Rogue Devil (The Rourkes #11) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,3

are screaming from the steep uphill climb, and my face hurts. I peel off my muddy shoes and socks before entering the great hall, where a servant, an older man named Pierre, immediately appears to assist me. I explain about the car, and he assures me it’ll be taken care of right away. No questions asked, thank goodness. Then he takes my wet hat, coat, shoes, and socks to be laundered, stopping to talk to a guard about the car.

Welp, looks like that will be getting back to Michael sooner rather than later. The other guards are like brothers to him. In hindsight, walking uphill in the freezing rain wasn’t my smartest move—I should’ve called for a ride—but I’m just emotional enough not to be thinking clearly.

Pierre stops and turns to me. “Would you like a maid to assist you in returning to your room, Miss Chloe?”

“No, thank you.”

He bows his head, turns, and leaves. He’s kind enough not to say a word about my appearance. I must look like a stray dog and feel as low.

I’m halfway upstairs when I hear baby Henry’s cry down below. Sara must be on her way back to her room. I can’t let her see me like this. I’m too exhausted to deal with any more drama today.

I race upstairs, my tight calves protesting the movement. The sound of Henry fussing gets closer and closer. I’ll never make it to my room at the end of the long hallway before she spots me. I try the first door on my right. Locked. Second door. Yes!

I dash inside, quietly shut the door behind me, and turn, my lips parting in surprise. A half-dressed Rourke is standing there. The men in the Rourke family could’ve been stamped from the same mold. Who leaves their door unlocked while they’re getting dressed?

My gaze lifts from his broad chest to his gorgeous face with sparkling blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a neatly trimmed beard. It’s not just any Rourke. It’s the one I spotted across the ballroom, drawn in by his wide smile. He looked like a good time waiting to happen—my complete opposite—and I longed to see what that would feel like. I was right too. When I asked Sara about him, she said he’s known to love to party. I don’t even enjoy the party scene. What is it about him? I missed my chance to meet him at the ball, after my misguided attempt to make amends with Michael that night (he was on guard duty and brushed me off), and now here he is. Half naked.

His fingers are still on the center button of an open white dress shirt exposing six-pack abs. I’m not looking at his navy blue boxer-briefs. Heat floods my cheeks, and my mouth goes dry. I peeked.

His deep voice is laced with good humor. “Uh, hi. Are ya okay there?”

2

Brendan

Chloe, the beautiful redhead who disappeared from the ball before I could ask her to dance, just burst into my bedroom. Merry Christmas to me! I asked the queen—the source of all family info—about Chloe after I saw her at the ball a few days ago. I wanted to be sure we weren’t related because—lust at first sight. You never know at these royal functions who’s family. I haven’t seen her since, until she burst into my room.

She crosses her arms, hugging herself tightly, and shivers. A protective instinct I never knew I had takes over. I step closer and then remember I’m not wearing pants.

I hold up a finger. “Just a minute. Lemme get dressed and I’ll help you.” I grab my navy blue dress pants from where I left them on the bed and pull them on. “I’m Brendan.”

She nods. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Her teeth are chattering. “I’m C-Chloe.”

I retrieve my leather jacket from the closet and wrap it around her shoulders. She’s so petite it looks like a dress on her. “What happened? Were you in some kind of accident?” Her red hair hangs in wet frizzy clumps over her shoulders, her pink cardigan and matching tank top are soaked around the neck, her jeans are soaked through and streaked with mud and grass stains, and she’s barefoot.

She shivers again and pulls the jacket closed. “It’s a l-long story. Can we just say I got c-caught in the freezing rain?” Her voice is high and reedy.

A primitive alarm sounds in my brain. Woman in distress. Must rescue.

“Sure, okay,” I say soothingly. I’m thinking about the