The Importance of Being Alice (27 page)

“I don't know,” I said miserably. “I don't even know
why I brought this up. Really, anywhere you are is going to be my home.”

“No,” he said, looking out of the window, his jaw tight. I wondered if I had angered him. “No, it's not the same thing.”

“I'm sorry. I know you don't need my wimpy feelings dumped on you right now. I shouldn't have said anything—”

“What sort of parent leaves their child to be raised by strangers?” he suddenly exploded. “If they could not keep you, why did they not give you up for adoption, so that a family might have taken you into their home as their own?”

I had to pull over to the side of the road because I was so surprised by his anger. “I . . . I don't really know what to say. I was told my parents had drug problems, and couldn't take care of me, and put me into the system because of that. Given that lifestyle, it was much better for me to be floating around the foster system, even if I didn't have a permanent home. I appreciate your indignation on my behalf, but it's nothing you need to get irate about now. I got through it. I had counseling all through my teen years, and I'm OK now.”

“You shouldn't have to have been so alone.” He turned back to me, his eyes alight with little silver glints. “And by god, I will see to it that you do not feel the same way at Ainslie. The public rooms must be left as they are for the tourists, but you shall have charge of redecorating the private rooms. All the private rooms, from the sitting room on up to the bedrooms. You will put your own stamp on them, and they will be your home.”

“You know, if I didn't love you to the very tippy top of my tippy top-dom, then I'd love you even more right now. I really appreciate that offer—”

“It's not an offer,” he said with grim finality that had me biting back a laugh. “It's an order. You will redecorate, and make the castle a home.”

“—but it's not necessary. For one thing, it'll cost an arm and a leg. For another . . . I like the castle the way it is. Well, OK, your bedroom is a bit dark, but it's a guy's room, so that's understandable.”

“You will redecorate that, as well,” he said, pinning me back with a look that did not allow for discussion.

I did laugh then. “You really are a hoot, you know that? Any woman would leap at the chance of a carte blanche for redecoration, but no, Elliott, we have to be sensible about this. We need that money to freshen up the dower house, and also to buy the things we need for the Ainslie Experience.”

“You will redecorate my room—our bedroom—and the attached sitting room,” he said after a moment's grumpy silence. “I am willing to let the other rooms go since you are right—it would be ill-advised to spend that much money without need. But I will have a haven for just the two of us.”

“All right,” I said, patting his hand and pulling back onto the road. “That I will accept. It would be nice to have a private little retreat where we can go and play with the captain's hat.”

He gave a sharp nod, and puffed softly to himself in diminishing indignation. I thought it best to drag his mind off my checkered past, and on to something more pleasing. “What exactly did you have planned with the hat?”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. Come on, out with it. We might not be able to get it on until you heal up, but at the very least you can tell me what you'd like to do.”

“No, I can't.” His face was obstinate.

“Why not?”

“Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to walk around with an erection?” He shot me an annoyed look that made me giggle under my breath. “You may have thought I was uninterested, but I assure you the opposite has been the case. In fact, I've been ready to swear that you've been doing your damnedest to give me permanent blue balls, what with the way you prance around in those tiny negligees, and flounce about the bedroom in just your knickers, not to mention wearing those bras that make everyone with eyeballs in their head stare at your breasts. It's damned frustrating to think about all the things I want to do with you . . . tasting you . . . touching you . . . and not be able to do any of them. Hell. Now look what you've done.”

He gestured at his crotch. The fly did look unusually bulgy.

“I'd say I'm sorry, but I had no idea that you were all hot and bothered. You definitely hid that well.”

“It was self-defense,” he said grimly. “Please don't hit that cottage. It is an old one, and our former gardener has retired to it. I enjoy visiting him.”

I swerved just in time, mentally reminding myself to stay on the left side of the road. “All right, I won't make you discuss what you'd like to do with the hat, although I have a couple of suggestions involving some silk scarves, and . . . oops. Sorry. That made you more bulgy. I'll stop now.”

“Too late.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of him glaring at his crotch.

“Change of subject time. I'm glad to hear you say you're interested in role play.”

“Really? Why is that?”

