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

settled the tension between them, and it seemed to calm Gordon, too. Although there was still a noticeable tremor in his hand as he fiddled with the plain stem of his glass.

“You’re in pain, aren’t you?” she said. “We don’t need to stay for dinner.”

He gave her a warning eye. “My back is not the issue. There’s a delicate matter I wish to discuss.” His voice was sharp with agitation. He stopped fiddling with the stem and held up his hand to quiet her. “I saw the list of sick and wounded brought into the city today. I know the K Street Barracks Post Hospital received a fair number. The work is taking its toll on you. You’re always late for engagements, and when you are present, you’re distracted. I want you to quit working immediately.”

She stared in open-mouth shock, temporarily unable to speak.

“Hear me out, please.”

He took a sip of champagne, and so did she, but it did nothing to lessen her outrage. She inhaled through her nose, exhaled through her mouth. If she wasn’t so conscious of needing to protect her hands, she would have reached out and slapped him silly.

“The war won’t last much longer.” His eyes were fixed on hers, but the only spark of life was a small glint which then disappeared into darkness under the low light of a gas lamp overhead. “When it ends, I’m going back to Ohio to take over the family store.”

Her vision narrowed, as if she had entered a long, winding tunnel with only a small beam of fading light.

“I should discuss this proposal with your brother first, but he told me the day I met you he didn’t make decisions for you. In light of that, I’m broaching this subject with you instead.”

“Gordon—”

“Please, let me finish.”

Their eyes locked and held. Her foot shook. If the conversation went in the direction she suspected, then a disaster was looming.

“We’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but we’ve grown compatible, nonetheless. You are as knowledgeable about poetry as you are about the army and politics. You have practicable opinions on every conceivable topic. You’re well-read, and you have a unique sense of humor I find refreshing…most of the time.” He placed his hand on top of hers. “I’m a man of means and can provide a comfortable lifestyle. I hope you will consider—”

Braham’s doppelganger appeared in Charlotte’s periphery. She did an instant double take. After tossing down a whisky, the man opened a cigar case, extracted a black cigar, and held it to his nose for a moment. A match flared, then he leaned against the bar, one foot hiked on the lower rail of a stool, smoking.

Gordon looked to see what had caught her attention. “What the hell is he doing here? I heard the president sent him out on assignment.”

She snatched away her hand, damp from his sweaty palm. “You heard what?” Ripples of shock pulsed through her. She put her fingers flat on the table and pushed her chair away.

Gordon grabbed the back of her chair, holding it in place. “Sit. You’re not going anywhere.”

“You’ve been lying to me. I’ve been asking you for two months”—she flashed her fingers in front of his face—“if you knew Braham’s whereabouts, and not once, not twice, but dozens of times, you’ve said no. Now you tell me you’ve known all along Lincoln sent him out on a mission.”

Anger flashed up like heat rising from a boiling pot. She glanced over at the bar, and her eyes locked and held with Braham’s. He saluted her with the two fingers gripping his cigar. Then he turned, opened a door behind him, and quit the room. She peeled Gordon’s hand off her chair.

“Now he’s gone. I’ve got to go find him before he leaves again. Let go of my chair.”

Gordon glanced over his shoulder. “If he went through that door, he’s in the billiard room, and women aren’t allowed in there.”

In the brief time she’d been in the nineteenth century, when faced with blatant sexual discrimination she had remained calm, which had surprised her and given Jack a good laugh. But this time, cultural practices were putting a trivial and unnecessary obstacle in her path. She didn’t intend to stand idly by and accept the dogma. She slipped out the other side of her chair and stood.

“Watch me.”

“Sit down,” Gordon growled between clenched teeth, clasping her wrist with a yank, “before you cause a scene.” His dark eyes narrowed and the vein at his right temple pulsed. “There are actions you can take in your own home you’re not permitted to take in public. One of those is entering the billiard room.”

Blood pounded in her ears. “If I can’t go in there, would you please go ask him to come out? I’d like to speak with him.”

Gordon shoved his fingers through his hair, leaving uneven ridges. “He’ll be at the townhouse later. You can talk to him then.”

“You don’t know that.” She set her feet squarely. “I have been waiting months to talk to him. If you don’t go in there right now, I will, and rules be damned.” Gordon made an exasperated noise deep in his throat, but it was his scorching glare which fueled her determination.

“I didn’t know this side of you existed, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Your father and brother have coddled you and allowed you to have your way. Your husband will correct this behavior with a lash, if necessary. Now sit down.” His voice was as inflexible as a stone.

A lump of fear hardened in her chest, so she sat. She’d had professors in classroom situations and doctors in the hospital use a similar condescending tone with her, but no one had ever threatened her. Forget slapping him. Breaking a chair over his head would be far more satisfying.

Gordon got to his feet and threw his napkin on his chair. “I’ll be back.” The sharp-edged emphasis he placed on the word back was as relentlessly pointed