The Importance of Being Alice

by Katie MacAlister

  The group (minus Deidre and Patrick) cheered as Elliott proceeded to do just that. “We’re married,” I said as soon as I got my lips back from him, laughing with the sheer joy of the moment. “We’re really married!”

  “Well . . . ,” Elliott started to say.

  “Don’t be so pedantic. It’ll ruin everyone’s fun.” I turned my back to our group, saying as I did so, “Time to throw the hat flower bouquet!”

  I flung the clump of silk flowers. Deidre almost dislocated Laura’s shoulder when she thrust her out of the way to grab the bouquet.

  “So,” the former said, sauntering over to Elliott, and giving him her Cheshire cat smile. “You’ve had a make-believe wedding. . . . Would you like to try a pretend divorce?”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it—life was just too good to let people like Deidre rain on our parade.

  Chapter 11

  Expense Account

  Item one: two hundred eighty-nine pounds

  Remarks: plane ticket

  Item two: six thousand, four hundred, twenty-two pounds

  Remarks: Why wasn’t Jane born first, and male, so the expenses of the estate fall to her?

  “So, you’re a married man now.” Gunner sipped appreciatively at the champagne for which Elliott had splurged. Music from the ship’s lounge stereo system blasted out tunes that Tiffany had assured him would be danceable, yet dignified. Thus far, all Elliott had heard were swing tunes and a few fifties oldies, but that didn’t stop the members of the ship from dancing as if they were at an elite club. The schoolgirls were dancing in a group with Anthony and Dahl, while Deidre was grinding against the bartender, who had abandoned his duties with fervor. “Mum will be thrilled. She’ll expect your first child in exactly nine months.”

  “She can expect all she wants; I’m not going to rush Alice into anything. Lord knows the courtship has been conducted in fast-forward speed. And with all due respect to your so-called religion, I won’t consider us truly married until we have a proper marriage certificate.”

  “You have one from me, duly signed and sealed with a bit of the wax that man from the palace business office lent me. I thought that gave the document a nice touch. You can’t go wrong with a royal seal on wax.”

  “We aren’t royal, it wasn’t the Ainslie seal, and your marriage certificate isn’t recognized by the British government,” Elliott couldn’t help but point out. Around them, the denizens of the ship danced, ate the appetizers that were part of the midnight buffet, and drank champagne, all in celebration of his earlier nuptials. His gaze went immediately to where Alice was chatting with Laura, the former’s laughter floating above the thumping of the music.

  He had married her—in a manner of speaking—and she stood there glowing with happiness. He had done that. He had given her that glow. It was a heady feeling, one that was mingled with intense sexual desire, and the satisfying knowledge that he loved, and was loved in return. Yes, it may have been a heedless act to propose—and marry—a woman without knowing her for a more reasonable length of time, but all that paled in view of Alice and her glow. She was like a beacon, calling him to her, drawing him in until he could warm himself in her light.

  “Yes, but look at it this way—” Gunner interrupted his thoughts by thumping him on the chest. “Now you can have honeymoon sex.”

  “There is that,” Elliott admitted, his trousers growing tight as he contemplated the joys of marriage. “Not that we’ve had any issue in that arena, but I will admit that there is something about the thought of being on a honeymoon that appeals.”

  “Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t drag her back to the ship immediately after the ceremony and get down to it,” Gunner said with blithe insouciance. “I know I would have.”

  “I had to arrange for you to travel with us to Nuremberg. That took some time, not to mention money. Speaking of which, you owe me thirty quid for your passage.”

  “Ouch. That’s a bit stiff, isn’t it? I could have gotten a train for less than half of that.”

  “You wanted to travel with us for the six hours it takes to sail to Nuremberg—that’s what it cost. You didn’t hear Patrick complaining about it, did you?”

  Gunner looked over to where Patrick was slouched on a barstool, chatting up one of the schoolteachers. “What the hell is he doing here? I reckoned he’d have left after you married Alice.”

