt my need for ye.”

She closed her eyes against the immensity of wanting to make love with him. His warmth was beginning to seep through the layers of clothing between them, but she needed the feel of him against her skin. She rucked up her skirt and placed his hand where he could touch the heat of her desire. His fingers tossed her beneath a giant wave, sweeping her tumbling helplessly in the tide. With her lips against his, she whispered, “Never doubt mine for you.”

They nestled quietly against each other in the shadows of dawn, and from outside the window they heard horses rousing and murmured voices. It was almost the end of the war, but not the end of their story. Their end wouldn’t come until April 15.

63

Richmond, Virginia, April 3, 1865

Elizabeth, Charlotte, Jack, and Braham sat in the drawing room lamenting the damage the out-of-control fires had wreaked on Richmond’s business center. Twenty square blocks, from Eighth Street to Fifteenth Street, and a half mile from the north side of Main Street to the river lay in smoky ruin.

Charlotte stirred cream into her china teacup while biting hungrily into a biscuit, the first food she’d had in twenty-four hours. Following the arrival of the Union Cavalry the previous morning, she had collapsed and slept until about an hour ago. She put the spoon on the saucer and picked up the cup, drinking greedily. “Do they know how many buildings were lost?” she asked between gulps.

Elizabeth thumped a finger on the front page of the Richmond Whig in her lap. “The paper is reporting from six to eight hundred public buildings and private residences were burned to the ground. The heart of the city is in charred ruins.”

Charlotte got up, leaned over the back of Elizabeth’s chair, and read the report. At the top of the article was a rudimentary engraving, resembling modern day clip art of burned-out buildings, showing virtually nothing left except chimney stacks and jagged bits of walls. A few pieces of furniture still holding their fragile shapes were tossed out into the street. Gooseflesh prickled down her arms, her chill as much from the picture as from her memories of the roaring flames and shattered glass crunching under her shoes.

Braham pulled a small sheet of paper from his inside breast pocket and unfolded it. “All the banking houses, the Columbian Hotel, the Enquirer Building, the American Hotel, the Confederate Post Office, and”—he flicked the paper with his index finger—“the courthouse have all been lost.”

Elizabeth handed the newspaper to Charlotte and picked up her teacup, sighing heavily. “There wouldn’t be a building left standing if the Union troops hadn’t extinguished the fires. The city should be grateful.”

“I’m sure the city government is convinced if the Federal Army hadn’t been standing on their doorstep, the warehouses wouldn’t have been burned to begin with,” Jack said.

“True,” Elizabeth said, “but they didn’t show up unannounced night before last. They’ve been bombarding Richmond for months…” Elizabeth paused, interrupted by Braham’s jaw-cracking yawn, and then she continued as if nothing had happened. “City officials refused to prepare for evacuation, convinced the day would never come.”

Braham patted his fist against his lips as another yawn slipped out. “There’ve been no complaints. The mayor said the citizens aren’t complaining about the soldiers, and the soldiers aren’t complaining about the citizens. There’s no fear of rape and pillaging, and the peaceful occupation has eased