A Snow moon christmas

*Chester* Standing alone beside a window a short distance away from the midst of the gaiety, I, Chester Wakefield, the Alpha of Chetwynd, slowly sip the Scotch that I pilfered from my host's library on my way to the grand salon. I knew attending this holiday gathering at the Alpha and Luna of Snow moon’s new country manor would be unpleasant, but I'm not one to shy away from the distasteful. That is why, on the morning I was to be married, I encouraged my bride to seek out her heart's desire. I knew being abandoned at the altar would cause gossip and make me appear weak and inadequate, but I didn't care much about that. I believe in love, and I recognized that Miss Anne had given her affections to beta Raphael Rafe. So I willingly granted her the freedom to go, and with as much dignity as possible, I set about bearing the brunt of what many considered a humiliating affair. From my shadowed corner, I now watch Miss Merida dance with her betrothed, Alpha Lightfoot. Based on her smile and the way her gaze never strays from his, she appears joyous and very much in love with the fellow. Although perhaps she is simply imbued with the spirit of the season. I can always hope. I know I should look for another dance partner. The problem is that she is the only one with whom I wish to waltz. Hers are the only eyes into which I long to gaze, hers the only fragrance I yearn to inhale, hers the only voice I want whispering near my ear as passion smolders. It has been this way for some time now, but I have fought back my burgeoning desire for her out of a sense of obligation and duty, out of a misguided attempt to make amends regarding my younger brother, Walter, who sacrificed his life in the dark lands. I am destined to pay a heavy price for trying to assuage my conscience unless I take immediate steps to rectify the situation. Miss Merida is scheduled to marry a few days after Christmas. The decorated tree in the parlor, the sprigs of holly scattered about, and the red bows on the portraits that greeted me upon my arrival served as an unwarranted reminder that the auspicious morning is quickly approaching, and then she will be lost to me forever. But if she loves Lightfoot, can I deny her what I granted Anne: a life with the man she loves? It is a quandary with which I struggle because I wish only happiness for Miss Merida, but I am arrogant enough to believe that I can bring her joy like no one else can. No other gentleman would hold her in such high esteem. No other man would adore her as I do. Convincing her that she belongs with me is going to be quite the trick, as I suspect she would rather see me rotting in hell than standing beside her at the altar. Despite the fact that she is engaged to marry, I keep hoping that she will glance over, will give me a smile, or will offer any sort of encouragement at all. Instead, she waltzes on, as though for her, I no longer exist. *Merida* I, Miss Merida, the Alpha of Whitsfield's daughter, absolutely love to waltz. Quite honestly, I enjoy any sort of physical activity. I used to love running, jumping, skipping, and climbing trees until my father sent me to a she-wolf finishing school. They taught me that if I didn't stifle my enthusiasm for the outdoors, I would never find a mate. So I stifled it with a great deal of effort and the occasional slap of the rod against my palm. But dancing is acceptable, and because I'm known for being charming, I never lack dance partners. I don't care if they are married, old, young, or bent. I don't care if their eyes are too small, their noses too large, or if they stammer. I don't care if their clothes aren't the latest fashion or if their skills in interesting conversation are nonexistent. When they sweep me over the dance floor, I adore every single one of them. And they know it well. It shows in my eyes, my smile, and the way I beam at them. I make them feel as though they matter, and for those few moments, they matter a great deal because of the pleasure they bring me. But dancing with a gentleman does not mean that he wishes to marry me. Because I'm also known for being quite stubborn, strong-willed, and prone to arguing a point when most she-wolves would simply smile and pretend they don't have the good sense to know their own minds. I do know mine, and therefore, I know without question that Alpha Lightfoot is the man for me. He often praises my strong points. He sends me flowers. He writes me poetry. He dances with me, daring to do so four times the night we met, when only two times is acceptable. He told me he simply couldn't deny himself the pleasure of my presence. His inability to resist me is what led to us being caught the night of Greystone's ball in a very compromising situation that resulted in a rather hasty betrothal. My father managed to limit the damage by ensuring that no one other than he and my brothers knew of the discovery. Lightfoot was quick to propose on the spot, but then my father can be quite intimidating. As we were discovered before we had moved beyond a kiss, the wedding is not being rushed. I know Lightfoot is an honorable man. He could have run off, but he didn't. He stood by me and offered to marry me. I don't like the little niggle of doubt that surfaces from time to time, making me wonder if he arranged to be caught. If he did, was it because he desperately wanted me or my dowry? As he smiles down on me now, I send the irritating doubts to perdition and accept that he is madly in love with me. We will be wonderfully happy together. If only my heart would cooperate. I do wish I hadn't noticed when Alpha Chester strolled laconically into the room before the strains of the first dance had started. Based on what happened in the church earlier this year, I didn't expect him to make an appearance where he would be forced to encounter his former fiancée and her husband. Beta Raphael is, after all, the Alpha of Snow Moon’s twin brother, so Chester must know that he couldn’t avoid them. But he cuts