To Dare a Rogue - Lana Williams (novels for beginners TXT) 📗

head. “You deserve so much better.” A man who wasn’t broken.

“Someone such as Lord Samuelson?” Worry flared in her expression.

“Samuelson? What does he have to do with you?”

“He is the man my father intends to be my future husband.” The catch in her throat caused him to clench his fist.

James turned away, not wanting her to see his disbelief. Lord Samuelson was significantly older than her with few admirable qualities that James knew of. He was well known for gambling on horse races and spending far too much money on mistresses.

The idea of him with Charlotte was inconceivable. In James’ opinion, Samuelson was too similar to the Earl of Wynn and would make a terrible husband for her. But James was in no position to protest when he couldn’t make it through a day without his memories dragging him into despair.

“I have no doubt he would make a worthy suitor,” he managed. “More so than I could.”

“James, if you would tell me...” Her voice drifted off, but he already knew what she wanted. Was she frightened to finish the request? She should be.

“Tell you what?” He braced himself.

“I have no doubt that the war was incredibly difficult. That the conditions were terrible. I'm sure you saw many die.” She paused as if hoping he’d fill in the details.

But he couldn't. Even her vague description conjured up terrible memories that clawed at the back of his throat. He could only shake his head again.

“I would very much like to know more.” Her gloved hand reached for his clenched fist and held tight. “Even if nothing can happen between us, I want to understand.”

“No one should endure such atrocities. I will not—cannot—be the one to tell you about it.”

“But—”

He turned aside. “What purpose would be served by filling your mind with the same images that fill mine? The ones that give me nightmares and keep me from sleeping through the night. The memories that cause me to become unhinged when startled. I would not wish that on anyone.”

“Surely speaking of it to someone, even me, would ease your burden.”

“A confession of sorts?” He scoffed, unable to say more. Not when he couldn't get the words past the ball in his throat. Where did he even begin sharing the misery, the fear, including his own cowardice? He wasn't proud of the terror and panic that had weakened his knees and made it difficult to think when they’d been under attack.

While he had never run from battle, he’d certainly considered it. And he hated that knowledge. If everyone realized his true nature, he would be shunned from polite society and labeled a coward. Each day, he waited to see if someone would realize that he was no hero. That he had only been in the right place at the right time and chosen not to run.

Even worse was the worry that he would somehow let the truth slip. Just like the exhibit falling at the museum had thrown him back onto the battlefield. What might happen that would reveal the truth?

“James.”

He forced himself to look at Charlotte and the concern in her gaze tore at him, just as his mother’s worry did.

“Not a confession,” she said reassuringly. “Merely speaking with a friend.”

He shook his head, unable to fathom doing so. For if he did, her look of concern would surely change to disgust. “Let us look at the outdoor garden. I need some fresh air.”

Chapter Nine

“Thank you so much for the invitation.” Charlotte curtsied as she greeted Caroline Walker, the Countess of Aberland, Margaret’s eldest sister.

“I’m pleased you could join us.” The countess had always been kind to Charlotte, but this was the first time Charlotte had visited her home.

The invitation to tea had been a pleasant surprise and a welcome distraction. Three days had passed since she and James had ventured to the conservatory. She hadn’t seen him since and worried how he fared. His deep distress had shocked her, so at odds when he seemed confident and capable. But the shadows in his demeanor had formed for a reason. Whatever he’d been through had affected him deeply.

Despite him stating that he wasn’t for her—words that even now threatened to bring tears to her eyes—she still wanted to help. Her hurt had yet to ease. Obviously, she was far more attracted to him than he was to her.

How she wished—

Charlotte nipped the thought before it formed, having already resolved herself to disappointment over the course of the past three days. Now was not the time to allow herself to become overly emotional again. She lifted her chin.

If she knew how James was, she could stop thinking about him. Asking Edward if he’d seen him had proved to be a mistake as her brother was puzzled why she wanted to know. Her bumbling excuse had barely covered the truth. Unfortunately, Edward hadn’t seen him either.

James hadn't attended the ball last evening, not that she’d expected him to. However, Lord Samuelson had. They’d shared another dance that served to strengthen the knot of dread in her stomach at the idea of spending her future with the man. She’d gone out of her way to be dull and boring, adding little to the conversation other than referencing a book or two she’d read. Few men appreciated well-read ladies. If that didn’t turn him away, perhaps she needed to find a way to truly offend him though that might anger her father.

Charlotte looked around Lady Aberland’s drawing room and saw several familiar faces, most especially Margaret's. Her friend excused herself from visiting with another guest and rose to greet her.

“I'm so pleased you came.” Margaret grasped her hands warmly.

“As am I.” Charlotte couldn’t remember how she’d managed life without Margaret’s friendship. She was a treasure. “I’m certain I have you to thank for the invitation.”

Margaret smiled. “Caroline asked with whom I would like to visit, and you were the first person who came to mind. Did your mother accompany you?” Margaret looked