The Sapphire Brooch by Katherine Logan (best novels to read to improve english .txt) 📕

garbage heap.” He dragged Braham into the room where Charlotte had washed after her visit to the prison. “Come on. Get cleaned up, then you can rest.”

A servant dumped buckets of steaming water into the tub.

“Keep the hot water coming,” Jack said. “And send for the butler.”

When the butler arrived, Jack explained the situation and asked him to get clothes for both of them from Jack’s wardrobe and to also bring the haversack containing his toiletries. “And don’t let the women know we’ve returned until we’re dressed.”

The water in the tub quickly turned dark brown as old blood and grime soaked off Braham. The tub was emptied and filled a second time. The third time, while heat seeped into his wounded body, he gobbled down a hefty bowl of chicken soup.

When the butler returned with clean clothes and the haversack, Braham washed his hair with Jack’s special shampoo. Clean and smelling good, he climbed out, feeling remarkably refreshed. He’d been blessed with a hardy constitution, and four years of war had battle-hardened what God had given him. Under the right circumstances—food, rest, and a little tending to his wounds—he could recover to fight again, but this reprieve would not last long.

He intended to use the reprieve to reacquaint himself with the taste and feel of Charlotte’s lips.

Jack stripped out of his torn, scorched clothes. “Are you going to shave your ugly beard off?”

Braham scratched at the bristly, four-month-old growth of hair. “Ye don’t like it? I’m getting used to it.”

Jack ducked to wet his hair. When he resurfaced he said, “You’re asking the wrong Mallory. I don’t care, but Charlotte will hate it.”

“She likes yer three-day-old whiskers look.”

Jack chuckled, tilting his head in a yes-and-no gesture. “I’m not sure she likes it. She’s merely stopped complaining about it.”

Braham combed back his shoulder-length blond hair. “Should I cut it? Most men wear short hair now.” He stopped combing and studied his reflection in the small shaving mirror. The cut above his brow gave him a somewhat menacing look. He snarled at it. “Do ye think I look fine enough?”

“Jesus, man. What’s wrong with you? Remember this. It’s all in the nose. Win over a woman’s nose and you’re halfway into her bed.”

Braham set the comb aside, picked up a clean shirt, and slipped it on. He only had a short time remaining with Charlotte and that thought triggered a quiver all the way through him. There wasn’t anything he could do about it, though. He couldn’t go home with her, and she wouldn’t stay with him.

“Hand me a towel, and don’t forget the cologne,” Jack said.

Braham collected a towel off the shelf and tossed it to Jack.

“I don’t know why you’re getting dressed. You know she’ll want to examine you. And when she sees your back, she’ll dope you up and put you to bed.”

Braham put on a jacket and straightened his tie. “As long as she’s next to me, I won’t object.”

“Elizabeth won’t approve of you sleeping together.”

Braham flapped his hand in dismissal. “I don’t plan to tell her.”

“I suspect she knows everything going on in her house, even what’s happening behind closed doors.”

Braham slipped his thumbs under his lapels, raising his eyebrows theatrically. “Ye forget. I’m a master of subterfuge.”

Jack tied the towel around his waist, roaring with laughter. “Which is why Johnny Reb caught you twice.”

Braham shrugged. “I admit I’ve had a string of bad luck, but I survived.”

“Oh, speaking of surviving, there’s a matter Charlotte asked me to talk to you about. Elizabeth spent most of her family’s fortune rescuing Union soldiers. She’ll die of old age in this house, penniless. I don’t have money to contribute, but I thought you might be able to set up a trust fund for her.”

“I’ve got more money than I’ll ever spend. I’ll take care of it, but wouldn’t providing for her change history?”

“If making sure a woman has food and shelter for the rest of her life changes history, then I’m all for it.”

Braham reached for the doorknob. “Consider it done.”

They found Elizabeth in the drawing room, staring out the window while fingering the cameo brooch at her neck. An uneasy foreboding stole over Braham. A servant in the room had her head down, watching as she poked at something on the carpet with the toe of her shoe. Braham checked. Nothing there. The uneasiness ballooned rapidly.

“I don’t believe the fire will reach this far,” Braham said.

Elizabeth dropped the curtain and turned to Braham. She seemed…not absentminded, but rather nervous and distracted. Her fingers fluttered about her neck like uncertain moths caught in a lampshade. “It’s good to see you, Major. Was there any trouble?”

“No. Did the other men arrive?” Braham asked.

She nodded. “They were taken to safe houses for the night.”

“Where’s Charlotte? Is she sleeping?” Jack asked.

“She went looking for you.”

“When—” Braham asked.

“Where—” Jack shouted.

“When you didn’t return”—Elizabeth’s fingers fluttered faster—“within a reasonable length of time, and she believed you intended to stop Jefferson Davis from leaving the city with the treasury. Did you?”

Jack collapsed into a chair and buried his head in his hands. “How in God’s blue blazes did she leap to such a conclusion?”

“How long has she been gone?” Braham demanded.

“Two hours, maybe more,” Elizabeth said.

“Where would she have gone?” Jack asked, moaning, “Oh God. Where is she?”

Elizabeth’s skirts swished as she strode across the room toward Jack. She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. She only mentioned the depot.”

Braham paced, thinking. If she reached the depot and discovered the train gone, what would she do then? She’d come back…unless. “Is there a hospital in the path of the fire? Or an influx of wounded? A place where the injured are gathered for medical care? If she’s not out searching for you, Jack—”

“She’s knee-deep in somebody’s blood. But where? I’m not aware of any hospitals in danger, but there is a trainload of wounded housed in a depot.”

Braham paced his way over to the whisky bottle