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

Charlotte threw a cool, rigid look at her brother.

Jack clapped his hands together, rubbed them vigorously, smiled, and said, “Well, how was the theater?”

Her performance would have earned an Oscar, and as long as Gordon remained at her side, she would continue to act the epitome of Southern graciousness, elegance, and hospitality. She had temporarily lost her composure at the hotel, but every daughter of the South had an occasional bad moment. The assertive side of her personality, which Gordon had seen earlier, needed to be curbed for only a few minutes more. Clearly, it wasn’t worth the effort to rein in her assertiveness in her own time, but here expectations were different.

Gordon cleared his throat. “The show was entertaining and dinner was exceptional. However, both lost their flavor by the appearance—”

“Braham was at the Willard.” Charlotte cut Gordon off abruptly, cringing as she did so, but it didn’t keep her from continuing. “He came to town for a meeting with Stanton, but he’s leaving now to go back to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what.”

The expression on Jack’s face was indecipherable. “Where’s he been?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Where’s he going?”

“He didn’t say. All he said was he served at the pleasure of the president.”

Another question hovered in the air between Jack and Charlotte. They eyed each other, but left the thought unspoken.

“Was he surprised to see you?” Jack asked.

Charlotte answered in a clear but soft voice belying her true feelings. “He knew we were here.”

Jack snatched his hat and coat from the coat tree. “I’m going over to the Willard.”

Gordon lips twitched in what might have been a faint smile. “Would you care to ride with me?”

She watched the two men leave, hoping Jack didn’t haul off and punch either Gordon or Braham. On second thought, she still believed both men might benefit from having some sense knocked into their rocklike skulls. He had her blessing.

42

Washington City, February 1865

Beyond the window of Charlotte’s bedroom, moonlight painted a glittering trail across snow left over from a late winter storm. The only sounds were the crackling fire and the wind groaning outside. The dark, velvety cloak of night would lift in a few hours and a new day would begin. Perhaps the dawn would illuminate solutions to this abominable situation.

She sat curled on the love seat in front of the fire, massaging her forehead, nauseous with the onslaught of a massive headache. The book on her lap forgotten, she stared blindly into the flames, still shivering—a disastrous date, a confrontation with Braham, an unexpected and unwelcome meeting with Booth. One of the three would have been enough to send her into a tailspin. All three within hours of each other was sufficient excuse to pop open a bottle of valium. She had never taken the stuff, didn’t have any pills with her, but had heard plenty of people rave about its calming effect. If she expected to ever be calm tonight, she’d need another glass of wine, or two.

What had Jack been thinking to invite Booth to Braham’s house? If Braham had come home and found Booth there, one of them would be lying on the floor bleeding out right now.

Shivers rattled her teeth, exacerbating the headache.

The front door opened and closed, and voices floated up the stairs. Golden light from the lamp in her room spilled out into the second floor’s wide hall. Jack would, out of habit, stop by to talk before bed. A few minutes later, he sauntered in, carrying two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“Saw your light on when I came in. Thought you’d like a glass of wine after your exciting evening.”

She held up her empty glass, smiling. “Perfect timing. Thank you.”

He refilled her glass and poured some for himself, then squeezed and squirmed until he finally settled into the walnut lady’s chair next to her.

She lifted the glass to smell the bouquet before taking a sip. “Did you find Braham?”

An impertinent grin livened his face. “I found him. He was working his way through a bottle of whisky. You must have done a number on him.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes “Who, me? I hardly said anything. He was as shut down as a condemned building waiting for the wrecking ball.”

“Yeah, but I think he was the wrecking ball searching for a condemned building to plow into. He definitely wanted to pick a fight, but I wasn’t about to give him an excuse.”

“I begged him not to do anything based on what he learned in the twenty-first century, and he told me to go home.”

“He didn’t like seeing you with Gordon.”

She jerked back with a start, the book in her lap landing on the floor with a hollow thud. “Did he say so?”

“More or less.”

She leaned over, grabbed the wine bottle off the floor, and read the label. “This is good.” She took another sip. “Now don’t be so cryptic. If he said something, tell me.”

“He asked how you met Gordon, how often you spend time with him, and if he had seen you in scrubs with your hair down.”

“Where does he come up with these things?” She pulled her feet up under her hip and snuggled once again into the sofa’s soft, plushy cushion.

“Conversation with him tonight was like patting a porcupine,” Jack said.

“Why was he so testy? Did he know Booth was in town?”

“Nah. His mood was directly related to you, and I enjoyed his suffering. Payback for lying to me.” Jack gave her an unrepentant grin. “I made it worse by talking about how beautiful you looked tonight.”

“Must be a guy thing.”

“Right, like girls don’t do it, too.”

“Girls might play games, but they don’t bring the enemy into the house.” Her voice was hemmed with jagged edges of fear and fury. “What were you thinking when you invited Booth here? He’s dangerous, and associating with him could be deadly.”

A worry crease appeared over Jack’s nose. He propped one booted foot on his opposite knee and picked at the threads