Rogue Angel (The Rourkes, Book 10)

by Kylie Gilmore

  I take a few shaky breaths, my heart slowly going back to its normal rate. I can hardly believe what I just heard. That means only Carla and Mike had an issue with me, and Mike’s complaint was completely unjustified. I wasn’t such a horrible teacher after all. A huge weight lifts from my shoulders.

  Dean Sears bends to pick up the cookies and I join him. “Rebecca, I’m sorry for this horrible misunderstanding. The evidence was damning, but I should’ve known you couldn’t have been as terrible as those student reviews said. I regret not digging deeper.”

  I shake my head. “You were just doing your job. I have to take responsibility, too, for continuing to see Connor. I ignored the policy because I felt he was the exception. I was too upset at our meeting before to explain it well, but I was involved with him before class even began, he was auditing the class and not officially enrolled as a student, and it was completely consensual. I love him.” It’s as simple and wonderful as that.

  He nods once. We finish picking up the cookie fragments in silence.

  After we dump them in a nearby garbage can, he turns to me. “If you need a reference for another teaching job, I’m happy to give one.”

  I smile. “Thanks, but I have a new opportunity that I’m very excited about. I’m just pleased that my students actually did get something useful from my class.”

  He inclines his head. “Happy holidays, Rebecca. Send my love to your parents.”

  “I will. You too!”

  He leaves and I return to the lectern, standing there for a moment, soaking in a last look at my classroom. Even though I don’t plan to stick with teaching, it means so much to me to know my students didn’t hate my class. I think it was a worthy class. I can hold my head high around my parents—two fabulous teachers—and feel like I did the best I could, and my best wasn’t so bad after all.

  I let out a long breath, smile, and head out the door for the next part of the rest of my life with Con.

  Epilogue

  Regency Christmas ball in Villroy

  Connor

  I can’t believe I’m wearing breeches. With stockings too! My cousin’s wife, Alice, says all of us guys look “dashing” in our Regency formal wear. Alice is an American, but she loves the Regency era of England. This is all her wacky idea, putting the men in black coats with tails, white shirts with something called a cravat knotted at the neck, tan breeches, and white stockings. At least I’m wearing my own dress shoes.

  “It’s like a fairy tale,” Becca whispers in awe as she looks around the palace ballroom. It is an impressive room, an enormous space with multiple crystal and gold chandeliers, frescoed ceiling paintings, and glossy inlaid wooden floors. The Christmas greenery and abundance of glowing candles take it to another level, making it feel both grand and warmly festive.

  My irritation fades. I mostly agreed to spend Christmas on Villroy to indulge Becca’s fascination with my royal side. Honestly, the Regency-style dress she’s wearing—a pale blue with short sleeves that exposes her cleavage and falls in a silky cascade from its high waist to her ankles—really suits her. She looks incredibly beautiful. And I’m not just saying that because I’m crazy in love with her.

  Alice rushes over to us in a Regency dress similar to Becca’s but bright pink, her blond hair up in a bun with two ringlets of hair framing her face. “Oh my gosh, Becca! You look fabulous! Are your ancestors from England?”

  Becca flushes pink. “Some of them. And thank you. You look wonderful too.”

  Alice’s eyes are wide behind her cat’s-eye glasses with hearts on the sides. “You look like an English rose! Truly. Can I take your picture? You’re inspiring me so much. I might put you in my next book with your fair complexion, flaxen locks, and swanlike neck.”

  Becca darts a nervous look toward me.

  I grin. “Are you gonna make her the heroine of your next Regency romance? Because maybe I should be the hero.” I wink at Becca, who leans against my side, smiling. The woman is just as crazy about me as I am about her.

  Alice pulls her phone from a tiny purse and snaps a picture of us.

  “Do you read romance?” Alice asks Becca, tucking her phone away.

  “No. I mostly read literary novels.”

  Alice smiles brightly, unperturbed. “Well, if you ever want something fun to read, let me know and I’ll make some recommendations or give you one of mine.”

  “Okay, thank you,” Becca says politely.