such a fine figure in his black tailcoat as he greets his host and hostess. His fair complexion stands out next to the Alpha’s dark hair and bronzed skin. His sandy hair is perfectly styled, but even from a distance, I can see the ends curling. I suspect that by midnight, the strands will be rebelling riotously, and he will no doubt be searching for some she-wolf to run her fingers through them in order to tame them. I once considered performing the service myself when we took a turn about a park. Thank goodness I wasn't that foolish. It would have hurt all the more when he began to give his attention to Miss Anne. He is now standing in a corner, coming into view from time to time as if I were riding on a carousel, rather than swirling over a dance floor in Lightfoot's arms. Even when I can't see him, I can sense Chester's gaze lighting upon me as gently as a lover's caress. I once thought that he might ask for my hand. But he moved on, and so did I. Lightfoot is just as fair, but his hair will not be misbehaving by the end of the evening. I rather wish it would. I long for an excuse to run my fingers through it, although I suspect he might be rather appalled to know the direction of my thoughts. He doesn't have as easy a grin as Chester, but his seriousness is endearing. I only wish he would reclaim the passion that resulted in a near scandal. "You have drifted away again," Lightfoot says quietly. "I'm sorry. I was just noticing how the snow is growing thicker beyond the windows." A small lie, but I rather doubt he would welcome knowing that Chester is occupying my thoughts. "Yes, we are in for quite a storm tonight, I think. I hope we shall all be able to travel home when the time comes." He says. I smile at him. "I'm sure we will." "You are such an optimist. It's one of the things I love about you." He says. Touched by his comment, I squeeze his shoulder. "We shall be happy together, won't we?" "Immeasurably." He says. The music drifts into silence. He lifts my gloved hand to his lips. "As your card is filled and you are gracing other Alphas with your presence for a while, I'm going to the gaming room for a bit. Just remember the last dance is mine." "I would never give it to anyone else." I say. Watching him walk away, I can't help but think that I am a most fortunate she-wolf indeed. Then I look over and see my next dance partner approaching. Alpha Foxford smiles. He is a handsome enough fellow, recently returned from a trip to the far South. Bowing slightly, he takes my hand. "My dance, I believe." "Quite. I have been looking forward to it." I tell him. "Not as much as I have. The last Miss with whom I danced is not yet spoken for, and she was quite adept at listing her wifely qualities as though she were delivering a shopping list." He sighs. I am familiar enough with Miss Beatrix's habits to know that Foxford is speaking of her. Bless Miss Beatrix, but she seems to think that if she doesn't point out her good qualities, no gentleman will discover them. She has such little faith in the observational powers of the males of the species. "Did you know that she is so talented with her sewing that she can weave twenty stitches into an inch of cloth?" Alpha Foxford asks. "I am sure it is quite an impressive feat, but as I have never taken the time to measure and count stitches..." "My Alpha?" Foxford spins around. Alpha Chester stands there, extending a small slip of paper toward him, and my heart beats out an unsteady tattoo. I had vainly hoped that with so many guests in attendance, I might avoid encountering him entirely. It's not that I am cowardly, but I react in the strangest fashion when he is near, as though I am on the cusp of swooning. He smells of bergamot, a scent I can no longer inhale without thinking of him. Thank goodness Lightfoot smells of cloves. Harsh, not particularly appealing, but it doesn't matter. Nothing about him reminds me of Chester, which makes him perfect in every way. "I'm sorry to interrupt you," Chester murmurs as music once again begins to fill the ballroom, "but a Miss asked me to deliver this to you as discreetly as possible. She said it was quite urgent." I can't help but think that Chester doesn't comprehend the term ‘discreet.’ He should have secreted Foxford away or waited until the dance was over. I would have preferred the latter. Foxford furrows his brow. "Which Miss?" "She asked me not to say. I think she desires to remain a bit mysterious, but I was given reason to believe you were... well acquainted." Chester says. Foxford opens the note, then smiles slowly. "Yes, I see." He turns to me. "I fear I must attend to this matter." "Of course. I hope all is well." I say. "Couldn't be better." He tells me. And with that, he is gone. Staring after him, I am certain he will be rendezvousing with the woman, whoever she is. "I would be honored to stand in his stead," Alpha Chester says. Then, as though I have acquiesced, he is leading me onto the dance floor. "I fear I'm no longer in the mood to dance. I thought to get some refreshment. Alone." I huff. He smiles softly. "Surely, you would not pass up your favorite tune." "Greensleeves." He remembers. The first dance we ever shared was to this song. I gaze up at his sharp, precise, patrician features and decide that he will age well, for there is nothing about him that will sag with time. He is one of those fortunate gentlemen upon whom the goddess has smiled kindly. I am smiling upon him as well, giddy at his nearness, excited by his attentions. I think I might have fallen a little bit in love with him during that first encounter. "Chester." "One dance, Merry." He says almost pleading. "Please don't call me that. It's far too personal, too informal." But I don't object when he takes me into his arms and glides me over the floor. I hate that he is such a marvelous dancer, that he exudes confidence, and that he makes me feel as though only the two of us are moving about the room. Everyone else recedes into the woodwork. Everyone else