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

hesitation, I said I knew him well, he came from a wealthy, highly respected family, he was a writer with immense talent, and a man I was glad to call friend.”

She glanced sideways at Jack, narrowing her eyes. “Sounds like excellent book jacket copy to me. I’d get it in writing while you can. And be sure to get a picture of Braham in uniform to go with the comment.” Then she nabbed Jack’s arm and squeezed. “And please don’t seduce a virgin.”

47

Georgetown, February 1865

After a delightful luncheon, Braham’s neighbors, the Murrays, along with Jack and Mary Ann, the Murrays’ daughter, left for a stroll in the garden, with her parents following at a discreet distance. Charlotte watched the couple saunter along the snow-cleared pathway from the window at the back of the house. The wind had stopped blowing, and a brief glimpse of dark blue sky showed through the clouds, giving her hope it might clear the way for an early spring.

“I see why you thought Jack might find her charming. She’s educated, well read, and has traveled abroad. She also fresh, innocent, and different from any woman he’s ever spent time with. For her protection, though, I’m glad we’re staying in Washington instead of next door. I’m not sure Jack could resist the temptation of a beguiling young woman.”

Braham came up behind Charlotte and rested his chin on the top of her head, his hands caressing her shoulders. “He’s given me his word he’ll not deflower her.”

She laughed softly. “I hope he didn’t ask the same of you. Although deflowering me isn’t an issue. It happened several—”

Braham pressed his fingers lightly against her lips. She turned in his arms to face him. His eyes were darker than their usual glacial green, and they were fixed on her, or at least pointed at her. “I don’t want to hear about the man who took ye.”

She kissed the tips of his fingers and his mouth quirked wryly. “Why does your accent come and go?”

His brows knitted together briefly before he laughed, his body vibrating against hers. “I fall back into it when I’m with other Highlanders like the Murrays. Do ye not like the sound of it, lass?”

“Ooooooh.” She sighed. “I love it. It’s musical and very romantic.”

He took her hand. “Come, I’ll show ye the library. It’s my favorite room.”

When they reached a closed door, he said, “Close yer eyes.” The doorknob clicked slightly before the door hushed open. The warmth of sunlight bathed her face. “Open yer eyes now.”

She did. She pressed her hand to her open mouth. “Oh my, what a beautiful room.” She meandered across the parquet floor, glancing up, down, and around. “Are those all Birch paintings?”

“Not all of them.”

A dozen paintings hung side by side between the top of the head-high wall-to-wall bookcases and the ornate crown molding. The bookcases were filled to overflowing, a large library globe mounted on a three-legged mahogany stand sat in the corner next to a window, and a circular table covered with opened books and maps occupied the center of the room. Brown and gold curtains framed windows overlooking a private garden. A gold-upholstered settee and two chairs covered in coordinating green brocade clustered in front of the fireplace. A chandelier throwing off rainbows from the abundance of sunlight hung over the table. At one end of the room, a grandfather clock was nestled in an alcove between two bookcases. At the other end, an open three-panel door led into a room with a massive four-poster bed.

“You designed this suite of rooms, didn’t you?” she asked, looking at him intently, seeing the side of him devoted to order and symmetry and simplicity. “You belong here.”

He smiled slightly, and his face seemed perfectly at peace in sunlight which somehow washed away the worry lines normally etched in the corners of his mouth and eyes. Then in an instant his mood changed, and he wore an odd expression—tender, yet somewhat rueful. “The war—violence, death, destruction—stays outside this door.” One of his powerful shoulders moved in a partial shrug. “I don’t allow it in here, but it sneaks in when the door’s left ajar.”

“What will you do after the war? Will you live here?”

His lips stretched into a grimace which might have been intended as a smile, but fell far short. “I’ll have had enough of Washington by then. I’ll sell the house.”

The heat of his energy was palpable, especially against the chill in the air. Perspiration gathered between her breasts. Feeling overly warm, she removed her wool jacket and opened the top button of her blouse.

“It’s so beautiful here, especially this room.” She relaxed onto the oak settee, casually rubbing her hands over its ornate carvings and silk upholstery.

“Aye, but I have a similar room in my house on Rincon Hill in San Francisco.”

She removed her shoes and tucked her chilly feet up under her. “Three houses. Are you starting a collection?”

“There’s one at the winery, too.”

“Hmm. Four. You definitely have a collection. Will you move back into the Rincon Hill house and practice law again?” She picked up a Highland piper figurine off the table next to the sofa and examined it. The vivid detail and intricate workmanship were extraordinary. She set it down carefully, patting the piper’s head, as if giving him permission to blow his bagpipes.

“Cullen is keeping the law practice going with only one other lawyer. There’s too much work for them. They need me back.”

“Is it what you want to do?”

He joined her on the sofa, stretching out his long legs, his arms draped casually along the back and arm of the settee. “I’m tired. I want to work at the vineyard for a while. Put the war behind me. Settle down.”

Her mouth quirked as she met his eyes. “Get married?”

Shying away from the question, he half-closed his eyes, his long lashes shadowing his gaze. His strong, lithe form remained motionless for a moment. Then he gave her a serious look.