Royal Quest (Royals of Beaumont Book 2) Read online

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  Royal Quest (Royals of Beaumont Book 2)

  Published by White Star Press

  P.O. Box 353

  American Fork, Utah 84003

  Copyright © 2018 and 2022 by Rachel Branton

  Cover design copyright © 2022 by White Star Press

  Cover and ebook design by ePubMasters

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-948982-05-4

  Printed in the United States of America

  First electronic release May 2017

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Sneak Peek! Royal Dance

  Bonus! Preview of House Without Lies

  About the Author

  Books By Rachel Branton

  Under the Name Teyla Branton

  She never believed in fairy tales . . .

  Going undercover as a maid at the Suite Royale Lodge in an attempt to meet her half sister, Kamille, isn’t one of Amelia Lennox’s best ideas. Kami has no idea of Amelia’s existence, and her recent marriage to Gabriel, the new King of Beaumont, puts her further out of Amelia’s reach. Even if Amelia finds Kami, there’s no guarantee the queen will believe her—or that she wants a sister.

  To complicate matters, Amelia meets Damien Giraud, who steals her breath away and makes her knees weak. She’s never believed in the kind of fairy tale that her sister found, but then she’s never known anyone like Damien. Maybe, if their secrets don’t keep them apart, she might begin to believe.

  Royal Quest is the story of how two sisters find each other, and about love—true love. Because in Beaumont, fairy tales do come true.

  Chapter 1

  Amelia

  “Excuse me, miss. I need more towels.” The voice came from close—far too close.

  I dragged my stare from my phone and let it wander up from the man’s sandaled feet and tan plaid swimming suit to his bare chest, which I was surprised to find only six inches away from my nose. A very wide, strong chest, with well-defined muscles that made me want to reach out and touch them.

  Taking a quick leap back, I pulled my gaze higher to his golden eyes, which were what most women would call yummy. I wouldn’t. No, I knew what yummy guys wanted, and in the two weeks I’d been in Beaumont, I’d been hit on by more rich brats than in all my college career at Stanford.

  “You do speak English, right?” he asked with a British accent, which wasn’t unusual because most Beaumontians I’d met had learned English from British teachers. His hair was brown, but a color light enough to be uncommon in Beaumont. “I asked you several times for towels in French, but you didn’t respond.”

  “You think I work here?” I should have bitten my tongue before I spoke, but the words were already out. I guess the part of me that kept wanting to touch his chest also wanted him to know that I had graduated at the top of my class and had a real job waiting for me back in the States.

  See? All yummy did was ruin a girl’s plans. What did I care if he looked as sexy as the actor Chris Hemsworth?

  One of his eyebrows rose in a very lazy—and attractive—arch. Okay, way better than Hemsworth. “You’re wearing one of their uniforms,” he said. Then, as if an afterthought, he added, “And it’s exactly the color of your eyes.” His own golden eyes caressed my face, which was probably turning a bright shade of red. Slowly they wound their way down to my lips.

  I did not move toward him. I swear. But how did we get so close—again?

  Okay, so I was wearing one of the ridiculously bright blue maid uniforms, but I wasn’t wearing a name tag, my blond hair was down and spilling everywhere, and I had my multi-colored bag over my shoulder. Anyone with brains could see I was off duty. He obviously had more brawn than brains, and even if it was decidedly delicious brawn, I was not impressed in the slightest.

  “So unless you just collect uniforms . . .” His smile felt as if someone had turned on the sun. He was maybe a little breathtaking.

  And a distraction I couldn’t afford. I’d come to Beaumont for one purpose only. After that, it was back to Washington where my real job—my real life—was waiting. “The towels are in baskets by the pool,” I told him.

  “There aren’t any in the baskets. My friends and I looked.”

  I barely stopped myself from stomping my foot and throwing my bag at him in frustration. Probably because it was three in the afternoon, and I’d been working since four a.m. I’d had only a half hour lunch break, right before I unclogged three toilets, cleaned up vomit in the lounge, and spent a frustrating hour explaining to an American woman why she couldn’t stay in the royal suite—all while her teenage son kept trying to kiss me so he could post our picture on Facebook.

  At the moment, I didn’t care about the lodge, my reason for coming to Beaumont, or anything else. I’d only been here two weeks, and I’d already had more than my fill of this so-called picturesque little country nestled near the French border between Switzerland and Germany. No matter what the media said, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  Maybe my attitude had something to do with it, but at least I was realistic where fairy tales were concerned. They didn’t happen, not to girls like me. I didn’t even want a fairy tale. Fairy tales didn’t tell the truth about what happened after. They didn’t talk about the infidelity, venereal disease, or car accidents that took people away before you had a chance to really know them.

  “Then we’re out of towels,” I told him. “Completely out. It’s all the tourists, you know. Sorry.”

