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

to return home without delay, but how was he going to convince Charlotte to take him when her memories still triggered such fear? Short of seducing her, how could he get her mind off what had frightened her? What would she find interesting about his life in Washington? How could he help her understand he had a good life and he wanted to return to it? He was wealthy and well connected. He had property and friends and houses. He was gathering his thoughts, sorting through them when he said, more to himself than to her, “I wonder if my house still stands?”

“What?” Her eyes moved along his face and it felt as if they were probing his skin. “Where? Maybe it’s still there. What’s the address?”

“In Georgetown on Thirty-First Street.”

“We’re not far from there now. Let’s go see.”

An anxious dread stirred through him. What if they found the house in shambles? It would be humiliating to find property he once owned in disrepair. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to check. He gripped the edge of his seat as Charlotte dodged in and out of traffic before turning up Thirty-First Street.

“What’s the address?”

An awkward silence developed before he answered. “Sixteen fifty-five. Right side. End of the block.”

The car crawled down a quiet street. He tapped on the window, pointing, and he sloughed his anxiety like old skin. “There it is.”

After pulling to the curb, she turned off the engine. “It’s gorgeous, and look, it’s for sale. I’ll see what they’re asking for it on Realtor.com.” She swiped her finger across the screen on her smartphone several times. “I found the listing. It says the house was built in 1812. Second Empire mansion, mansard roof, brick, nine bedrooms, nine full baths, four half baths, four stories, almost three-quarters of an acre, seven fireplaces, swimming pool, and—”

“I’m getting out.” He opened the car door and stood too quickly. He gasped, doubling over as pain ripped through his gut. Most of the time the incision was little more than a nuisance, but every once in a while, like now, he thought he was back on his deathbed.

Charlotte jumped out and raced around to his side, putting her arm across his shoulders “Sit back down. You don’t need to get out.”

“No, I’ve got to walk. It’s the only way I’ll regain my strength. Just give me a moment.” He took a couple of minutes to breathe deeply, “It doesn’t pain me much, so I forget about it until I move the wrong way.”

When the pain subsided, he stepped onto the sidewalk and looked over his former property with an appreciative eye. There was an addition on the back, but the main residence looked exactly as it had when he purchased it in 1862. The dwelling had been well maintained, and a sense of pride bubbled up at owning, or having owned this exquisite house. The sycamore tree he had planted spread its branches wide at a corner of the manicured lawn.

This was a home meant for a family. Children should be playing in the yard. Disappointment over what he didn’t have wiped away his joy. There was only one person stopping him from living in this residence again, and she stood next to him.

“You can buy it back for sixteen million, eight hundred thousand dollars.”

He stared open-mouthed, temporarily speechless. Finally, he croaked, “Sixteen—”

“Million,” she said with a little sparkle in her eyes.

“That much money would support the war for a week. What makes a house worth so much money?”

“Location, nine bathrooms, and a swimming pool.”

“There’s much about yer century which doesn’t make sense to me.”

They took their time, strolling around the corner, viewing the property from all sides. Then they returned to the car in silence. Charlotte drove back down Thirty-First Street and through congested traffic toward Pennsylvania Avenue. As they sat through the same traffic light for the second time, Braham said, “I have to go back.”

“Okay. I’ll turn around up here. It is a beautiful home. We can take some pictures.”

Confused, and with his thoughts in a tumult, it took a moment to realize she had misunderstood him. “I don’t want to return to the house, Charlotte. I want to return to my time. I have to go home. Ye can’t keep me here.”

They let the statement hang in the air, swinging from concessions she wanted which he couldn’t give, and acquiescence he wanted which she wouldn’t give. So they sat in traffic—stalled. Tension filled the car until it became thick as his Highlander’s burr when he and Cullen drank too much whisky. He opened his window and cool air rushed in.

The fussy clearing of her throat brought him back to the present. “If you want to learn to drive, you can practice using my car. I’m not as picky as Jack.”

Was the offer an attempt to bridge the gap between his concessions and her acquiescence? “I might put a few bumps and scrapes on it, but I’ll try to put them where they can’t be seen.”

She mustered a slow laugh, and he liked the way it relaxed her face. Her hair fell softly over her shoulders and when she flicked it behind her ears, the scent of almonds wafted his way. Apples? Almonds? What other scents did she have?

“You’ll probably catch on to the driving part right away. It’ll take longer to learn the rules of the road. I’ll ask Jack to get a copy of the Virginia driving manual. He can probably find it on the web.”

“He’s mentioned the web. What is it?” Braham asked.

“The Internet. You can find anything or anybody. I’ll show you how to use the iPad.”

“The thin, book-size, black box Jack reads?” Braham said, forming the shape with his hands.

“I have one in my bag you can use.”

He tugged on his chin with his forefinger and thumb, staring out the window. “An encyclopedia in a small box. The world’s knowledge at yer fingertips. Maps, too?”

“Everything,” she said.

He spotted the finished dome on the Capitol Building