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

intimacy, she feared it. What if he transported her to another dimension with sensations so strong and rich and vital she wasn’t able to let him go?

His mouth slid warmly down the side of her neck toward the slope where the muscle of her shoulder joined it, nuzzling her cool skin. “Undo the rest of yer buttons.”

Her fingers fumbled with the small buttons, but finally her blouse opened to him, the tops of her breasts spilling from her corset, full and inviting. He kissed the fullness of her and then he stopped abruptly and stiffened.

She opened her eyes and was no longer met by his bold, appraising look, but by blistering eyes blazing with fury. He dragged her across the room until the waning light from the window fell on her. With a frown, he pushed her blouse off her shoulders. His hand shook as his fingers swept down the lines of each one of the marks Gordon’s nails had raked when he grabbed her bodice and scratched her.

With a face twisted in agony and malevolence in his voice, Braham said, “The son of a bitch did this to ye?”

She jerked back as if stung, as much from the memory of the initial trauma as from the vengeance ignited in Braham’s voice. He stomped over to the table and strapped on his revolvers.

Charlotte dashed for the door and plastered herself against it. “You’re not going after him. You promised me.”

“It was before I knew the extent of yer injuries.”

“They’re scratches, for God’s sake.”

He buckled the belt and adjusted the weight on his hips. “He’ll not get away with this.”

Charlotte buttoned her blouse and tucked the tail into her skirt. “What are you going to do? Challenge him to a duel? You can’t. He’s a senior officer. And you gave me your word. Are you going to break it after only a few hours?”

“It’s yer honor I intend to protect.”

“The hell it is.” She didn’t know if it was what he said or the emotion behind it, but something reached into her heart and squeezed hard. “We were so caught up in the moment you were ready to yank up my skirt and take me against the wall after twice”—she paused and held up two fingers for added emphasis—“twice telling me it wasn’t honorable.” Her face flushed hot and blood throbbed dully in her ears. She barreled up to him and jabbed her finger into his chest. “Running off with your blasted guns cocked is about your frigging honor, not mine.”

She stumbled over to the settee, collapsed onto the cushions, and dropped her head in her hands. Something cold slid down her back, leaving icy uneasiness.

“I’ve never felt such desire,” she said sadly. “If you hadn’t stopped when you did, I would have ripped your clothes off, and after we’d screwed each other’s brains out, we both would have been furious with ourselves. Me, because I don’t want sex without love, and you because making love to me would have violated your blasted code of honor. Instead of running off to shoot Gordon Henly, we should pen a joint thank-you note to him.”

Tears weren’t flowing from her eyes because she had a well-honed ability to grasp temporary composure on demand.

“I’m done here. I’m ready to go home. Do whatever you have to do.” She knelt and scooped her hairpins off the floor and then, with a steady gait and her chin held high, she glided past him, slamming the door behind her.

After all, composure only lasted so long.

48

Washington City, March 1865

There had been no word from Braham in more than a month. She shivered every time she thought about the day in Georgetown. They should have found time later to talk about their differences, but he had disappeared again, making it impossible. How could two people be so attracted to each other when they had opposing views on almost everything else? Maybe the brooches had bewitched them both. Great. She hoped it didn’t mess Jack up, too.

Since arriving in Washington several months earlier, Jack had attracted the fervent attention of a handful of young women Charlotte referred to as his groupies. Women flocked to him, falling easily into his bed, but rarely into his heart. Charlotte secretly blamed their mother for his behavior. If she hadn’t withdrawn emotionally after their father’s death and left her children to sprout in an unattended garden, Jack might be able to form attachments that lasted longer than a few months. Charlotte’s own issues were probably similar, but it was easier to be critical of him and ignore her own inadequacies. She would never admit it to him, though.

Jack had been inundated with invitations to balls and dinner parties, and for the last two weeks, events celebrating Lincoln’s second inauguration had crammed his calendar. He often invited her to accompany him, but to Washington society she was an eccentric old maid who preferred the company of wounded soldiers to participating in the glitter of the city’s elite.

She had tried to beg off this particular evening’s fete, which was being held two days after the inauguration, but Jack had insisted she attend and had promised to remain by her side to thwart unwanted attention. She believed it was the other way around and he was using her, but she agreed to go, hoping to speak to the president.

Four thousand revelers, drinking and dancing quadrilles and waltzes, had squeezed into the room on the top floor of the Patent Office Building. By the time the buffet—with its advertised bill of fare of oysters, roast beef, turkey, ham, venison, lobster salad, and an endless display of cakes and tarts—was served at midnight, the partygoers would be well into their cups.

Charlotte was people-watching when Jack nudged her. One corner of his mouth curled up in a cynical smile. “Don’t look now, but guess who’s sauntering across the room in our direction?”

“Please don’t tell me it’s Gordon.”

While there was a short list of people in Washington she