A Rogue of One's Own (A League of Extraordinary Women, #2)

by Evie Dunmore

“Ah, princess,” he said, a rare tenderness in his voice. “How you humble me.” “As though anything could humble you.” She turned her head to the side when he made to kiss her. “And why do you call me that? Princess?” He sighed. “You still have not read any Tennyson, have you?” “I have not.” “He wrote a poem called The Princess. It is about women like you.” Her smile was bemused, and a little flattered. “How so?” “I’ll cite a passage, and you shall see.” “If you insist.” He chuckled. “How could I deny such an ardent request?” The smile stayed in his voice as he continued: “But while they talked, above their heads I saw The feudal warrior lady-clad; . . . That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, And much I praised her nobleness, and ‘Where,’ Asked Walter . . . ‘lives there such a woman now?’ Quick answered Lilia ‘There are thousands now Such women, but convention beats them down: It is but bringing up; no more than that: You men have done it: how I hate you all! Ah, were I something great! I wish I were Some might poetess, I would shame you then, That love to keep us children! O I wish That I were some great princess, I would build Far off from men a college like a man’s, And I would teach them all that men are taught; We are twice as quick!’”