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

45

Washington City, February 1865

Wearing an emerald riding habit along with a matching hat decorated with feathers, plump roses, and an illusion veil, Charlotte made her way to the study to find her afternoon escorts. Entering the room, she gave a fake cough and fanned her way through the cigar smoke to join them. Braham sat back, feet resting on the edge of the desk, puffing. Jack’s cigar lay in an ashtray with streaming wisps of smoke following his pen as he drew the trench lines between Petersburg and Richmond.

Braham got up and offered his chair, giving her an appraising glance.

“What? Is something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head, smiling with a glint of deviltry. “Ye surprise me, that’s all.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed to crinkled slits. “You both surprise me.”

Charlotte picked up Jack’s cigar and tamped it out in the ashtray. “Just because you’re living in the midst of smokers doesn’t mean you have to smoke.” She pointed at the cigar clamped at a jaunty angle between Braham’s teeth. “You shouldn’t be smoking either.”

He gave her a subtle wink. “I haven’t heard anyone complain about smoking since the last time I saw Kit. She’s on a one-woman crusade to outlaw one of man’s most profound pleasures.”

Charlotte slapped her riding crop lightly against her leather-gloved palm. “Hundreds of thousands of lives would be saved if she’s successful.”

“Stop preaching, sis. Nobody likes to listen to a harpy.”

“Smoke the damn things, then.” She picked up a small tin, removed a lucifer match, and tossed the unlit stick onto the map in front of Jack. “Here’s a match. Fire it up.”

He flicked the tiny piece of wood out of the way and the match rolled among the books and random pieces of paper cluttering the top of the desk.

“How much longer are you two going to be?” she asked. “I’m hungry. Should I have a snack?”

Huffing, Jack rolled up the map and stacked his notes, tapping the papers’ edges against the tabletop until the pages were aligned perfectly. She chuckled at the habit they had both acquired from their fastidious mother.

“Let’s roll,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to faint from hunger.” He glanced at Charlotte, his brows knitted in a frown. “Where’d the bruise come from? You didn’t have it earlier.” He leveled a glowering look at Braham, who returned the glare.

“Excuse me, sir,” Edward said, standing in the doorway. “Colonel Henly left his gauntlets. Should I arrange to have them delivered?”

“Yes,” Braham said. “I certainly don’t intend to deliver them.”

Jack came around to the front of the desk and looked closer at Charlotte’s face. “Wait. When did Henly leave his gloves? He had them when he left last night.”

Edward stared fixedly at Jack. “Earlier this morning. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to their delivery.”

Braham’s look could have peeled the hide off a snake. He turned on Charlotte. “Henly was here? And ye saw him? Why in God’s name did ye allow the man back inside this house?”

“He was already inside when Edward announced him. I wasn’t going to see him, but I knew he’d only come back.”

Jack gave her an incredulous glare. “And he hit you?”

She cringed from the force of Jack’s sizzling incredulity and the memory of the encounter. “He pulled, I pushed. I’m not hurt. He’ll never be back.”

Braham turned to leave. “The bastard won’t get away with it this time.”

Charlotte grabbed his arm. “He’s a senior officer, Braham. Let it go.”

“He sure as hell isn’t mine,” Jack said. “And I’m not going to let him get away with man-handling my sister.”

Charlotte rushed to the door ahead of them and stretched out her arms, grabbing the doorjamb on both sides. “Okay, guys. Stop. I’m not hurt, and I don’t need the two of you to track him down so you can beat him up to satisfy your personal sense of honor. He’s not worth it. Besides, if I had felt threatened, I could have hurt him. One punch to the area where the bullet is lodged in his back, and he’d have been on the floor blubbering.”

“You should have hit him,” Jack said. “Next time I see him, I will.”

Braham brushed the side of her face, close to the bruise. Then he cocked his head and touched her chin tenderly. His eyes blazed hot enough to scorch her. She moved back, not out of fear of Braham, but because she didn’t want to be in the path of his righteous indignation when he exploded.

“Ye have two bruises and ye expect me to do nothing?”

Jack and Braham stood shoulder to shoulder, cornering Charlotte and giving her no room to escape their glowering faces. “If you have two visible bruises, I’d bet my next book’s royalties we’ll find more under the getup you’re wearing.”

If they saw the scratch marks on her chest they would tackle each other to be the first in line to plow a fist into Gordon. She gulped and held up her foot. “My toe hurts.”

Braham squatted and removed her riding boot and stocking and untied her garter. Her big toe had a nasty bruise. “How’d ye get this, lass?”

She cleared her throat and told the truth while intending the statement to be misconstrued. She couldn’t keep her eyes from blinking rapidly, though. “I kicked.”

The corner of Jack’s mouth ticked in visibly repressed anger. “Hope you gave the bastard a karate kick to the balls or the back. Either one would do satisfying damage.”

Braham replaced her stocking, retied the garter, and slipped on her boot with sufficient skill to imply he dressed women regularly. She blinked as images of Braham with other women wrenched her ego into a state of raging jealousy. Before her ego could grab her around the neck and make her believe Braham had hundreds of women ready to succumb at the merest twitch of his finger, she turned and marched toward the door. He caught her arm and turned her to face him again. The blaze in