  “He says that Jane made a scene when he called her this evening, and that she’d thrown his things out of their rented flat, so he was at a loose end.”

  “Good for Jane, although if that means you have Patrick hanging around your neck like a human-sized albatross, then perhaps we should talk her into taking him back.”

  “That’s not likely. You know what Jane’s like.”

  “True.” Gunner drained his glass and set it down on the bar. “Well,” he said, smoothing back his hair. “If you’re not going to dance with the bride, then I surely am.”

  Elliott shoved his glass of cranberry juice at his brother. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Gunner laughed. “Why you aren’t in your cabin right now enjoying the benefits of marriage is beyond my understanding.”

  “The boat will dock in two more hours. Alice thought it would be rude if we disappeared before then, since you had come along for the celebration.”

  Gunner gave him a long look.

  “You’re right. We can see you any time. It’s time to reap what I have sown.” Elliott skirted the dancers, putting his arm around Alice in a way that was both satisfying and tantalizing. She was his now, truly his, every odd little quirk of her mind, every delicious curve of her body, every inch of that silken skin. His wife, his lover, his charming, wonderful woman.

  “So, we’ve been married for four hours now. What do you think?” Alice whispered in his ear. She smelled of flowers and lime (from her beverage of choice), a heady mix that went straight to his loins.

  “You’re mine,” his mouth said before his brain could regulate such acts.

  Alice stared at him. Laura laughed, and murmured something about leaving them alone. She moved off to chat with Gunner, who promptly dragged her onto the dance floor.

  “You didn’t just say that?” Alice finally said.

  “I did. I don’t know why I did, but I did. I apologize for it, nonetheless. It was an aberration. Some deep, primitive part of my mind was rejoicing in you, and that’s how it was vocalized.”

  “Hmm.” She sniffed the air. “Did you have some of that champagne?”

  “No, of course not. I wouldn’t be able to kiss you if I had, and you, madam wife, are going to be in for some quality kissing tonight. Now, would you like to dance, visit the buffet table for a light snack which will allow you to keep up the strength you are going to need later for all of the aforementioned kissing, or stroll on deck and enjoy the romantic moonlit evening?”

  “Shouldn’t we stay here? The party is for us, after all, and Gunner and Patrick paid to be here.”

  “We were just pretend married, so—”

  She pinched his side.

  “Er . . . we were just married, so no, I don’t think anyone will think anything if we escape early.”

  “Good point. In that case . . .” She bit her lip. He wanted very much to do the same to that adorable lip. “I think if we’re not going to be sociable, then I’d rather jump your bones.”

  “I like how you think, Lady Ainslie.”

  She stared at him just as if he’d turned into a turnip. “What did you call me?”

  “Lady Ainslie. I would say that you won’t be able to use the title until we are legally married, but I’m afraid you’d just tell me I was ruining the illusion, so I have gone with the flow. You may express your appreciation of such thoughtfulness by tormenting my poor man’s body in ways that will ensure neither of us sleeps until dawn has stretched her rosy fi
ngers across the sky.”

  “Oh my god,” she said, still staring at him. “I’m a lady! Just like Lady Cora on Downton Abbey! She was American, too, and she married this English lord and became Lady Cora. And I’m the same thing. Holy Moses, I’m a real lady. Lady Alice! My friends are going to crap their pants!”

  “I’m very happy to tell you that your friends need not go to any such lengths to prove their amazement,” he said, delighted with her even more than he had been a few seconds before. He never knew from one moment to the next what was going to come out of her mouth. “The correct title will be Lady Ainslie. I’m afraid you won’t be able to be Lady Alice unless your father was an earl or duke.”

  “Still,” she said, giving him another pinch. “You’re a baron, and that’s going to floor them.”

  He took her arm, and escorted her from the lounge, asking, “Did you really forget that fact?”

