The Knight; His secret author

Am I he?

*Knightley*

Coming to this table was a mistake, I knew it would be. It feels like an eternity since I have been this close to Althea. Not since that morning in the church when I broke her heart. I should have kept my distance, honored the vow I made not to inflict my presence upon her.

But King and Ace had gone home, taking their lovely wives with them, she-wolves with whom they were no doubt at this very moment making mad, passionate love. Joker and Lautius had decided to leave the club in search of a she-wolf’s favor elsewhere.

Alone, I began rifling through the pages of the damned book, my gaze settling on a passage here or there, each bringing forth memories involving Althea I had tenaciously tamped down.

Then, deciding to leave, heading for the door, I spotted her at the table in the far corner. Not for the first time. As a matter of fact, knowing she might be there, I had deliberately glanced in this direction, a punishment, a reminder of what I might have had if the truth of me had remained unknown. In the past, I had taken a few seconds to bask in the sight of her before carrying on. Tonight, I only wanted to be nearer.

Her blond hair is artfully pinned up with a few strands left to dangle along her neck, to tease a man into wanting to replace those soft curls with his warm lips, knowing the silkiness that would greet him. I also know the scent of gardenia would be waiting just behind her ear. On her wrists. And in the narrow valley between her breasts. Her emerald gown leaves her alabaster shoulders bared. They are no doubt dusted with some sort of powder because I can’t detect the three tiny freckles that had taunted me far too often, that I had kissed, envying the sun because it had kissed her there first.

I haven’t forgotten how beautiful she is. To do so would be like forgetting the wonder of a midnight sky, the majesty of the vast blue ocean, or the prettiness of a butterfly. Even when they weren’t within one's field of vision, it was easy to bring the images of them forth in one’s mind because at some point the sight of them had inhabited the soul.

Althea Leyland had long ago become part of me. Not carrying through on my promise to marry her had been the hardest thing I have ever done, because I had known it would ravage her, and she had not deserved the devastating blow I had been forced to deliver. I had struggled to find a way to soften the impact, but the destruction of a dream offers no easy solutions.

I imagined the severing off of a limb would have brought each of us less pain and torment. I had tried to replace her hurt with anger, hoping she would be determined to carry on with her life, to show me that I didn’t really matter at all. She would find another to bring her joy and happiness. And she had. Traveling the Continent, scandalously sampling the men of each country if gossip was to be believed.

Her father’s failing health had finally brought her home. Oddly, while I had gone to the front of the church and announced that she had come to her senses and realized I wouldn’t make a fitting husband… my reputation for enjoying the she-wolves was no secret… my esteem among the high packs had risen. I had avoided being shackled to a She-wolf of cloudy blue blood. Someone illegitimate, who would taint my own bloodlines. I had been slapped on the back, bought drinks I had not drunk, offered daughters’ hands I had not accepted. Invitations to social gatherings had increased and I had been sought after with an unbridled yet baffling diligence.

While she had been left to suffer the brunt of the embarrassment and shame.

I had thought it would fall to me, that I would be ostracized for being proven unworthy. Instead, I had been venerated.

However, I had recently heard rumors she had an admirer and might soon be taking another trip to the altar, one that wouldn't end in heartbreak, but the happily-ever-after she so deserved.

Selfish bastard that I am, I had wanted to be near her one more time. Wanted to defend the indefensible, explain the unexplainable. Hence here I am, sitting across from her while she concentrates on her cards as though they have the power to solve all the problems of the world... or perhaps to cause my demise.

“I have heard Alpha Chidding has begun calling upon you,” I say, laconically, striving to keep my true interest from inhabiting my tone.

Without taking her eyes from her cards, she sets two down in front of the dealer, who promptly issues her replacements before moving on to Miss Letitia. “I imagine you hear a good many things.”

“He’s in debt.” I say.

“So I have been told.” She mumbles.

“You’re not bothered by his circumstance?” I ask.

