Royal Rebel

by Jenny Frame

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Royal Rebel

  Princess Rozala of Denbourg enjoys her reputation as a wild child, especially when it annoys her father, the King. When Roza’s latest girlfriend brings scandal to the palace doors, her father sends her to Britain, in the hopes that time with her cousin Queen George and the new Queen Consort will finally make her face her responsibilities.

  After overcoming personal demons and quitting the high-stakes world of finance, Lennox King is content to keep her life simple. As the new director of a hospice charity, she uses a strict business approach to help the charity grow and prosper.

  When Roza comes to work at the charity under orders from the Queen Consort, babysitting a spoiled princess is definitely not on Lennox’s agenda. But when passion flares between them, will Lennox’s past stop their relationship in its tracks, or will a twist of fate bring a new future that neither was expecting?

  Royal Rebel

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Royal Rebel

  © 2017 By Jenny Frame. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-894-8

  This Electronic book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: May 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)

  By the Author

  A Royal Romance

  Heart of the Pack

  Courting the Countess

  Royal Rebel

  Acknowledgments

  As always, thank you to Radclyffe and the whole BSB family for fostering such a great supportive community for us writers to be a part of. Also, thank you to all the Bold Strokes staff who work tirelessly behind the scenes to make sure every little thing is done to bring our books to fruition.

  A huge thank you to my editor, Ruth Sternglantz. A lot of writers dread editing, but I always look forward to it with excitement, as every time Ruth helps build my writing skills and I learn something new.

  Thank you to my friends Amy and Christine, who always support me and my writing and give me a friendly ear.

  A big shout of thanks to all those readers who have bought a book and contacted me with lovely emails and messages. I appreciate every one and your support.

  Thanks to my family, and especially my mum and dad, who help me on almost a daily basis.

  Lou, you are my inspiration, my strength, and my one true love. Twelve years might have passed since we first became a couple, but I know in my heart that you love me more and more each day, and just like Lex and Roza, I will always be your princess. Thank you for everything you do for me and our crazy Barney boy. I love you, darling.

  For Lou

  ego dilecto meo et dilectus meus

  I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine

  Chapter One

  The ticking of an antique clock mirrored the nervous beat of Princess Rozala’s heart as she waited outside her father’s study. She had been in this ornate waiting area inside Ximeno Palace in Denbourg’s capital too many times over the years, awaiting the wrath of her father the King, but none of her past indiscretions could compare with the situation she was in now.

  Rozala’s eyes were drawn to the muted twenty-four-hour rolling news channel playing across from her on the wall. It showed footage of her at various glitzy social events, laughing, dancing, and generally not behaving like the princess she was supposed to be—and that’s why she was sitting here, why she always found herself here, because she wasn’t the princess her father wanted her to be.

  The footage changed to her clasping the arm of her now ex-girlfriend, Thea Brandt. It struck her now that she had been letting herself be led around like a lamb by the much older and impeccably dressed businesswoman. She had been introduced to Thea at a party six months earlier. At twenty-seven years her senior, Thea had seemed so strong, so powerful, and Rozala quickly fell under her spell.

  Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered their burgeoning relationship. The first few months, she enjoyed Thea’s controlling personality. She felt safe, protected, and looked after, but it soon began to become suffocating, as Thea told her what to wear, where to be seen, and when to see her family. As much as she began to feel their relationship was wrong, she couldn’t seem to leave and felt panicked about life without her, to the point she had begged Thea to stay with her in their many arguments.

  Thea had conditioned her to believe that she couldn’t exist without her, and it was only the recent revelations about Thea’s business dealings splashed all over the media that prompted Rozala to leave. Even now she felt scared about being apart from her.

  King Christian’s private secretary, Lord Dahl, came out of her father’s office and bowed to her. “The King will see you now, Your Royal Highness.”

  The only time he ever wanted to see her was when she’d done something wrong.

  She stood, pausing to follow the private secretary’s gaze to the TV news. It had changed from images of Rozala to footage of UN troops engaged in artillery and bomb strikes in the Middle East, and shame simmered within her. She wondered how things had turned out so badly.

  With a sigh she walked into her father’s office, and found him writing on some documents. The King was an old-fashioned man in all ways and didn’t like to rely on computers when he didn’t have to.

  She stood silently in front of his desk waiting for him to speak first. King Christian’s office was hung with many paintings of the past kings and queens of Denbourg on the walls, and Rozala felt their eyes stare at her accusingly.