I grinned at him, and put my foot down on the accelerator. We were close now to the borders of Elliott's land, surrounded by gently rolling pastureland. “Let me tell you about what's in store for the castle.”

Diary of Alice Wood

Day Twenty-nine

T
he day of our wedding just happened to coincide with the first official Ainslie Experience (as I decided to call it). We didn't plan it that way—in fact, the whole Ainslie Experience almost went down the toilet once Elliott understood that people would be paying to stay for a couple of days with him, and not even the high price tag on it mollified him.

“Since you've already collected the money from these people,” he stormed the day I had tried to leave him (very careful not to move his body much as he strode up and down in his tiny office), “I will allow it to go forward, but only because the visitors are people we know, although why you felt it vital to have your ex-lover as one of the participants is beyond my understanding. There will be no other such events, however.”

“But, Elliott—we'll make money hand over fist! And it'll just be a couple of people at a shot. You'll only have to see them at meals, and maybe watch a little TV with them, or shoot some pool. Nothing horrible.”

The look he settled on me told me just what he thought of that plan. I sighed, and decided to wait until after Laura and Patrick left before broaching the subject again. He'd see just how noninvasive it would really be.

Confident that he would eventually see the wisdom of my ways, for the next two weeks I threw my energy into two main projects: the refurbishing of the dower house, and redecorating our private rooms. The suite consisted of three rooms: a small, dark bathroom that had been converted from a servant's room, the bedroom, and a large-sized sitting room. I had the bathroom painted a cheery yellow, redid the bedroom in pleasing greens and robin's-egg blue (as well as installed a much-needed new bed with ultra-bouncy mattress), and completely gutted the sitting room of its old, heavy Victorian furniture. I had found some furniture stored in one of the attics that probably hadn't seen the light of day for at least a hundred years. The pieces had the long, graceful lines of neoclassical Regency England, and the colors of the upholstery had faded into soft moss greens, rose, and gold. I arranged them around the room, added in a chair that Elliott had said was his favorite, and placed a small lady's writing desk for myself. I also had Elliott's beloved desk carried in by his two youngest brothers.

“What's this?” the man himself asked about a week before our wedding, when he returned from a visit to the doctor. Bertie, Gunner, and I had pulled him into the redecorated room to see the end result. “What's my desk doing here? Why isn't it in my office?”

“Your mother says your so-called office used to be a storage room. A boxroom? Is that the right term? Anyway, it was small and dark and cramped, and I can't for the world imagine how you could write there.”

“I could write there because no one bothered me in it,” he said, giving his brothers a look that neither of them acknowledged. He strolled around the room, noticing the bookcases filled with his favorite books, and one that I had arranged for myself, and only just started to load. “This is very nice, Alice. I like the furniture. I like the colors. And I like that I have an actual window I can look out of while writing. Yes, this is very nice indeed. I will be able to work here.”

“And play,” I said with a little waggle of my eyebrows. Instantly, he looked interested, but since we had decreed a hands-off period until after the wedding, so as to give his bones time to heal, I didn't investigate that look.

That didn't stop the tension surrounding us, though. It hummed with electricity, enough that after Bertie hit me up for payment for his part in moving the furniture, and departed to spend it on who-knew-what girl (I swear, the kid was a babe magnet), Gunner looked from me to Elliott and shook his head. “I don't know how you two do it.”

“It's not easy,” I said with a sigh.

“You're a stronger man than I am, Gunga Din,” Gunner misquoted to Elliott. “I couldn't hold out against someone as lovely as Alice. You're sure there's no way you can lie back and let her proceed without you hurting your collarbone?”

Elliott, who had sat at his desk, and was adjusting the placement of his desk pad, and a metal penholder, didn't bother to look at his brother when he answered, “No, there isn't, not that it's any of your business.”

“What about a reverse cowboy?” Gunner said after a few seconds' thought. “That's when the girl—in this case Alice—sits on your—”

“Yeah, we know what a reverse cowboy is,” I interrupted quickly, seeing the flash of outrage in Elliott's eyes. He might have unbent quite a bit since I had met him, but I could tell that discussing our sex life with his brother was going too far. “You can take it as read that since I'm sleeping in the guest room until after the wedding that we tried and decided it was best to let him heal.”