  “Would you be offended if I said that I kind of keep doing that? It’s not that I’m making light of your heritage or anything, but barons are so . . . I don’t know. British upper-crust sort of thing, like a story by P. G. Wodehouse.”

  “Or Downton Abbey?”

  “Exactly!” She took his hand, rubbing her thumb over his palm in a way that had him suddenly breaking out in a sweat. He didn’t ever remember wanting a woman as much as he wanted her, and she was quasi-legally his to enjoy. “I mean, I know you’re a baron and you have a castle, but it’s kind of like . . . I don’t know, it’s kind of like you being Lord Largeloins.”

  “I thought I was the Earl of Erogenous?”

  “That, too. It’s a fun thing to think about, but you are more than that, if you know what I mean. You’re . . . Elliott. Just Elliott, without all those trappings.” She gave him a crooked smile, one that was endearingly shy and uncertain. “I like plain old Elliott. The rest is fun, but I’m glad that underneath it all, you’re you. I hope that doesn’t offend you, because I mean it in a nice way.”

  He took her into his arms right there in front of their cabin door. “My darling wife, I can assure you that as someone who’s been seen and sought for his title alone, your words are quite simply the greatest compliment I have ever received.”

  Her lips were warm and welcoming, and the fact that it took him several tries to open their door gave testament to the fact of just how distracting she was. At last he got it opened, though, and escorted her into their little sanctum.

  “You say that like you’ve never been complimented before,” she said, sitting on the bed and kicking off her sandals. “And yet, you’ve won an award for your books. It’s on the cover of the one you have next to your laptop.”

  “That,” he said, picking up her foot, and kissing her anklebone, an act that gave him a delightful view along the length of her leg, “was the merest trifle compared to your words.”

  “Jealous!” she said, offering her other leg. Obligingly, he kissed that ankle, as well, stroking his hand up her bare calf. “And I’m glad you’re not offended, because I meant every word, although I think you’re letting the mood of the day exaggerate your feelings a wee bit. You must have received accolades in other areas.”

  He stopped kissing his way up her calf to look up at her. “Such as?”

  She wiggled her toes. “Well . . . like your . . . you know. Abilities.”

  “Sexual?” Dear lord, would he ever come to know what she was going to say next? He fervently hoped not. “I’ve never had any complaints, but to my best knowledge, I’ve never received an award for my sexual prowess.”

  “No, not that, although god knows you deserve it.” She gave him a steamy look that faded into one that he could only classify as coy. “I meant your other abilities. Your . . . covert abilities.”

  Now what was she talking about? “Covert in what way?”

  She slapped her hands on the bed. “You’re going to make me say it right out loud, aren’t you? OK, we’re married—almost completely married—so I’ll just say it. Your espionage abilities, Elliott. You must be highly thought of in that area or else you wouldn’t be so successful.”

  Ah, she was talking of his books. No doubt she had a touch of the same awe that some of his fans had. He never understood it himself, but he was flattered that she viewed his ability to write a detailed and intricate thriller plot with such admiration. “That’s very sweet of you, but that doesn’t have anything to do with us, right here and now, and that, my fair little squab, is what I’d like to concentrate on. Is your other calf jealous, too? Ought I pay it my respects before proceeding forward, or do your thighs yearn for me the same way I want them?”

  “Oh, they yearn, man do they yearn!”

  “Good. I like them yearning.” He slid his hands up both legs, and was about to spread kisses everywhere he could reach when she sat up.

  “I think this is officially my turn, Elliott.”

  He looked at her thighs, her delicious, tempting thighs. “But, your thighs,” he protested. “You just said they yearn for me.”

  “And they do.” She scooted off the bed, giving his ass a pat in the process. “But a turn is a turn, and it’s mine, which means I get to tell you what I want to do, and right now, I want you naked and on your back. I’m just going to brush my teeth, because that smoked salmon appetizer has left my breath a bit fishy, and there’s nothing that kills romance faster than salmon breath.” She winked at him and disappeared into the bathroom.