  After an age of silence, King Christian said without looking up, “Sit down, Rozala.”

  Determined to be defiant as always, she replied, “I prefer to stand, Father.”

  He snapped his head up from his papers and gave her a frosty look that matched the atmosphere in the room.

  “As you wish.” King Christian put his pen to the side and clasped his hands. “Where do I even start with you, Rozala? You have no idea of the scandal and trouble you have brought to the country and your family. The prime minister has informed me that the media speculation about Thea Brandt is t
rue. She is an arms and drug dealer who is part of a global crime syndicate. She has been selling arms to unfriendly countries and terrorists that have been using them against our own UN troops. Regiments of our troops that—may I remind you—have your cousins and extended family serving in them.”

  The House of Ximeno-Bogdana-de Albert, of which she was part, had close and distant relations spread throughout every European royal house, and many of them served as part of their countries’ armed forces. It made Roza feel sick to think that someone she thought she’d loved had put them in danger.

  “I swear I had no idea, Father. If I did, I would never—”

  *

  “Of course you didn’t know. You were too busy partying with your glamorous, unconventional, and criminal friends. Rozala, when will you realize you are not a celebrity? You’re a member of the royal family with many duties to perform. I thank God your brother Augustus was born to be my heir.”

  Each sentence from her father’s mouth was like a sword stabbing her in the stomach. It had always been like this. As a little child she had tried to gain her father’s attention and acceptance, but she could never do anything to please him, so she’d started doing the wrong thing just to anger him.

  “I don’t need to remind you that your brother’s wedding is in six months’ time, and I will not have this cloud of scandal hanging over my heir. The prime minister believes that with careful diplomacy we can clean up this mess with the country and our allies, but you need to keep a low profile. You’re going to stay with your aunt and cousins in London.”

  “You’re sending me away?” Rozala said with surprise.

  “George will be a good influence on you, and it will allow this situation to calm down. You will be assigned new bodyguards. The last protection officers obviously failed in their task if they didn’t keep you away from these types of people.”

  Rozala was so hurt, and so very angry. “You can’t just send me away like a child, away from my friends, my life—everything is here, in Denbourg.”

  “That is exactly why you need to go.”

  She folded her arms defiantly. “I won’t go. I’m not leaving.”

  King Christian jumped up and leaned across the desk. “You will go and do exactly as you are told, even if I have to carry you onto the plane myself. I will not have the House of Ximeno-Bogdana-de Albert brought down by a girl who doesn’t know how to behave as her station demands.”

  The anger and disgust in her father’s eyes shocked Rozala. He had been angry before many times but not like this. Tears started to roll down her cheeks, and she wiped them away quickly.

  “I’ve never been good enough for you, have I?”

  King Christian sat back down, his anger now under control. “Go back to your apartments and start to make your preparations. You leave tomorrow.”

  Rozala walked to the office door, but just before she opened it she turned and looked at the painting of her mother on the wall. “I took her away from you, didn’t I? Every time you look at me, you are reminded of what you lost. I think you wish I had never been born. You wish it had been just you, Augustus, and Mama.”

  He held her gaze for a few moments before he simply said, “Go, Rozala.”

  She slammed the door and with shaking fingers tapped the mobile phone on her wrist to call her best friend and lady in waiting, Cressida. “Get to my apartment and start packing, Cressie. We’re going on an extended trip to the United States, and we are going to party like we never have before.”

  Rozala didn’t stop to meet up with her new secret service bodyguards, but as she sped out the palace gates, she saw their black armoured vehicles pull in behind her sports car seamlessly. Her grip on her steering wheel tightened just as surely as the royal shackles were tightening on her life.

  “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Some of the media who were encamped outside Ximeno Palace took to their cars and high-speed bikes to follow her. She tried to switch routes but just couldn’t shake them off her tail.

  Since this story about her girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—had broken, the media had gone wild, and they had besieged her. In a way Rozala believed she deserved what she was getting. At least the scales had finally dropped from her eyes and she’d ended the relationship.

  Rozala felt a bump to the side of her car as a photographer’s bike got too close, and she swerved dangerously across the lane of traffic, shooting headlong into a pole by the side of the road.