“Well, your loss,” Gunner said.

Elliott was now looking at me, a familiar, steamy glint to his eyes that had my breasts and girl parts suddenly clamoring to be placed immediately in his hands.

“Oh,” I said, feeling my nipples harden under that potent look.

His eyes narrowed until they were thin slits of bright silver, glowing with passion.

My back arched just a little of its own accord. I blamed it on my breasts. They were shameless hussies who desperately wanted Elliott's notice.

“I feel dirty just standing here,” Gunner said, still looking from Elliott to me and back again.

“You could leave,” Elliott suggested, his voice low and rough and with a quality that seemed to rub along my skin like velvet.

“I almost feel as if I should stay and chaperone you. Who knows what damage you might do to your broken bone if I were to leave and you fulfill that look you're steaming all over Alice's body?”

“My body likes his steam,” I cooed, and took a step toward Elliott.

He stood up, his body lines taut and filled with coiled power, his face a mask of desire.

“Oh, Elliott,” I breathed, and prepared to run across the room, unable to resist him any longer.

Gunner caught me on the second step, wrapping an arm around my waist, and hauling me backward toward the door. “See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. You two clearly can't be left on your own together.”

Elliott made an annoyed sound of deprivation.

“Bad brother! Stay!” Gunner told him, pulling me out of the door. He shoved me through it, then blocked it with his body, saying to me, “Don't give me that look—you both said he needed time to heal, and it's only been a week. He needs longer than that. Go do something somewhere else, Alice.”

“But Elliott needs me—”

I could hear Elliott's footsteps across the wooden floor.

Gunner looked over his shoulder, and flung out a hand, pointing down the hallway. “Flee, sweet maiden! I'll hold back the beast as long as I can, but there's no telling how long I can last.”

I waited until Elliott loomed up over his shoulder, then blew a kiss, and dashed off down the hall to the ground floor, chuckling to myself. Gunner was quite right—it had been a near thing, and I made a mental note not to be alone with Elliott again until after the wedding.

That day couldn't come too soon, and despite the feeling that time was crawling by, the morning of our wedding finally did arrive.

I traipsed into our sitting room wearing the new gauzy, flowery tea dress that I planned on wearing at many a
garden party. Rosalyn—as I'd finally decided to call her—had taken me to buy it the day before, and I was very pleased with how girly it made me feel.

Elliott stood with Gunner, who was giving him a once-over. We'd decided to go very informal for the wedding itself, with just the few members of his family who were currently in residence as witnesses, saving the big celebration for a month hence. “Mmrowr,” I told Elliott, taking in just how handsome he looked in his dark suit.

“Thank you, although I should point out that it's unseemly for the bride to be ogling the best man,” Gunner said, giving Elliott's tie a tweak.

“That was Elliott's mmrowr, as you well know,” I told him.

Elliott's eyes were mercurial with simmering sexual tension. “Turn,” he said.

I made a little pirouette. The layered chiffon of the skirt spun out as I did so.

“Yes,” he said slowly, a catlike smile on his face. “Yes, I will enjoy greatly taking that dress off your nubile and wholly desirable body.”

“Yes, please,” I said, my body instantly one giant erogenous zone.

“Oh, for the love of—thank god this is the last time I have to keep you two chaste,” Gunner said, rolling his eyes as he shooed me toward the door. “Stop teasing my brother, you jezebel. You can't slake your lusty thirst upon him until he's been wedded by the government official duly authorized to validate the wedding that I performed over two weeks ago. Now, be off or I'll tell Mum that you came in to molest him.”

“Tattletale,” I said, mouthing
I love you
to Elliott.

He growled a low, sexy growl in response.

Gunner slammed the door in my face. I sang a happy little song to myself as I ran downstairs, and waited impatiently for Rosalyn. She made me wait for an hour, confining me to a room that used to be a conservatory, but was now a greenhouse for vegetables and dwarf fruit trees. By the time we arrived at the registry office in Ainston, Elliott and three of his brothers (Gunner, Bertie, and Rupert, whom I had just met the night before) were waiting.