  Alice fills us in on some background history completely unprovoked. “Christmas in Regency England was technically celebrated over twelve days from December twenty-fifth to January sixth, the festival of the Epiphany. That’s what they’re referring to in the ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’ song. I bended the rules a bit to suit our schedule, having it a little earlier.”

  “Connor bends the rules too,” Becca says with a smile. She claims I said that was my rationale for dating her when she was my teacher—bending the rules to suit myself. Truth is, I couldn’t resist her and she knows it. So maybe I did bend the rules, but can you blame me? I couldn’t let her slip away.

  “Fellow rebel, all right!” Alice gives me a high five.

  My cousin Lucas approaches in his black Regency formal wear. It’s the same outfit all of us men are wearing, but it looks more natural on him than on me and my brothers, probably because he grew up in a more formal environment here at the palace. “There you are,” he croons to Alice in his unique Villroy accent. It’s formal English with a hint of French cadence, since Villroy is right off the coast of southwestern France. He pulls Alice close and kisses her before turning to us. “Well, what do you think of the ball?”

  “It’s amazing!” Becca exclaims. “The ballroom alone would be enough to dazzle, but then you add in the Christmas decorations with the greenery and all the candles and mirrors. It’s breathtaking.”

  Alice beams. “We added mirrors to reflect the candlelight. We also have kissing boughs made of evergreens, mistletoe, and apples.” She points out the green globes hanging from the ceiling. “Make sure you stand under one.”

  “We tested them all out,” Lucas says proudly. “All of them work splendidly.”

  “Oh, you,” Alice says affectionately.

  The band starts playing and Lucas executes a formal bow. “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Lady Alice?”

  She curtsies. “Yes, you may, my prince.” She takes his arm and turns to us. “You guys should join us. It’s a Regency country dance, very simple to follow along. Later, we’re going to waltz and attempt a Scottish reel.”

  I turn to Becca in question. She bites her lower lip, looking uncomfortable. I’ve never danced with her besides at that club for Simone’s birthday party. This is a very different style of dancing.

  “We’re going to get refreshments first,” I say.

  “Good idea,” Alice says. “The dance lasts an hour before there’s a break.”

  “Just lemonade for you, my beautiful wife.” Lucas turns to us and smiles. “She’s newly pregnant.”

  “Congratulations,” Becca and I say in near unison.

  Alice beams. “Thank you. Make sure you try the eggnog. It’s authentic!”

  The two of them join a long line of dancers moving energetically around each other. It’s mostly my cousins, their wives, and some relatives I don’t know. Even my parents are out there.

  Becca takes my hand and we head over to a long refreshment table at the side of the ballroom. “I’d much prefer lemonade.” She makes a disgusted face, screwing up her nose and sticking her tongue out. “Eggnog, yuck.”

  I grin. “Too bad they don’t serve beer at Regency balls.”

  I pour us both a glass of lemonade from the crystal pitcher, and we watch the dancers.

  Brendan appears at our side, helping himself to a glass of red punch. “I have it on good authority the punch is spiked with rum and brandy.” He takes a sip and grins. “Actually, this is my second cup and I’m feeling it. Apparently, they don’t serve food at a Re
gency ball.”

  “Didn’t you hear Anna announce there’d be a formal dinner at eleven?” I ask. Anna is the queen of Villroy, my cousin Gabriel’s wife.

  “I missed it. I was running late. Jet lag caught up with me, and I slept longer than I meant to.” He lifts his glass and lowers it, staring across the room. “Who is that redhead? Please tell me we’re not related.”

  I glance over at a young red-haired woman watching the dancing from the other side of the ballroom. Brendan has a thing for redheads, thinks they’re more fiery, but she doesn’t look fiery to me. She looks thoughtful like she’s a million miles away instead of standing in a green Regency dress at a noisy palace ball.

  “She must be connected to someone in the royal family if she’s here,” I point out.

  “I’m going to ask her to dance,” Brendan says, handing me his drink.

  “Sure, I’ll hold your drink,” I say dryly. “Just call me the butler.”

  A large palace guard—wearing the unmistakable uniform of black blazer, black T-shirt, and black trousers—gets to the red-haired woman first, and she follows him out the door.

  Brendan returns and takes back his drink. “Did you see that? She has her own palace guard.”

