Improper English

by Katie MacAlister

  Karl pursed his lips and looked thoughtful.

  The drive to Windsor was, for the most part, a pleasant one. Karl did indeed know his history, and he pointed out all sorts of landmarks in London, as well as en route to the cute town of Windsor, home of the famous castle. I have to give him credit, Karl recovered quickly from the embarrassing scene on the front steps—which is more than I could say for Alex.

  “You have to forgive Alex,” I said a short while after we set off. “He’s in a pissy mood today. He’s feeling guilty because he’s broken my heart—twice now—and doesn’t want to admit it.”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth,” Alex growled from the back seat of Karl’s Honda. The faint tickety-tickety sound of laptop keys being pressed confirmed my suspicion that he was back there working.

  “One of the interesting locations you’ll see shortly is Runnymede,” Karl said, ignoring Alex’s bickering. “Just on the left ahead. You know about Runnymede, don’t you, Alix? That’s where King John signed the Magna Carta in 1215.”

  “The Magna Carta. Fascinating,” I said, glancing out the window to a grassy parkland that looked no different from any other grassy parkland, then turning back to glare at Alex. “And I’m not putting words in your mouth, I’m simply explaining to Karl why you’re being such a pain in the patootie. He’s anal,” I confided to Karl. “Have you ever heard of a man who insists on working seven days a week?”

  “Mmm. You know, of course, that the Magna Carta was used as a basis for your Constitution. In fact, the American Bar Association commemorated it by erecting a monument here in 1957.”

  “I am not anal, I simply have an important report due on Monday. My work is such that I must be available to act at any time. Perhaps you Americans are unfamiliar with such a thing as a dedicated work ethic, but I assure you I am not.”

  “Oh, let’s start flinging nationalistic slurs about, shall we? Then try this on for size, Mr. No Sex Please, We’re British. I was married to a workaholic who spent damn near every single moment of the day working on ‘important’ projects, and I can tell you from experience the only reason people like you spend all day, every day working is because there is nothing else to fill your lives.”

  “There is also an RAF War Memorial on the hillside, as well as the John F. Kennedy Memorial.”

  A silence heavy with unspoken anger wafted forward from the back seat, finally followed by a low, “I’m here. What more do you want from me?”

  “Many people are unaware of the fact, but the actual ground the Kennedy Memorial stands upon was given to the United States by the queen in 1965.”

  “A dubious honor,” I snapped at Alex, turning toward the front and staring out the window at the passing scenery.

  “Do you think so? I thought it was a rather generous gesture.”

  I stared at Karl. “What? What’s a generous gesture?”

  His gaze flickered to the rearview mirror. No doubt he was noting Alex’s childish behavior. I shrugged. I certainly wasn’t going to make any more excuses for the man’s rudeness in going on a sightseeing tour and ignoring all the sights.

  “It doesn’t matter, Alix. Now, just ahead is—”

  I turned back to glare at Alex one last time. He ignored me, his fingers flying over the black keys of his laptop as he frowned at the screen. “What a pain you’re being! You’re going to miss all of the good historical stuff if you keep your nose buried in that laptop all day.”

  “—Eton, famed for Eton College, where generations of noblemen, royalty, and politicians have been educated. If you are writing about gentlemen who were well educated in the early nineteenth century, you’ll want to look at Eton. Many of the upper class were sent here.”

  Alex didn’t look up at me, not even a glance my way to acknowledge that I was speaking to him, but his jaw made a tight little movement that made me think he was grinding his teeth. I smiled and returned my attention to the area we were passing through.

  “This is very pretty,” I said to Karl as we zoomed past a quaint little town. “I can’t wait to get to Windsor and see the historic sites. I love history, you know, and since I plan on writing lots of historical romances, this trip is the ideal research opportunity for me, so be sure to point out all of the important stuff. I don’t want to miss one single thing, no matter how many party-poopers are along with us.”

  “I am not a party-pooper,” came clearly from the back seat. I ignored him just as he had ignored me.

