The Knight; His secret author

Handing her over

“You deserve more than the cold ground," he said. “You deserve a warm bed. One heated by the fires of our passion for each other.”

She-wolf, the Alpha of my Desires, A Memoir

*Althea*

Since returning to my home shores, I have grown accustomed to the fact that my dance card will not be filled on the rare occasion when I attend a ball.

Despite my father's attempts to marry me off, Knightley's actions have deemed me a risky proposition either way. Those who believe he spoke the truth and I had changed my mind find me audacious, and who's to say I won't change my mind again? Those who think he is in fact the one who has decided the marriage is not to happen believe something to be amiss in me.

Despite my manor and yearly income, I am considered soiled goods. It's a descriptor I have never argued with because it's the truth. Arianna is proof of it. To claim I am pure and then to prove otherwise to a man who intends to ask for my hand would only serve to ensure he doesn't propose, would label me as a deceptive wench. Hence, I have learned to pick my battles.

I should have chosen the one with Knightley in the garden, should have fought with more determination to win. Instead, I lowered the flag. But that doesn't mean he still isn't in a position to lose. I will be irascible and unpleasant during our waltz. A direct contrast to how I will behave when I dance again with Chidding.

Knightley has obviously observed my time with the Alpha. Had he been jealous? Is that the reason behind this elaborate ruse to get me to the altar with another man? Does he want to put himself in a position to spend time with me, to woo me? He can't really be interested in assisting me in my quest to achieve a more secure home life for Arianna. Can he?

As for those smoldering embers of desire he had mentioned, I will see them banked. Most certainly, I'm not experiencing them. They are in my past, not my present. They are not the reason I keep turning my gaze toward the terrace doors wondering when the devil he will emerge through them so we can get our dance over with.

Then I feel his presence, at my back, and I wonder how long he has been watching me. He steps up beside me. "I didn't see you enter," I state tersely.

"I came in through a side door that led into the cardroom." He says.

"At least you are finally here. Let's get this done, shall we?" I huff.

He smiles. "The tune is a few stanzas in. We'll wait for the next one. It's a waltz as well."

"Perhaps you could walk away then." I suggest.

"It would help your cause if people thought we were on a path toward reconciliation." He simply says.

"But we're not." With a sigh, I close my eyes. "I was rid of you, Knightley. I want it to stay that way." Opening my eyes, I face him. "Do you not understand how hard it was for me?"

True remorse in his eyes, he lifts his gloved fingers to my cheek. "I do, Allie. More than you will ever know. If I had realized sooner that we could not be, I would have spared you that morning of devastating disappointment. I would have spared you the tears and the shifting of your feelings for me from love to hate. I can't undo the past, but I can ensure the next time you take a walk toward the altar, the right man will be waiting for you."

Easing my face away from his touch, I shake my head. "I don't know how you can ensure the actions of another when you couldn't even ensure your own. Maybe he will change his mind at the last minute as well."

"He won't." He says.

"How can you be so bloody sure?" I ask.

He sighs. "Because I suspect my situation wad quite unique."

I become irritated as he continues to speak in riddles. What has he learned about himself that makes our being together impossible?

The music drifts into silence, and he holds out his hand. When my gloved palm touches his, I realize I had been wrong. The embers haven’t completely died, and they give a little spark as though a soft breath has been blown upon them. But I am going to ignore them, deprive them of oxygen.

However, it is terribly hard when he glides me across the parquet floor. Besides Chidding, I had danced with a couple of other gents earlier, but no one moves as elegantly nor as smoothly as Knightley does.

“Do you like the way I knotted my tie?” he asks after a while. “Or are you trying to determine the quickest way to rid me of it?”

I jerk my head up. He smiles. “I thought that would get your eyes on mine.”

“I agreed to dance with you, not to carry on a conversation, and certainly not to flirt.” I growl.

“You’re more beautiful than you were five years ago. Maturity agrees with you.” He says softly.

He is more handsome, with deeper lines in his face, but they are not lines cut by happiness or joy. I wonder what challenges have carved them. Then I curse myself for wondering anything about him at all.

“Was it difficult traveling through the foreign lands alone?” he asks.

“I had my maid with me.” I tilt my head slightly, unable to prevent a small smile. “And I was rid of the termagant.”

He grins. “Mrs. Dorsett.”

“Indeed. Therefore, no chaperone, which gave me a great deal of freedom. But more, I could be whomever I wanted. No one knew me. It was a chance to explore various aspects of myself, some I wasn’t even aware existed.” I had discovered I possess more inner strength than I thought possible.

“How did your father react to... the gift you brought him?” He asks.

I don’t need clarification regarding the nature of the gift, nor do I like the way my heart softens toward him with the word he has applied to Arianna. She had been a gift. From the moment I realized I was with child, I had felt immeasurable happiness. A bit afraid, but never burdened. I wonder if my own mother felt the same, and was delighted at the prospect of having a child. I also wonder how she might have felt seeing history repeat itself with her own daughter.

There are times when I certainly would have welcomed the advice of someone who had a similar experience, although in some ways I am traversing uncharted ground because my mother had at least had the support of the man she loved. “He was overjoyed.”

I remember his elation and the light that sparked within his eyes. He had been ill for a while by then, and the sight of Arianna seemed to revitalize him. But only for a short time. His illness was such that nothing could prevent it from having its way with his body. “My father believed every child was to be treasured, whether born within the bounds of a marriage or out of it. He spoiled her while he could… just as he did me. I wish only that he had more time with her, with both of us. But then I don’t think we’re ever ready for someone we love to be taken from us. You lost your mother at an early age, as I recall.”