  *

  Queen Georgina watched with awe as Bea threw her head back and moaned low and long, as the waves of pleasure surged through her body. She straddled George, grinding her hips and sex on the fingers buried deeply inside her, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from her body.

  George gazed at her with a mixture of lust and wonderment. “You are so beautiful like that.”

  Bea let George’s fingers slip from her body but held her position astride her partner. She grinned and said, “The things you do with your fingers are beautiful.”

  “Well, Mrs. Buckingham”—George used the nickname they had coined on their honeymoon. Bea had remarked that she craved the time when they were alone, when she wasn’t the Queen Consort, but just simply George’s wife. In an instant, George had christened her this sweet term of endearment, and Bea loved it—“I have to keep you satisfied, since half the world would like to steal you away from me.” George joked, but there was truth to it.

  The world had fallen in love with their new Queen Consort, and just as George had predicted, Bea’s irreverent and approachable style won the people’s hearts and minds.

  After a short honeymoon together on the royal yacht, they’d returned to duty and a six-month world tour. Everywhere they went, people wanted to meet the fairy-tale girl who had become a Queen Consort, and no one was disappointed when they met her.

  The tour promoting Britain’s business and trade was a roaring success, and when they returned, Bea had thrown herself into her charity work and had become a style icon the world over, helping UK designers make their name across the globe. Yes, George knew she was one lucky monarch.

  Bea chuckled and slipped back into bed and into George’s arms. “I think I’m the lucky one, Georgie.”

  They lay in silence for a few moments, drinking in the warmth of the afterglow. It was five thirty on a Monday morning at the start of a busy week at Buckingham Palace. George was always up well before Bea, so she had time to work out with her personal dresser and close protection officer, Captain Cameron, in the gym before starting her workday. This morning she’d returned from the gym and was going to dress when Bea enticed her back to bed.

  “What inspired your accosting me and taking advantage of me?” George asked with a smile.

  Bea ran her fingers from George’s cheekbone down her shoulders and arms. “The way you looked, fresh from the shower earlier. Your muscles were pumped from your exercise and your hair was wet and sexy, and that made me feel wet and sexy.”

  George kissed her head. “You’re always sexy.”

  “I love this. Just lying with you,” Bea said, burrowing her head further into George’s neck. “I can almost make believe we aren’t in a palace, and the whole world isn’t waiting for us outside those bedroom doors.”

  “You do feel at home here, don’t you? You would tell me if you weren’t happy here.” George recognised what a huge change it had been for Bea to go from her small family home with her mum and dad to a big impersonal palace.

  Bea said, “Of course I’m happy, but this isn’t home. Windsor is home. It’s where we go every weekend to be together, where Mum and Dad live, where we fell in love, and where I can be just your wife, just Mrs. Buckingham, not the Consort. Buckingham Palace is our office.”

  “You’re right, of course,” George said.

  She remembered the joy on Bea’s face the day she took her and Bea’s parents to see the large Primrose Cottage on the Windsor estate. Bea’s mum and dad hadn’t said anything, but she could tell they�
�and Bea—were worried about Bea becoming distanced from them, as Bea’s new duties took her away to all corners of the globe.

  With her parents at Windsor, Bea was happy in the knowledge that her family was close, plus George wanted them to be well taken care of. She had become very fond of both Reg and Sarah, and the media intrusion and security concerns made it impossible for them to live at their former home.

  “How much time do we have? Can we have breakfast together? I don’t have any engagements until lunchtime,” Bea asked.

  “Yes, I have a surprisingly light day for a Monday. I need to finish my boxes by eleven, then take the helicopter to Newcastle. I’m touring a new factory, and then we have the premiere theatre performance tonight.”

  Bea rolled on top of her again and held George’s wrists above her head. “Excellent, I’m sure your breakfast can wait for ten minutes.” Bea gave her one of those teasing looks that made her heart and her sex beat in anticipation.

  George could have easily removed herself from Bea’s grasp, but she was quite happy to be under her wife’s control for whatever she had in mind.

  “Let me wash you, Your Majesty.”

  George groaned out loud. That one sentence flashed an image of Bea on her knees in the large shower, making her come with her mouth. Bea was a strong, confident woman, and that made these little moments of apparent submission all the more exciting.

  “Yes, yes—now, let’s go.”

  *

  Bea poured George’s coffee just as her partner walked into the breakfast room. Bea looked to the young footman waiting by the door and said, “You can serve now, thank you, Sam.”