  “So, Karl, can you tell me anything about this area? It looks old. Anything of interest around here?”

  Karl shot me a quick, steely look, then returned his gaze to the road. “Erm…no. We’re almost to Windsor. I’ll just find a car park, and we can walk to the castle first, if you like, then explore the town.”

  “Sounds fabulous,” I agreed, leaning toward the window until I had Alex in the side mirror. He was glaring at the back of my head. “Doesn’t it sound fabulous, Alex?”

  He turned his glare back to his laptop. “I’m sure you’ll have a pleasant time. I will wait for you at the Fort and Firkin.”

  I craned my head around to look at him. “The what?”

  “It’s a pub,” he said without looking up.

  “Here we are in historic Windsor. Alix, to your left there you’ll see St. George’s Gate and the southeast face of the castle. We’ll park there, see the castle, then stroll down through the town afterwards.”

  I spent a moment in awed appreciation of the sight Karl was pointing to. The gate was a tall, two-story squared-off archway that was dwarfed on the right by two huge round towers, and further on by a block of square towers. Each of them had a face of tightly set stones, arrow slits, and beautifully arched windows. I was in heaven. “Wow, that’s so fantastic! It looks just like a real castle!”

  Karl chuckled as he whipped into a parking stall. “It should. Windsor Castle has been standing for nine hundred years.”

  The sight of the castle drove from my mind all thoughts of Alex’s frustrating refusal to join us—until he muttered something about meeting us later and started to stalk out of the car park with his satchel slung over one shoulder.

  “Hey! Wait just one minute there, mister. Where are you going?”

  Alex ignored my bellow and continued walking. I glanced over at the castle entrance. There was a line of people waiting to get in. “You get in line, Karl, and I’ll go snag Detective Spoilsport. Won’t take me a minute.”

  “Alix, if he doesn’t want to come with us—”

  I waved away his objection and started off after Alex. A little ahead of him, coming toward us in a solid chunk of humanity, was a group of about twenty tourists following a woman in a snazzy blue blazer with the name of a tour company embroidered over her left breast.

  “Drat the man and his long legs,” I huffed as I trotted after him, then turned around and yelled back to Karl, “Of course he wants to come with us, he’s just being difficult. Men get like that all the time. You buy the tickets, and we’ll be right there.” I turned back and resumed my trot. “Alex, dammit, stop pouting!”

  Twenty yards ahead of me he stopped, his shoulders slumping briefly as I ran up to him. The tour guide halted next to a black metal fence a few yards away and hallooed up her stragglers. I ignored them as I prepared to grovel.

  “Come on, I know you’re in a bad mood, but just look at that!” I waved my hand behind us at the magnificent sight that towered over everything. Several of the tourists started taking pictures while they waited for the rest of the group to gather. “Look, Alex, it’s Windsor Castle! It’s nine hundred years old! It’s positively oozing with history! You can’t miss that!”

  He whirled around to face me, his mouth open to issue a refusal. I put a hand on his arm and gave a little squeeze, trying to stop the words before they were spoken, ignoring as best I could the tremendous jolt of pleasure that shot through me at the feel of his bicep beneath the thin material. “Alex, please don’t go off in a sulk. You’ll have t
ime to work later, I promise. It would be a shame to miss Windsor.”

  His gaze held mine, his eyes so brilliant they looked like onyx set in emeralds, but his face was all angular planes, his jaw held tightly. I knew then with absolute certainty he was going to refuse to come with me.

  “Please,” I whispered, leaning closer in hopes he would see how much I wanted to spend time with him. “It won’t be the same if you’re not there.”

  He glanced over to where several of the nearest tourists were watching us interestedly. The muscles under my hand tensed as he tried to tug his arm away, but I held tight. “You’re making a scene, Alix. Although that doesn’t seem to bother you at all, I’m not used to public displays.”

  I refused to let him sidetrack me with inconsequential issues. I took a step closer until my breasts brushed the soft green of his shirt. “Please, Alex.”