  “Then she must be royal,” I say. “And probably related somehow.”

  “Damn,” he mutters.

  My brothers wander over to the refreshment table with us—Sean, Jack, and Beast. They look as uncomfortable in their Regency formal wear as I feel. Beast can’t even button his topcoat because his shoulders are too bulky with muscle, stretching the seams of the coat. Any minute now he’s going to bust out of it.

  “How’d you two get out of dancing?” I ask, waving my finger at Sean and Jack. “I was sure your women would have you out there doing the country line dance or whatever it’s called.”

  “They’re getting a tour with Anna,” Sean says, pulling at his cravat. “Temporary reprieve.”

  “I like dancing,” Jack says, pouring himself some lemonade. “No problem for me.”

  “Do you like this kind of dancing?” I ask Becca.

  She glances at the dance floor, where the dancers are weaving in and out of each other. “It seems like everyone knows the rules to that dance. I’m more of a freeform dancer. You know.” She does a cute hip swivel. Frigging adorable. I pull her close and kiss her hair.

  We stand around, sipping our drinks, watching the action until Anna arrives—Queen Anna—with a breathless Josie and a wide-eyed Riley. Josie’s in a bright yellow gown, Riley in a purplish-pink, and Anna in a white gown that shows off her round pregnant belly. She’s due in February, a boy this time who she confided will be named Leo, though we have to keep it on the down low because Gabriel follows the royal protocol of announcing the name formally to the public when the child is born.

  “We saw the audience chamber,” Josie gushes. “Double hand-carved wooden thrones!”

  “We sat on them too,” Riley says. “Can you believe it? We were like Queen One and Queen Two.”

  The three women crack up.

  Once she calms down enough to talk, Josie goes on. “And we also saw the parlor, the courtyard, and the formal dining room.”

  “We’re going to have dinner there tonight!” Riley exclaims. She’s usually pretty mellow, so it must’ve made a big impression.

  Anna beams at them. She’s young with dark brown curly hair and bright brown eyes. “I love your enthusiasm. The palace had a similar effect on me the first time I saw it.” She’s an American too. I guess us Americans aren’t used to grand royal palaces.

  “Hey, Anna,” Brendan says and then corrects himself. “I mean, Your Majesty Highness Queen Anna.”

  Anna bursts out laughing. “We’re family. Please just call me Anna.” It’s supposed to be “Your Majesty” for the king and queen. It’s the princes and princesses who are “Your Highness.” Hmm, maybe I can get Becca to call me that while we’re here. Ha-ha.

  Brendan inclines his head. “Anna, sure. Earlier I saw a woman in her twenties standing on the side of the ballroom. Red hair, green dress. Who is it?”

  Anna thinks for a moment. “Red hair was probably Chloe. Did she look like she was thinking hard, a million miles away?”

  “I dunno,” Brendan says. “She was just standing there.”

  “Yeah,” I put in. “She looked thoughtful, completely unaware of the dancers and the noise.”

  Anna nods. “Yup, that’s Chloe. She’s your cousin Adrian’s wife’s sister. She’s from Brooklyn too, though she lives in Manhattan now.”

  “So not a relative,” Brendan says with a wide smile. “But why does she need a guard?”

  “She doesn’t.” Anna signals, and a servant brings her a glass of water.

  Becca shoots me a sideways glance that says exactly what I’m thinking—must be nice to have servants do your bidding.

  Brendan presses on. “I saw Chloe leave with a guard.”

  “Oh, that’s Michael.” Anna lowers her voice. “He doesn’t guard her. They’re, well, I’m not sure what they are. It’s complicated.”

  “Huh,” Brendan says.

  “It’s kinda sweet, isn’t it?” Josie asks. “Falling for your bodyguard.”

  Sean clears his throat loudly.

  Josie hugs him around his middle, smiling up at him. “You’re the only bodyguard I’d ever fall for.”

  “Damn right,” he grumbles.

  Since when is Sean a bodyguard? I glance at my brothers for confirmation, but the only one paying attention is Beast, who rolls his eyes. Must be an inside joke between Sean and Josie.

