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

Two days of hard travel, shock, and anger coalesced within him, making any plan more complicated than telling the truth impossible. The immutable truth bloomed in his chest. He would tell her what she wanted to hear, and then she’d go home—out of his sight, but not out of his head or his heart. He was doomed to die with her occupying most, if not all, of both.

Preparing to lose her once again, he marched out into the hallway, leaned against the wall, and waited with his arms folded tightly at his chest.

40

Washington City, February 1865

Charlotte tapped her short fingernails on the lip of the table. A minute stretched into two or five or twenty. She had no way of knowing. What were Gordon and Braham saying to each other? Gordon was angry, but he’d been angry all evening, and since Braham hadn’t sought her out, she assumed he was angry, too. But why would he be? He had assumed she would follow him back to his century, and she had. Since he didn’t have any romantic interest in her, he couldn’t be upset because she was having dinner with Gordon.

After an interminable time, Gordon strode back into the room. His face was shiny with nervous perspiration and there was no spark of victory in his eyes. Her mind was racing, and time had slowed to a stall. Why was Gordon walking so slowly? Was it to give Braham time to get out of the building? If Braham refused to speak to her, she wasn’t sure what she intended to do, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pleasant. For him. She swallowed hard to keep any possible nervous flutter from creeping in her voice. She put her hands in her lap, and crossed them wrist over wrist.

Gordon grasped the back of her chair. “He’s waiting in the corridor.”

She swallowed, dry-mouthed with excitement and apprehension.

Gordon’s eyes locked on hers for a moment, the corners now deeply lined with tension. “He’s leaving town again tonight, but he agreed to speak with you.”

“He agreed? How lovely.”

Gordon cringed at her acerbic tone.

She swished her way out of the dining room and into the corridor. Since the night she had driven up to the mansion and discovered Braham gone, she had wanted to take her anger and frustration out on him. But how? A sudden thought lay heavy in her chest, like a swallowed stone. Since he wouldn’t listen to her logical arguments—and she wasn’t one to cry or get violent—and, as far as he was concerned, Lincoln’s welfare trumped her own, then what was left? Begging.

Braham waited at the end of the long hallway, one shoulder propped against the wall, arms folded. Tonight he was dressed handsomely in a Cavalry uniform, saber hanging at his side.

“Will you please give us a minute?” she said to Gordon.

“Make it quick. Dinner will be served shortly.” He pointed to a bench next to the door. “I’ll wait here.”

She took a calming breath, and glided toward Braham. He gazed into her eyes for a long moment, a look to remind her he was everything she imagined and much, much more. He levered himself away from the wall, fists on his hips—a ferocious warrior. He had added a few pounds. His uniform jacket was snug across his chest. But uniform or additional weight didn’t halt her breath, or the long blond hair brushing his collar, or even the grin tilting one side of his mouth. It was the hunger and longing swimming in the depths of his brilliant green eyes. If eyes were windows to one’s soul, then he was gazing into hers as she was gazing into his.

Small lines were visible around his eyes as they widened in frank appreciation. “Charlotte.” His voice was resonant, husky. Was he trying to ignore a swelling tightness in his body as she was with hers? “Why did ye come, cousin?”

“You were expecting me,” she said.

“I thought ye’d come. Though I wish ye hadn’t.”

“You lied to me and stole my car.”

He rolled his shoulders in a defensive gesture. “I never lied to ye. If ye’ve talked to Elliott, ye know why I didn’t tell ye about my cousin…my real one, I mean.”

Being in his proximity after months of worrying about him knotted her insides. She clenched her hands beneath the folds of her skirt. “Lies of omission are still lies.”

His green-eyed look was as shattering as a physical touch. “I learned that lesson years ago.”

A protracted and awkward silence fell between them. “Come to the townhouse tonight. Let’s talk over a glass of wine instead of whispering in a hallway.”

Braham rubbed his chin, and his whiskers rasped under his fingers. “Are ye afraid yer suitor will get jealous?”

“He’s not…” She took a breath and tried again in a calmer voice. “Gordon’s been very helpful.”

“I’m sure he has. It looked scandalous from where I was standing.” His voice held a ruthless edge. “Of all the men in Washington, why him?”

“I secured a position at a hospital through his contacts, and he introduced Jack to several editors who want to read his articles.” She crossed her arms and planted her feet, refusing to let Braham intimidate her. “Why do you care?”

He didn’t answer. He let the words drift to the floor between them.

She tried a different approach. “Gordon said you were leaving again tonight. When will you be back?”

“I serve at the pleasure of the president.”

She took another breath, searching desperately for something to say to make him understand why she was there and what she wanted from him. “Surely, the president will let you—”

He cut her off with an abrupt blast of fury. “Mr. Lincoln expects me to do my job.” His tempestuous tone died suddenly, and when she looked back up into his eyes, her throat was sticky as paste. She turned away, willing the tears not to come.

Although the corner of the corridor they occupied was chilly,