  “Karl is very knowledgeable. You’ll enjoy your visit to Windsor with him.” His gaze never left my face. I threw every bit of emotion I had into my eyes, hoping he could read the sincerity in them.

  “Yes, he is knowledgeable,” I agreed. “He’s also very smart, and a nice man, and I like him, but, Alex—he’s not you. I want…” My breath caught as I realized that despite my earlier claim, I was making myself vulnerable again, giving him another chance to break my heart. I couldn’t help it, though, I had to say it. I just wished there wasn’t an audience of tourists watching. “I want you.”

  “Vhat did she say?” a soft Germanic voice asked.

  “She said she wants him.”

  “Who wants what?” A third, English, voice asked. I kept my eyes on Alex, refusing to be distracted, refusing to let him slip away from me.

  “That woman wants that man,” the second tourist, also a woman with a German accent, informed her companions.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a middle-aged woman with faded blond hair raise a camera and snap a picture of Alex and me. I hoped his peripheral vision wasn’t as good as mine.

  “Ah. Lovers they must be,” the first woman said.

  Alex’s jaw clenched again at the words. I tugged him away from the tourists, back toward the entrance to Windsor Castle, but he halted after about twenty feet, spinning me around to face him. I held out a hand to forestall his objection.

  “I meant what I said, Alex. I’m sorry if you think I’m making a scene, but I thought you would like to know how I feel. I thought it was important. I just want you to know how much I want to be with you.”

  His eyes had darkened, the thin black waves of color radiating out from his pupils seemingly absorbing the surrounding green. “Do you know what you’re saying? Do you understand what it is you’re really asking of me?”

  I didn’t, not truly. I didn’t know anything other than that I wanted to be with him desperately, but I knew, in some dim corner of my mind, that if I let him go now, I’d never get him back. My fingers tightened on the thin cotton of his shirt sleeve. Just touching him made me feel better, made me feel more complete. “Yes, I do. To both questions. I understand.”

  Alex shook his head as his eyes went darker, sending my heart plummeting to my sandals. He was going to turn me down again. I didn’t think I could take it, not three times, not with the man I wanted so much I could feel him in my blood.

  “I don’t think you do understand.”

  My breath stopped, my heart stopped, the world stopped while I stared into his eyes, braced for the coup de grace. He leaned forward until I could feel his breath fan out over my face.

  “But you will.”

  He traced my lower lip with his thumb as I stood there blinking in the morning sunlight, staring at him, staring into his eyes and hoping to God I hadn’t misheard him.

  “Alex, I—”

  He smiled then, a real smile, not the polite parody he’d worn as a mask earlier. This was a true smile, one that made his eyes sparkle and two faint dimples appear in his cheeks.

  “Ah, look there, is that not pleasant? The man is kissing the woman who wants him. It’s good, yes?”

  The cameras clicked as I allowed Alex to make a spectacle of us in public.

  We trekked all over the parts of Windsor Castle open to tourists—with the exception of Queen Mary’s Dollhouse, which the men refused to visit—seeing more history than I could possibly take in. There were moats filled with gorgeously landscaped gardens rather than stale, stagnant water; gargoyles and statues on the beautiful St. George’s Chapel; a huge Round Tower that wasn’t really very round; and a rather austere quadrangle that bordered the Royal Apartments. It was a huge site with an upper, middle, and lower ward that seemed miles apart as we walked under the broiling July sun. By the time we finished the tour, we were all dragging, and went to the pub that Alex had recommended for lunch and a couple of rounds of liquid refreshment.

  We toured briefly through the town of Windsor itself, but by then there were so many tourists about, it made walking the cobblestone streets (authentic, but uncomfortable in heels) unpleasant.

  “It’s a darn shame,” I grumbled to Alex as I clutched him while balancing on one foot in order to shake a pebble from my sandal, “when I’m in one of the oldest civilized spots in England, a place so soaked in history that everyone around the world knows its name, a town that for nine hundred years has been the residence of the reigning monarch, and what do I see?” I waved my hand at the street ahead of us. “A McDonald’s, a Starbucks, and a Pizza Hut all on one street.”

