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

Edward entered the room. “Colonel Henly is here to see you.”

She smiled at Edward until his statement made a connection in her brain. A surge of anxiety settled in her empty stomach. “Tell him I’m not up yet.”

Edward turned to leave.

No, she better not put Gordon off. He’d either wait for her to come down or he’d come back later. At least both Braham and Jack were in the house in the event he caused trouble. Best to deal with him now and get it over with.

“Never mind, Edward,” she said, rising from her chair. “I’ll see him in the parlor.”

Gordon was standing in front of the hearth when she entered the room.

“Good morning, Gordon. Isn’t it rather early for a social call?”

“I thought I’d save you the necessity of sending a note with your answer about our dinner engagement tomorrow night.”

“I appreciate all you’ve done for both Jack and me, but after last night I think it’s best if we don’t see each other socially again.”

A ghostly smile flickered over his lips. “I’d hoped your brother had impressed upon you—”

“Jack does not make decisions for me,” she shot back. “He’s told you so twice now, possibly three times.”

The soft tick of the clock in the corner and the rising wind brushing against the windowpane were the only nods to time passing. The throb of her pulse beat inside her brain. She felt light-headed, dizzy, like she might faint from an empty stomach and the damned instrument of torture she wore over her chemise—a corset.

Gordon stared at her, his eyes traveling down her with unnerving thoroughness. His face darkened. He crossed the distance between them in two long strides, his fists clenched, his expression furious. She took a step backward. He caught her face between his hands and turned her chin to the side.

“I heard McCabe’s voice as I entered the house. And your lip is swollen, my dear. Did he fuck you last night? Never mind. Don’t answer. Save me your sanctimony.”

She gasped in horror.

“You’re nothing but a goddamn whore.”

She recoiled, jerking her head out of his grasp, irate over his jealous tirade. Goose bumps prickled across her arms and shoulders. Her throat tightened painfully, but she forced out strangled words. “Get out. Now.”

“Not until I get what I came for.” He jerked her to him and grabbed hold of the hair, flinging the sterling hair comb across the room and unraveling the braided chignon at her nape. She cried out when he twisted her hair around his fingers to hold her still, and then he slapped her. Before she could knee him in the groin, he pressed his lips against hers in a bruising kiss, his lips hard and unyielding.

She pushed him off, and he grabbed her roughly by the bodice. The force knocked her off balance, ripping her dress. She scrambled for purchase, but fell sideways onto a table, knocking a stack of books onto the floor.

He raised his arm to strike her, but she dodged, turning her head to lessen the impact. His hand barely grazed the side of her face. “Braham and Jack are here. If I call them, they’ll kill you. Go away.” She swallowed hard, fighting back a spasm of shock in the pit of her stomach. Her mind was working furiously but going nowhere. “If you’re spoiling for a fight, they’ll gladly give you one.”

Gordon’s brows slanted down like an angry hawk and his cheeks quivered with rage. He threw open the doors, and they rattled when they hit the wall. “You haven’t seen the last of me.”

“Oh, yes, I have,” she said. “Don’t call on me again. You won’t be welcomed.” Gripping the back of a chair for support, she called to Edward, standing at his post by the door. “The colonel is leaving and will not be back.”

Gordon snatched his hat out of Edward’s hands and stormed out of the house.

Her insides trembled violently. Clutching her arms, Charlotte went to the window, proceeding with her grandmother’s fluid grace, the kind Granny was born with and never failed to exhibit in times of stress and violence.

“By doing it, you believe it,” Granny had said.

And so Charlotte did it now. But she didn’t have her grandmother’s gumption, and she never would. From the window, she could see Gordon stomping down the street, through the snow, with anger radiating off him so forcefully ice probably melted beneath his feet.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Edward asked.

She pointed over her shoulder. “The books fell off the table. If you would put the room to rights, I would appreciate it. I’m going upstairs now. I’d like a bath, too, if you would send up hot water. And, Edward, please don’t tell Braham or Jack. There’s no need for more violence.”

“Certainly, Miss Charlotte.”

As soon as she reached her bedroom, she dropped onto the chair in front of her dressing table and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her head hurt where Gordon had pulled her hair, and the curls were now a frizzy mess. She had a bruise developing on the side of her face near her hairline and another bruise beneath her jaw. She also had fingernail scratches on her chest where he had grabbed and ripped her bodice. Intellectually she had always understood drug addicts could be emotionally volatile, and had seen addicts out of control before, but their anger had never been directed at her until now. And she never wanted to repeat the experience.

She opened the window, scooped up a handful of snow from the ledge, and held it against the side of her head. When the first handful melted, she grabbed another. By the time the second compress melted, her bath was ready. A long soak would rejuvenate her. Before the trip to Georgetown, she would apply a bit of makeup over the bruises. If Jack or Braham discovered the colonel had carried his delusional jealousy to such an