To Dare a Rogue by Lana Williams (100 best novels of all time txt) 📕

his ears. They’d ridden for several minutes before she glanced over at him with a mischievous, dimpled smile that put up his guard.

“Ready?” she asked.

“For what?”

“A race.” The light in her eyes sparked an answering light inside him that nearly had him pressing a hand to his chest at the unfamiliar sensation. Was it excitement? Joy?

Before he could decide, she’d urged her horse into a gallop, quickly gaining ground on him. He gave his horse the slightest nudge, and the steed leapt forward eagerly to give chase.

All his worries fell away as pure exhilaration swept through him. The thunder of hooves pounded on the turf, echoing in his chest. He closed in on Charlotte. A glance over his shoulder showed the groom falling behind. Though he knew he could easily pass Charlotte, he held back, giving them both the thrill of the race.

At last, they neared the end of the meadow, and he drew near enough to hear Charlotte’s laughter. The sound wove through his chest, slightly loosening the knot that had been there since his return to England’s shores.

Charlotte reined in her mare, her cheeks flushed, still laughing as she slid off her horse.

“That was perfect,” she declared.

“Because you won?” he asked as he dismounted, unable to resist teasing her.

“No.” Her gaze held steadily on his. “Because it made you smile.”

His heart did the oddest flip, almost like a somersault, leaving him breathless. He gathered his horse’s reins while he tried to collect his thoughts as she moved closer. He had no idea how to respond to her statement.

“I’ve missed your smile,” she added gently, her gaze searching his face. “You’ve become rather serious compared to what I remember.”

“I haven’t found much to smile about of late.” That was an understatement. The London he’d returned to wasn’t the one to which he’d held tight in his memory, the one to which he’d longed to come home. He supposed he’d held an idealistic view of it. But nothing had remained the same during his absence, especially himself.

He detested the way other men commented with admiration about his roguish feats such as winning at cards or the hand of an actress yet showed little interest in what happened to him and others who’d fought in the war. How could they admire his recent tendency to indulge in less-than-wholesome pleasures and ignore the reason behind them? Was it because he’d escaped physical harm and no outward sign of his internal wounds were visible?

As he forced himself to meet Charlotte’s eyes, he realized he was pleased she had noticed. He was different, and it was ridiculous to pretend otherwise. He was also pleased with the changes in her, both inside and out. The attractive, confident woman standing before him was a testament that not all was upside down in his world.

“Then I am even more pleased to have found something that brought you joy, even briefly,” she added.

“Thank you.”

They stood between their horses which provided them with a small measure of privacy. The quiet morning added to the sensation. He found himself reaching out to brush a gloved finger along her cheek. He wished he could feel it as he was certain her skin would be as soft as it looked.

How easy it would be to fall under her spell and give in to the urge to kiss her.

But that would never do. He intended to protect her, not ravish her. The thought of Edward had him easing back. James needed to remember the reason for this early morning ride.

“Did our race soothe your thirst for adventure?” He asked the question quietly, reluctant to change the topic.

She chuckled even as she shook her head. “I refuse to allow you to escape your promise so easily.”

Oddly enough, her declaration pleased him.

~*~

“I must say that once again you have surprised me.” James stared at Montagu House where the British Museum was housed with a perplexed look.

“Did you think I wouldn't be interested in seeing the exhibits?” Charlotte couldn't help but feel offended. Did James think so poorly of her?

“Not at all.” James studied her as they climbed the steps of the beautiful, French-style house in Bloomsbury where the museum's collections were housed, her maid following behind.

Physician and naturalist Sir Hans Sloane had left the entire contents of his collection to the King upon his death for a small fee to his beneficiaries. The collection included over 71,000 objects with everything from books to manuscripts, to coins and medals, to natural specimens and antiquities of all shapes and sizes. Classical sculptures purchased from Charles Townley were also on display. Both the gardens and the museum were open to the public on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from ten o’clock to four o’clock.

“I'm just not certain why you require my escort to view it.”

That made her feel better. Charlotte wasn't certain how much to admit to James. Especially when she still intended to convince him to take her to a gaming hell.

The exhibits that truly interested her were ones of which her mother would not approve. Lady Wynn didn't see any purpose in bothering with education beyond what Charlotte would require to be a proper wife, capable of managing her social duties as well as a household. She’d been taught manners, drawing, music, reading, and writing, and basic arithmetic, but little beyond that.

While that might satisfy some young ladies, it hadn't satisfied Charlotte. She'd taken to borrowing books from her father's library without his permission to read in the evenings after she retired to her bedchamber. Thank goodness her mother hadn’t noted the number of candles Charlotte went through. Reading some of the rather dry books, at least the portions that interested her, had opened a whole new world to her but left her wanting more. Viewing some of the exhibits housed here would add nicely to that.

Lady Wynn had no desire to visit the museum, therefore she didn't think her daughter should either. Her father certainly wouldn't approve, and Edward couldn't be bothered to escort