  “Which makes me all the more thankful that I don’t care for salmon,” he said, about to remove his clothing. He thought for a moment, then dug through his shaving kit until he found a small tin of cinnamon mints, popping one in his mouth. He was just unbuttoning his shirt when his phone buzzed against his hip.

  “You are going off for the night,” he said, fishing it out of his pocket, fully intending to suit action to word, but once he caught a look at the text that had just come in, his whole body froze for about five seconds.

  West tower collapsed, read the text from his brother Dixon—who acted as steward to the estate. Workman injured. No deaths so far, but not out of woods yet. Liability will be huge. Talking to lawyer in morning. Will update you when I know more.

  He had the phone up to his ear before he even realized that he had punched Dixon’s number. “How bad is it?” he said when Dix answered the phone.

  “Well . . .” Dixon hesitated, obviously not wanting to ruin his vacation.

  “Out with it. Do I need to come home?”

  “I don’t want to tell you to do that.” Dixon’s voice told the whole story, however.

  “But it would be better if I was there?” Elliott was almost sick to his stomach. “What exactly happened?”

  “A couple of the workmen were storing lumber near the tower. Three of them were shifting some of it when the lower section of the tower just gave way. It brought the entire thing down on them.”

  “Oh, Christ,” Elliott swore, his stomach turning over at the thought of it. “No one was killed?”

  “No, but two of them are having surgery right now. The doctors aren’t saying much about their odds one way or the other. The third managed to get away with just a broken leg, and some superficial injuries.”

  “I should have torn that entire wing down,” Elliott said, regret filling him like bitter poison. “Why the hell did I leave it up?”

  “You weren’t to know it was going to come down like that. Richardson said that he could repair it just as he’s doing the rest of the castle. Elliott, this isn’t your fault.”

  “Perhaps not, but I could have prevented it.” He thought for a moment. “Why was anyone near the tower? We blocked off access to the entire wing just in case something like this happened.”

  Dixon didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Mum complained about having all of the material where it could be seen by the tourists, and asked them to move it where it was out of the
way. You know how Richardson is around her.”

  Elliott knew. One of the reasons he had chosen Richardson for the restoration for the castle was that he was willing to give them a reasonable price—and that was due to the man’s interest in Elliott’s mother. “Christ, Dix.”

  “I know.” His brother’s voice sounded as devastated as he felt. “I’ll be talking to the insurance people tomorrow, but if the worst happens . . .”

  Elliott closed his eyes for a few seconds. He wasn’t a praying man, but he sent fervent good wishes to the poor men who’d been injured. “I’ll get a flight out of here.”

  “I really hate to throw this on your lap when you’re trying to get some work done—”

  “That’s not what’s important right now,” Elliott said, clamping the phone between his ear and shoulder while pulling clothing from the dresser and placing it into his open bag. “I’ll text you my arrival time. Keep me updated on how the workmen are doing.”

  “Will do. Sorry, El.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “No more than it is yours, but if I had known what Mum was doing—well, we’ll deal with that later.”

  Elliott hung up, his mind shoving aside the emotions of the situation to deal with the facts. He had to get a flight out of Nuremberg. He had to inform his publisher that there would likely be a delay in the book, which would throw their schedule out of whack, but he couldn’t help that.

  A lilting voice bursting into song in the bathroom had him shaking himself. Alice! He had Alice to think about, as well. What was she going to say when she found out that his negligence had injured innocent people? He wanted to hide that fact from her, like it was a shameful secret, but he knew that he’d have to tell her in the end. If she damned him for it . . . He shook his head. He couldn’t cope with that right now. Later, once he had a chance to assess just how bad the situation was, once he had seen the injured men himself, and talked to Richardson, then he would explain to Alice what had happened. Until then, he’d have to trust that she was so madly in love with him that she’d forgive him running off on their wedding night.