  “Global village,” Karl said as he passed by us on his way to the river where we were going to watch the swan upping.

  “I don’t believe that’s quite what the term is meant to imply, but I agree with the sentiment.”

  Alex waited until I put my sandal back on, then slid his arm around my waist as if he had been doing it for years.

  “Smooth move,” I said softly to him, enjoying greatly his little possessive display.

  “I thought it was,” he replied, with only a slight twitching of his mouth.

  I may be naïve at times, but I am not completely clueless; it was evident that something of importance had passed between us earlier when we were emoting for the tourists. I had asked him for something and he had given it, changing the entire nature of our relationship, but…well, I guess I am completely clueless, because I wasn’t quite sure what the terms were that I had offered and he accepted. I didn’t waste my time worrying over it, however. Experience has taught me well that the fates always saw to it that, sooner or later, the rules were explained. I just hoped they got around to it before I had to leave Alex and go home to face a life without him.

  Chapter Eight

  “I know not what to do, my lord—my mother, the Lady Ermintrude, has forbidden me contact with you in order to force me into marriage with the loathsome and ancient Sir Wenceslaus Lecher-ffokes, the man who has wedded and buried seven wives. Should my mother catch you here now, in my bedchamber, while I am in a state of undress and you are exhibiting your manly form to much advantage by having donned nothing more than a pair of skin-tight buckskins and a billowing soft linen shirt that is unbuttoned and displaying such hirsute sights as to make my maiden’s cheeks blush, why, she would not hesitate to call her lover, Captain Montague, he who is the Queen’s champion and expert par extraordinaire with both swords and pistols, in order to challenge you to a duel over my honor, and oh, my lord, after you survived that last duel over just that, I could not bear for you to suffer the same again.”

  “Rowena! What are you doing here? I thought this was your mother’s room!” Lord Thomas cried, holding aloft those masculine columns of banded steel that were his arms in order to keep Rowena from launching herself onto his handsome and virile person.

  Rowena gasped and paused in the act of throwing herself in his arms, cut to the quick, nay the very marrow of her bones by Lord Thomas’s rejection of her. Her heart shattered and dissolved into tiny, infinitesimally small fragments that would never, ever be whole again. She clutched her hands to her
bosom, breathless and on the verge of a swoon as the razor-sharp agony cut through her very soul when she realized that Lord Thomas had been toying with her, leading her on, making cruel sport of her all the while he had no intention of fulfilling the many, many wicked promises made by his treacherous, if finely chiseled and manly to the extreme, lips.

  “Oh, perfidious traitor!” Rowena cried. “Oh, soulless wretch who would cruelly tease and torment an innocent and comely maid such as myself! Oh, that I should never again have to cast my eyes upon your rampant stallion waiting at the door!”

  “The depth of your subtlety overwhelms me,” Alex piped up from the back seat.

  “What?” I asked, turning around to glare at him. Who did he think he was, criticizing my lovely story?

  “Hmmm?”

  “Don’t you cock that delicious eyebrow at me, mister. You know what.”

  The frown wrinkling his brow smoothed out as he tapped away industriously at his keyboard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am innocent of all things.”

  I snorted in disbelief. “Oh, be quiet and do your work so we can enjoy Hampton Court. What did you think of it, Karl?”

  “Oh, me? What did I think? Is that what you asked? What I think?”

  I nodded even though I knew he wouldn’t see it, Karl’s eyes being firmly fixed to the road ahead, his lips (nowhere near as finely chiseled and manly as Alex’s) turned down at the corners.

  “To tell you the truth, Alix, I don’t read that sort of book, so I’m not the best person qualified to give you an opinion on it.”

  I waved away that paltry excuse. “It doesn’t matter if you read romances. What I want to know is whether or not the prose is vivid enough, if it brings a picture to your mind, if you can really see the characters. Anyone can give their opinion on whether or not they think the writing is good.”