The ceremony itself was quick and anticlimactic. It was over in a matter of just a few minutes, following which we signed the register, and then found ourselves outside in the sunshine, the sense of something lacking lying profoundly over us all.

“Your version of the wedding was much more memorable,” I told Gunner.

“It's what we in the Church of Jante strive for,” he said complacently, then buffeted the air next to Elliott's shoulder. “All right, old man, you're truly tied down now. Happy?”

Elliott took my hand and kissed my fingers, then gave a what-the-hell look, and pulled me into his arms. “Very much so,” he said, his eyes all but stripping me naked. He added in a tone just for me, “And very ready for a second wedding night.”

I touched the hollow at the bottom of his throat. “You're not hurting?”

“I didn't say that.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “But my collarbone is healed, yes. It's been a long two weeks, my love.”

“Has it ever,” I said on a sigh, and squealed softly to myself when he kissed me with the passion of a man long deprived of such actions.

We had a celebratory lunch in town (enlivened by risqué comments from Elliott's brothers, and reminiscences by Rosalyn of her own wedding), following which the family went their separate ways, with Elliott and I returning home.

“Race you to the bedroom,” I said as we got out of his car. “We've got three hours before the first Ainslie Experience—”

“And last!”

“—kicks off, and the guests arrive, which is just enough time for me to jump your newly healed bones on our brand-new bed.”

“There you are,” a voice called from the house. Patrick strolled out, a tall, elegant woman on his arm. “We wondered where everyone was. Elliott, you're going t'have t'do better than this if you want people t'shell out four grand for a few nights, not that I object t'doing so, since Jane tells me that you're in desperate need what with more of the castle falling t'pieces, but really, old man. At least have the paying guests met at the door with a little champagne, and perhaps a few nibblies.”

I looked at Elliott. He looked at me. We both wanted to cry.

“Alice,” Elliott said, pulling himself together faster than me. I really had my heart set on some sexual tension relief. “May I introduce my sister Jane. Other than being cursed with a dubious taste in men, she is normally a very intelligent woman, and I'm sure you'll like her.”

“Of course I will.” With an effort, I beat down my libido and put out my hand for her to shake. She looked at my hand, looked at Elliott, and then embraced me in a bear hug that was surprisingly strong.

“How nice to meet you at last, Alice. I've heard so
much about you from Mummy and Gunner. And of course, Patrick, although I don't for a moment believe half the things he says about you. Elliott would never fall in love with a woman who was no better than she should be.”

Patrick coughed and said quickly, “That's enough of the polite chitchat, my love of loves. Shall we not see the rooms that you inventively convinced me t'pay for? My man, show us the accommodations.”

“I hope the day comes when I won't want to punch you in the face for leering at my sister,” Elliott told him, taking my arm to stroll inside. “But until then, you're welcome to Ainslie Castle.”

“Nice going not rising to the ‘my man' bait,” I told Elliott in a low tone. “He's clearly feeling inferior and trying to make you feel like a loser because of it.”

“I'm well used to him throwing around the fact that he's made a fortune while I have to spend every pound I have on the castle. He won't get a rise out of me that way. You, however . . .” He pinched my behind, making me squeal loud enough that Jane and Patrick, who were in front of us, turned to see what was going on.

Jane was nice enough, although she spent a good deal of time chatting with Elliott and Patrick, and later the rest of the family as they returned home, about people and things that I had no knowledge of. I did my best to hold up my end while not making it overly clear that I really, really wanted time alone with Elliott, but it wasn't until Laura arrived that I relaxed.

Until I saw her companion.

“Well, this is a pleasure, isn't it? It's quite like we were back on board that dreadful ship,” Deidre said, sashaying in a line straight to Elliott, who had risen to greet the newcomers. She paused to cast a glance around the family's
sitting room, taking in not only Patrick but Gunner and Rupert. She ignored the women present. “Who would have guessed that dear, charming Elliott was a peer? A baron, no less.” She turned back to him and simpered. “I suppose by rights I should curtsy, and say ‘my lord,' but as we're old friends—”