ceases to matter. Giving myself a mental shake, I refuse to succumb to his charms once again. I can be distant, pretend indifference, give the impression that he has never been more than a dance partner. "Rather fortunate timing that Foxford received a note before this particular song started," I say pointedly. Do his eyes have to hold mine as though they are examining a precious gift? "Not really. The note was from me, you see. Although he doesn't know that, as it was unsigned." He admits. I don't know whether to be angry or flattered. "You took a chance with that ploy. How did you know he would not question an unsigned note from a Miss?" "All gentlemen welcome notes from mysterious ladies suggesting a tryst in the garden." He mumbles. My eyes widen. "But it's storming out there." "As I'm well aware, but I'm not familiar enough with the residence to know where else to send him." He says. "What if he freezes to death?" I ask. He chuckles. "I don't think that is likely to happen. He strikes me as being fairly intelligent. I'm sure he will head back in once he gets too cold and the Miss doesn't show." I study him for half a moment before it dawns on me. "You purposely stole his dance." "I did. I saw all the gentlemen circling you earlier, so I knew your dance card was filled. And if it wasn't filled, I rather doubted that you would take pleasure in scribbling my name." He says. "I do not scribble." He grins. Why does he have to have such an infectious smile that begs me to join him? "I'm sure you don't. Forgive me, Merida, but I wanted a moment with you, and I didn't think you would be likely to meet me in a garden. Not after our last meeting among the roses." He mumbles. Inwardly I cringe at the reminder of when he had informed me that he would be asking Miss Anne to marry him. "I thought you should know," he had said quietly, as though I cared, as though he knew I had pinned my hopes on him. When those hopes had come unpinned among the roses, my heart had very nearly shattered. Thank goodness I am made of stern stuff. I had taken a good deal of satisfaction in the fact that my voice had not trembled when I replied, "I wish you the very best." Then I had strolled away with such aplomb that I had considered going onto the stage. What a scandal becoming an actress would cause, and the one thing my father could not abide was scandal. Yet Chester has found himself in the midst of a scandal that still has the she-wolves wagging their tongues. Raphael is seen as a heroic romantic for claiming his love on the day she was to marry another, and Chester is viewed as the unfortunate Alpha Chester. I decide I can be gracious. "I'm sorry that things did not go as you had planned for yourself and Miss Anne." "I'm not sorry at all. I'm happy for her. Do you love him?" he asks, taking me aback with his abrupt question. We're supposed to be talking about him, not me. If he wasn't holding me so firmly, I think I might have flown out of his arms. "You say that, my Alpha, as though there is but one him in my life when there are several. My father, my brothers, there are five of them, you know, my uncles, cousins..." "Lightfoot," he cuts in, obviously not at all enchanted by my little game. "It seems a rather pointless question. I favor Alpha Lightfoot immensely. I wouldn't be marrying him otherwise." I tell him. I cannot mistake the look of satisfaction that settles into his deep blue eyes, as though I have revealed something extraordinary. "Favoring is not love." "I won't discuss my heart with you." Not when you were once so close to holding it, and then set it aside with so little care. "I don't know that you will be happy with him." He says. I straighten my shoulders, angle my chin. "You are being quite presumptuous." "You require a man of passion, one who can set your heart to hammering. Is he capable of either of those things?" His eyes darken, simmer, and capture mine with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away. My mouth goes dry. Ignoring his question, I release an awkward-sounding laugh. "You think you are?" "I know I am. Within your gloves, your palms are growing damp." He tells me. Blast it! That's where all the moisture in my mouth has gone. How does he know? "Your breaths are becoming shorter. Your cheeks are flushed." He lowers his gaze, my n*****s tauten. Whatever is the matter with me? Then he lifts his eyes back to mine. "Correction. All your skin is flushed." "Because I'm dancing. It's warm in here." I huff. He smiles slowly. "It's the dead of winter. Most women are wearing shawls." "Only the wallflowers." I point out. "You would never be a wallflower. You are the most exciting woman here. Meet me later. Somewhere private so that we may talk." He says. I huff again. "What do you call this current movement of the tongue? Singing?" "It's too public. We need something more intimate." He whispers. An image flashes of him kissing me. I have often wondered at his flavor, but I will not fall for him again, I will not. "For the Goddess sake, I am betrothed." "As I'm well aware." I see a flicker of sadness and regret cross his features. "You should know, Merry, that I am here only because of you." "Your flirtation is no longer welcome, Chester. I shall be no man's second choice." I inform him. "You were always my first." His eyes hold sincerity and something else that fairly takes my breath away: an intense longing. Dear Goddess, even Lightfoot doesn't look at me like that. Chester's revelation delights, angers, and hurts at the same time. I release a bitter laugh. "Well, you had a frightfully funny way of showing it, didn't you?" I step away. "If you will excuse me, I have become quite parched." Before he can offer to fetch me a flute of champagne, I am walking away. His words are designed to soften me, but I won't allow them to breach the wall I have erected against him. I am betrothed now. Nothing he says will change that. For Chester, it is too late. My course is set. I wish that thought didn't fill me with sorrow.