  “He’s not her bodyguard.” Anna smiles at the servant who just presented her with a glass of water, murmurs thank you, and takes a long swallow. The servant bows and walks away. “They just met here on Villroy when Chloe was visiting her sister. He was off duty at the time.”

  She finishes her water and sets it on a nearby table. Another servant whisks it away a moment later.

  My cousin, King Gabriel, arrives holding his young daughter’s hand. Mila is two years old with dark brown curly hair like her mom. Her hair is up in a messy bun with lots of loose curls hanging down, and she’s wearing a cute red dress with ruffles. Gabriel gives us all a quick hello before turning to his wife, Anna. “I told her it was time to get ready for bed, but she wants to dance with Pop-Pop.” It’s kinda funny to hear him say “Pop-Pop” in his formal English. I’m sure my dad would love to dance with his honorary granddaughter.

  Anna scoops Mila up and settles her on her hip. “Pop-Pop is dancing with Grandmom Tara.”

  Mila sticks her thumb in her mouth and leans against her mom’s shoulder for a second, but then she lifts her head again. “No bed.”

  Anna looks to Gabriel. “It is a special occasion.”

  He strokes Mila’s hair out of her face. “You know how she gets when she hasn’t had her sleep.”

  Anna sighs and turns to Mila. “Okay, my dear. You can do three spins with Pop-Pop, three spins with Grandmom Tara, and then it’s bath and bedtime.” She sets her down, and Mila races to the dance floor.

  Gabriel chases after her, quickly directing her toward the edges so she won’t get knocked over by the dancing adults.

  Anna grins. “She’s fearless just like a future queen should be.” She turns at the sound of a woman calling her name. “Speaking of, Queen Polly, get over here, girl!”

  It’s my cousin Oscar and his wife, Polly. They’re king and queen of her kingdom, Beaumont, a chain of islands in the Caribbean. Oscar went from a prince to a king. Not a bad upgrade. Polly’s holding her baby girl against her chest.

  A few moments later, they join us. Polly has dark brown curly hair and resembles Anna a bit, even though they’re only very distantly related. She rubs the baby’s back through a pink blanket. “She spit up a little, so I had to get rid of the burp rag. Do I smell okay?”

  Anna sniffs her. “You smell of baby powder and new mom anxiety.”

  Becca takes a peek at
the baby. “She’s so cute. What’s her name?”

  Polly smiles down at her daughter. “This little four-month-old angel is Juliette, future queen of Beaumont.”

  “Wow, so many queens in one room,” Becca says.

  “And so many babies too,” Anna exclaims. “Either cooking in the oven or fresh baked. Adrian and Sara have a three-month-old, Henry, too. They didn’t want to bring him into this cesspool of germs. Adrian’s words.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s such an overprotective dad. You’ll see them on Christmas Eve when it’s a little quieter. Alice is newly pregnant, and Emma just announced her pregnancy last month. Emma is five months along, but you can barely tell.” She points out my cousin Emma sitting in a chair on the side of the room. Her husband, rock star Jackson Walker, stands next to her with a stern expression like he’s her guard. Now that’s overprotective. The baby’s not even here yet.

  “What a lovely family you have,” Becca says.

  “Thank you,” Anna says. “I love ’em to pieces.” Her eyes tear up. “Sorry, baby hormones make me extra emotional.” She holds up a palm to a rapidly approaching Gabriel. “I’m fine.”

  He pulls her aside, speaking in a low voice. A few moments later, she says her goodbyes, and they collect Mila, who’s cuddled on my mom’s chest, twirling one of her curly locks of hair, thumb in her mouth.

  After they leave, Becca looks up at me. “Now what, Prince Connor? Did you want to attempt this dance?”

  “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go back to our room and take off these costumes.”

  “Con! I like my dress.”

  “Okay, three spins around and then it’s bedtime.” I give her my sexiest smile.

  She laughs. “Angel, more like devil.” She kisses me. “A quick break in our room after we slow dance. I have to be back in time for the formal dinner in the royal dining room.”

  I pinch her chin. “What a tough negotiator. Okay, we’ll slow dance first. And then I can’t wait to get you back to the room. I’ve got an early Christmas gift I want to give you in private.”

  She eyes me suspiciously, and I laugh. “For real. I swear on my sister’s life.”