  “Oh, I see.” He didn’t move and neither did I, trapped by those beautiful eyes. My knees felt wobbly, and I wanted to reach out and grab something, but there was only him and his glorious chest. Maybe with that hair, he wasn’t a Beaumontian at all. He could just as well be one of the many tourists that bombarded the country after the prince—now king—married an American girl.

  “I’m Damien,” he said, and his voice sent a tingle down my back and over my arms, as if he’d touched me. “What’s your name?”

  My heart thumped erratically inside my chest. Why did this gorgeous man want to know my name? I wanted to tell him. I also wanted to lean in a bit further and let his lips brush mine. Or at least give him my phone number.

  No! I stopped myself before I moved another inch. That would be a mistake. I wouldn’t be here long enough for a romance, and I wasn’t into casual relationships. Never again.

  The door leading to the indoor pool banged and another male voice began speaking in rapid, German-flavored French, the native language of Beaumont. Since I’d studied French all of three months, I understood only the gist of what he said, but my imagination filled in the rest: “So where are the towels? Service has hit bottom with all these stupid tourists invading us.” And, “Oh, baby, who’s the hot chick?”

/>   The new man was a typical Beaumontian, with dark hair and eyes. A mocking twist marred his full lips, and his demeanor screamed wealth and pampering. He was positively the type to get a woman fired for not getting him towels.

  “She’s American.” Damien’s gaze seemed to delve inside me as if he was all too aware of my feelings. “I was just about to make her acquaintance.”

  A big smile slid across his friend’s face. “Oh, I like American girls, especially ones who look like her.” His stare fell from my face to the rest of me. “But what’s with the uniform? Do you actually work here?” The touch of derision in his voice told me that wasn’t a good thing.

  “Fine!” I said, throwing up my hands. “I’ll get you the stupid towels.”

  Both men gawked, their eyes going wide. “But,” Damien began.

  I didn’t wait for more. Anger colored my cheeks as I stalked down the hall, only to be met by Régine from laundry, who strolled along with a cart of carefully folded white pool towels. I grabbed an armful and strode over to the men.

  “Here,” I said, pushing three at Damien and another two at his friend. “Wait, that’s probably not enough for all your many friends.” Rich, snotty friends who’d had parents looking out for them their whole lives, picking up all the bills they ran up while having their fun. “Here.” I shoved five more towels at each of them. Then as Régine paused to open the pool door, I swooped up another armful and thrust them at Damien.

  He scrambled to keep all the towels from falling. At least they covered up his chest, which was a good thing where my heart was concerned. Régine gaped at me with a mix of horror and fascination in her expression, and a sliver of guilt worked its way past my anger. The old woman had been here for twenty years and was probably worried about losing her job. The sliver grew to a beam—like one of the heavy-duty support beams I preferred to use in my designs.

  I whirled in my flat, no-nonsense shoes and started walking away.

  “Wait!” called Damien. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

  “Yeah,” his friend said with a smirk. “We definitely need your name.”

  There was no doubt why they wanted it now. I fumbled in my purse and pulled out my nametag that had just my first name. I threw it at Damien, who dropped his towels to catch it, once again leaving his gorgeous chest bare.

  He was not yummy!

  Just tell that to my heart.

  I should have come to Beaumont in the winter. At least then he would have been wrapped up in a ski jacket and planning to tackle the slopes instead of strutting around half-dressed looking for pool towels.

  “Make sure you get it right when you talk to the management,” I said. “It’s Amelia Lennox. And she”—I thumbed at Régine, who had dived for the fallen towels—“had nothing to do with any of this.”

  I turned again and just about tripped over a tiny, top-heavy woman, who teetered on six-inch heels. She wore a sheer cover-up over a bikini that looked as if she’d borrowed it from Barbie’s little sister—and then cut away half the material. But the honey-blond hair, dark blue eyes, and somewhat pointed face made me wonder if she was somehow related to Peter Pan. She was small enough to be his little sister. His ten-year-old sister with a pound of makeup and two obvious physical enhancements.

  Her eyes rolled over me with distaste. “Really, Léandre? Hitting on the help again?” Her words came out with a refined British accent that hinted at English nobility.

  “Not me,” said the dark-haired man with pompous disgust. “You know me better than that, Bridgit.”

  I didn’t wait to hear more. I stepped around the pipsqueak, noticing for the first time a tall, brown-haired girl with her. She was wearing shorts and a loose top that slid partially off one shoulder to reveal the strap on her bathing suit. Unlike Bridgit, she looked nice, and she seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place her. I thought it was from the lodge, but they had so many guests here. The girl offered a fleeting smile as I hurried past.

  She was probably Damien’s girlfriend—unless he was with the pipsqueak. Not that I cared either way. I didn’t need a man with a gorgeous chest. I didn’t need any man. I was only here to put the past to rest once and for all. That was it.

  I hurried out of the lodge through the side entrance, pretending I didn’t hear Vicent from room service calling my name. He’d asked me out every day until I told him I had a boyfriend, and I didn’t want to encourage him. Saying I had a boyfriend wasn’t exactly a lie, because there was Emerson, and he was male and a friend, and if neither of us found someone else by the time we were thirty-five, we had certain plans. But for now he was the brother I’d never had, the only man I trusted.

