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

was above all an honorable man, exuberant about living. A man so naturally sexual he intensified her own sexuality. A man both tender and intensely male who made her feel intensely female.

Yes, she would know.

She allowed none of these turbulent thoughts to cause even a ripple in her expression, though. Jack needed to believe she had her usual calm confidence, especially if Doctor Carlton Mallory intended to visit Castle Thunder.

Jack had a keen look on his face as he scanned the cobblestone streets. “We’ve spent most of our lives in this city. It’s as familiar as Mallory Plantation, but this”—he encompassed the scene with a wave of his arm—“is an alien place.”

Charlotte hugged her cape tight around her shoulders and breathed out hard, followed by a long breath in, hoping the chill would calm her.

“There’s an ominous stillness. Do you feel it?”

“Yes.” Jack lifted his chin and sniffed. The expression in his intelligent eyes changed ever so slightly. “I smell it, too.” He sniffed again. “It’s the lingering smell of sulfur from cannon and artillery fire.”

She twitched her nose. “You’re more sensitive to smells than I am, but even I can smell it, hear it, feel the vibrations.”

“Do you want to go by the prison on the way to the Van Lews’ house?”

She nodded.

He pointed with a slight lift of his chin. “Let’s head up Cary Street then, but don’t make it look like we’re casing the joint. If we get locked up, we won’t be any help to your boyfriend.”

She gave Jack a smile as thin as a razor. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

She’d never been able to put anything over on her brother. He knew her too well. But Braham wasn’t her boyfriend. Wannabe lover maybe, but not a boyfriend. No matter how much she might wish for a future with him, they were both in the wrong place and the wrong time.

The tune to a Stevie Wonder’s song surfaced in her mind, and she hummed a few bars while she and Jack walked down Cary Street to Eighteenth. We are ndercover passion on the run… For me and you, my part-time lover.

“There it is—Castle Thunder,” Jack said, pointing to three old red brick tobacco warehouses. The buildings faced the James River, each one with dozens of barred windows open to the elements. A wooden fence encircled a small prison yard, and guards lined the tops of the walls.

A cool breeze had sprung up and was blowing the folds of her skirts around her legs. Dread of what they might find raised the hackles on the back of her neck. “I wish I knew which building he was in.”

“Probably the one with deserters and political prisoners.”

“Not much help unless there’s a sign over the door. Whichever one it is, we’ve got to get him out.”

He nodded cautiously. “Come on. Let’s keep going.”

They moved quickly through the shadowy street, peering in all directions and listening to groans coming from the prison’s open windows. The rancid smell, a sickening combination of disease, sweat, and other bodily fluids, coated her nostrils and clung there, magnified by her own fear. She chewed her lower lip as she tried to think of ways to get him out quickly and safely. They didn’t have many. In fact, they only had one.

“Major Carlton Mallory is going to visit the prison tomorrow.”

Jack’s face assumed the Mallory look; a characteristic calm masking the rapid and furious thinking going on behind it. After a moment, his eyes bored into hers, dark and penetrating. “The prisoners incarcerated there are some of the most desperate men in the Confederacy. There’s not a chance in hell I’m going to let you go inside that suffering, stinking pit.”

Jack placed his hand on her back, heavy even through her riding cape. He guided her forward with a bit of pressure to keep moving. “The guards at the door are watching. Keep going.” He guided her up Twenty-Third Street toward Main.

“There won’t be any wagons or ambulances available to evacuate the non-ambulatory prisoners. It would make sense for a doctor to go in there to evaluate the prisoners and get an accurate count of how many would need to be left behind. That wouldn’t be dangerous.”

He glanced sideways, tongue probing a back tooth as he thought. “I might have a plan, but it requires someone to get inside—someone other than you.”

“I wouldn’t want you in there either, Jack, but disguised as a Confederate doctor—”

He shook his head. “We’ll work something else out. The place is a vast sinkhole of inhumanity.”

“I wonder if any of those men will ever find their way back from the abyss of brutality.”

Jack shot a glance over his shoulder toward the prison. “Abyss of brutality? Hmm. Nice word choices.”

She thought about it, rubbing absently at her cheek. “It’s not original. I read it somewhere. Epitome of inhumanity is a good line, too.” They continued to the corner in silence and headed down another block toward Franklin Street. “I’ve been reenacting Civil War battles for the last twenty years, but walking past those warehouses, smelling the blistering stench, and hearing those anguished moans makes me realize what I’ve been doing is—”

Jack finished her sentence. “Honoring those who fought.”

She glanced up at him with a lifted brow. “Those words aren’t exactly the ones I would use.”

“Don’t belittle what you’ve been doing.” He lowered his voice to a familiar pitch, trying to appear unruffled, but he marked every word with subtle inflection, a vocal cue to those who knew him well. “Every survivor will suffer for the rest of his life. Thank God it’s almost over.”

They reached Grace Street and climbed the short distance up Church Hill to the Van Lew mansion. The horizon to the east appeared gold-plated as a brilliant sun inched its way up through the orange hues of dawn. The sumptuous fragrance of showy pink magnolia blossoms floated on the breeze. Grand homes lined both sides of this street. Charlotte stopped and stared, appreciating