“Life is seldom fair or without challenges. I do admire how well you face them.” He says.

"I don't want your admiration. I want your absence. I already regret agreeing to this waltz," I huff.

That damned dimple appears again. "I shall strive to lessen the regret. When did Chidding first approach you?"

I suppose no harm can come from telling him. "Shortly after my father passed, Chidding came to the residence and offered his condolences. Then six weeks ago, when my official mourning period ended, he returned and brought me a book of poems. Read me some. In the garden." It was a lovely day, heralding the completion of spring, the start of summer. Flowers were in bloom. Birds were twittering in the trees. A slight breeze cooled the air and toyed with my hair, working a few strands free of their pins. Chidding had slowly, cautiously tucked them behind my ear. And then blushed.

I can't imagine Knightley’s cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. Certainly, I have never seen them do so.

"So he was counting down the days to be with you." He says.

That assessment seems rather melodramatic, and yet it gives me a great bit of satisfaction to be able to reply, "It would seem so." He fancies me, has an interest in me.

Only then do I realize I want Knightley jealous, to fully comprehend that another gentleman desires me.

"Since then?" He asks.

"We met at the Park one afternoon and strolled along the grounds." I tell him.

"You didn’t tell him you prefer riding through the park?" He asks.

Riding was something I had done with Knightley, and I hadn’t wanted to replace the memory, a memory I didn’t want to remember. Nor had I wanted the opportunity to compare the two men, because I had known my heart would find Chidding lacking. But on this matter of what was best for me and Arianna, my heart had no say. "I have discovered strolls are more conducive to carrying on a discourse. I enjoy conversations with him. He is well versed on many topics."

"A reader no doubt, then. I wonder if he’s read your book." He ponders.

My cheeks warm. I have never given thought to a particular person, especially one of my acquaintance other than Knightley, perusing the words I had written. "The subject has not come up."

Nor will it. At least not through my prompting. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve committed to paper, but I suddenly realize books create a rather intimate exchange between author and reader. How could any writer not put a portion of herself into the work? Unexpectedly I feel a sense of vulnerability. "You never told me what you thought of it."

Could I have not bit off my tongue before voicing those words? I don’t give a fig about his opinion.

"You were born to be a writer." His eyes reflect complete honesty. "You made me feel what those characters were experiencing. The fact that I had actually lived through the moments had no bearing on the sensations that swept through me. I was enthralled. You write with an honesty few have the courage to emulate. Although you did change the conclusion of our tale."

"I wanted you identifiable, not myself. And who is to say you never abandoned a she-wolf at a railway station after promising to run off with her?" I huff.

He studies me for a long moment. "I felt every c***k running through her heart as it was crushed by his betrayal. You should have put your name on the book."

"Considering the reception it has received from some, it's probably best I didn't." Especially as I don't know how Chidding might feel about it. "Besides, you once told me you were an anonymous partner in some of your investments. Where’s the harm in a bit of mystery? It might have added to the book’s popularity as people strive to determine the identity of the author... or Alpha K. If I may be honest, they seem more interested in knowing exactly who that character is than anything."

"You made him an extremely appealing fellow. Until the end, when the truth of him… as you saw it… bears out." He says.

"I don’t think the truth of him could be viewed in any other way. He showed no honor or decency when forsaking her on a cold winter's night." I had also altered the months during which the story occurred, so they didn’t match our time together exactly. "I have begun penning a sequel in which I will reveal his demise."

He grins broadly, and I remember how I once lived for those smiles. "Something horrible, I wager. Painful and slow. You will want him to have ample time to experience true and deep remorse, to recognize the error of his ways, and to know he hasn’t time to right his mistakes."

"Is that what you’re doing now? Attempting to right your mistakes?" I ask.

He grows somber. "Sometimes, we are faced with an impossible choice."

As if I don’t half know that. Chidding would be such a decision. Giving up the chance to experience another grand love in favor of ensuring my daughter would be more accepted by pack Society than me. "Do you ever regret the choice you made?"

"Only in that it hurt you. But if I were faced with the same dilemma at this moment, I couldn’t choose otherwise." He says, sadness in his eyes.

"What did you choose, Knightley?"

The music drifts into silence and our movements cease. His hand still wrapped around mine, he brings it to his lips, his gaze never leaving mine. "Good night, Allie."

"You’re leaving?" I ask.

"My work here is done."

Rather than escort me to the edge of the dance floor as I had expected, he merely turns slightly and offers my hand to another, to Chidding, who then stands beside me, watching as Knightley strides away.

"I was rather surprised to see you dancing with him," Chidding says, as the next tune begins to play, and he takes me into his arms for an unexpected turn about the room, which would no doubt have tongues that had begun wagging when I had danced with Knightley continuing to wag.

"It was simply for old times’ sake." I say.

He smiles. "Not many she-wolves would be as magnanimous as you."

"My mother once told me that holding grudges causes wrinkles. Besides, he means nothing to me any longer. Waltzing with him was rather like having a tooth extracted. Painful while it lasts, but a relief when it’s over."

He flashes a grin. "Then I need not be jealous."

I wink. "A little perhaps, but rest assured, he is in my past. And I intend for him to remain there."