  Thankfully, Emerson was waiting for me outside the lodge on his rented motorcycle, looking hot in black leather. Hot because the sun was burning down on us, or maybe because I was still flushed. Not that he wasn’t good-looking. Women said he was, and called him at all hours, hoping he’d ask them out. He had blond hair and killer green eyes, and now that the acne that had pestered him our sophomore year in college had disappeared, even I had to admit he was attractive.

  Except I just didn’t see him that way—and he didn’t see me that way either. He could take off his shirt all day, and even though he lifted weights a couple times a week, I didn’t drool over his chest or want to touch it.

  Vicent—or someone—called after me again, but I hurtled toward Emerson. He took one look at my face and jumped from the bike, meeting me halfway. “What happened? Did you see her? How’d it go?”

  “No, no. I didn’t see her. Maybe she hates the place. I mean, she has a great palace to live in—why would she hang out here?”

  “Well, we know the royal family owns the lodge, and all the important Beaumont families visit. It seemed logical.”

  I rolled my eyes. Emerson had to be the most romantic man I knew. He was almost like a woman in that respect. Still, I knew he meant well, and I had no one to blame but myself for taking his suggestion of applying for the job at the Suite Royale, wasting most of May and my entire summer here when we could have been somewhere lazing on a beach, sipping frosted drinks, and working on our tans. We deserved the rest after the grueling years in school, and it wasn’t like either of us would be getting a break any time soon after we started working for real in August.

  “Come on. Let’s go,” I said.

  He looked behind me, frowning. “It is that guy from room service? I can kiss you—he’s probably watching out the glass door.”

  I hugged Emerson then. He really was my best friend. Well, besides Harper, who had also made this trek across the ocean with me. His grip tightened. “Mel, what really happened?”

  “I may have made a little bit of a scene in front of some of the guests. I think I’m going to get fired.” I didn’t add that it hadn’t been Damien’s fault. He’d only asked for towels.

  Emerson drew back slightly, shaking his head. “I knew you should have taken more than just a yogurt for lunch. You’re always crabby when you don’t eat.”

  I punched him. “I am not.”

  He didn’t let me go. “Yes, you are.”

  No use in arguing because he was right. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

  “Maybe you should just write her a letter. Let her know you’re in town.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, along with all the other thousands of American girls who worship her because she has a fairy-tale life.”

  “Those girls aren’t her sisters.”

  There it was. But maybe Kamille Fairbanks Lacort, whose husband, Gabriel Lacort, had recently become king of Beaumont, didn’t want to meet a half sister she’d never heard of. Maybe she’d think I just wanted a piece of her fame—or worse, her husband’s money.

  “Please take me home,” I said to Emerson.

  “Okay. Just as long as you mean our cute little villa here and not America. Because I have a date tonight.” He released me, throwing a leg over the bike and tossing me a helmet.

  I buckled i
t over my chin and climbed on beside him. As I did, a movement pulled my attention to the lodge, and I looked to see Damien, his chest now disappointingly covered in a pale yellow T-shirt. Good thing I was sitting down because seeing him made my knees go all wobbly again.

  Damien looked like he wanted to say something, but Emerson chose that moment to drive off. Instinctively, I pressed my face to the back of his leather jacket and held on tightly to his waist as we roared away. When we reached the end of the drive, Damien was still watching us.

  I was so going to be fired.

  Chapter 2

  Damien

  My heart was thundering, and for some reason I couldn’t quite breathe—and hadn’t been able to since she’d first looked up into my eyes in the hallway outside the pool door. That she watched me as the motorcycle sped out of sight should have been encouraging, but it wasn’t, not with the way she was clinging to that guy. Her nametag bit into my hands where I gripped it tightly.

  Amelia. The name fit her, running like sweet miel—honey—over my tongue.

  There was something about her. Something that called to me. It wasn’t only that she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen—with those bright blue eyes and all that dark blond hair. But something . . . more. Whether it was the fire in her amazing eyes or how she hadn’t been afraid to tell me there were no towels, I couldn’t say. I didn’t believe in love at first sight, but I wanted to see her again.

  I needed to see her again.

  “Damien,” came Stéphanie’s voice from the side door of the lodge, “why’d you run off so suddenly?” That my sister was speaking English told me Bridgit was with her. Lady Bridgit Rothschild, to be exact, daughter of an English earl. The tiny pit bull, as I thought of her. It hadn’t been my idea to invite her to our little vacation, but Léandre had thought it would be fun. Bridgit did know how to party, I’d give him that, but it was different this time. Maybe it had something to do with the growing unrest I’d felt ever since I’d watched Gabriel and Kami fall in love.

  I turned to greet Stéphanie and Bridgit as they filed out of the lodge. Léandre was with them. “I was just trying to give this back,” I said, holding up the nametag.