Slowly she lifts her gaze until it clashes with mine. “I have learned, my Alpha, there are far worse failings to be found in a man.”

Her tone has a sharp edge to it, one that is out of place coming from her tempting mouth. I do not look away, or argue the point, but take the cut as my due. Perhaps I had been wrong to steer clear of her, to deny her opportunities to put me in my place and enjoy her small victories.

“My Alpha?” the dealer prods.

Forcing myself to break the hold of her gaze, I glance over the table, noting two of the players have folded. My hand is atrocious, and I should follow suit, but I'm not yet ready to admit defeat. I cast off three cards, hoping for a miracle. Although years earlier I had learned hope was not a strategy, and it proves true this time.

Althea is the first to bet. A quid. Could she have that good of a hand? The remaining two players fold, leaving only me against her. What are the odds she is bluffing? Her implacable facade is impossible to read. That hadn't been the case when I first knew her. Everything she had felt was revealed in her sweet smile and dark brown eyes. Eyes that had been so innocent then, trusting.

Now they state succinctly that she knows fairy tales are a lie. I had done that to her. The pain that knowledge confirms nearly doubles me over.

I meet her quid and raise her two. Without hesitation, she tosses in two quid and follows it with three more. Her gaze lands on mine with an almost audible thud. Only now I can read the challenge in those icy eyes. If I don't match her amount, she won't have to show her cards; I won't know what she had been holding.

It isn’t as though I can’t afford to lose three more pounds. My coffers are flush. It's the principle of the matter. I don't want to be taken for a fool if she is bluffing. On the other hand, perhaps winning will give her a reason to smile. I'm suddenly desperate for her smile. I slide three tokens, valued at a quid each, across the baize tabletop to the center pile. “I’ll call.”

With no alteration in her expression at all, she sets down her cards, faceup. A pair of aces.

With a slow grin, I reveal my hand… an assortment of numbers and suits that fail to come together in any meaningful way. “I was hoping you were bluffing.”

“Unlike you, my Alpha, I never bluff or render a falsehood.” She begins gathering her winnings, depositing them into a black pouch. “I’ll be calling it a night now.”

She stands, and I do the same, stuffing my few remaining tokens into a pocket to be used on another night, and grab my book. After she walks past me, I follow. “I will provide you with a ride in my car.”

“I have a car waiting.” She says.

“Then join me in the library for a drink.” I suggest.

Coming to an abrupt halt, she whirls around. “Are you jealous? You hear someone might favor me, and suddenly you’re giving me attention. Do not for a single moment believe I am fool enough to trust all the flattering words you are so skilled at delivering with such utter conviction.”

“I’m not... I just... I simply want the opportunity to apologize again, to seek forgiveness.” I say.

She waves a hand dismissively. “’Tis given. Now leave me be.”

She spins on her heels.

“Am I Alpha K?”

Facing me, she narrows her eyes to that of a fine-honed blade designed to slice me to ribbons. “How the devil should I know?”

“I lied earlier. I had skimmed through the pages, until I found the garden scene everyone is on about. I once held you in a garden exactly as described.” I say.

She releases a long, drawn-out sigh. “Which would make me the author. Well, I didn’t lie. I have not read the book, so I have no inkling regarding what transpired in the garden scene. However, based upon your reputation, I suspect you held a good many she-wolves in the same manner in a good many gardens. Look to one of them. Now, good night, my Alpha.”

With that, she marches to the door and disappears through it.

But she is wrong. I have never held any other she-wolf in a garden in the same manner as described. Only her.

She hadn’t been bluffing at the table, but is she bluffing now? Could she possibly be She-Wolf? But knowing how she values her privacy, I can’t imagine her putting the personal details of her life to paper and then publishing them. No, what I have read of the book thus far and the memories of our time together that the words and descriptions conjure are simply coincidence. Introductions happen all the time. As do assignations in gardens.

Yet like the she-wolf in the book regarding her gentleman, the night we had met is one I will never forget.