Omega’s Gambit by Flora Quincy
Syon
She had saidshe wanted to be an omega. It made no sense, yet was so right that I could not keep any thought in my head that did not turn naturally towards the way the words had tumbled from her lips, and then to how I had kissed her for fear of hearing more. Kissed her and then voiced the feeling buried so deep I could still deny it. Yet her secret deserved an equally weighty confession. More words that might drive me down a path from which, once I stepped on, I would not be able to return. There would be no retreat if I followed down the road Hartwell seemed to want to tread. When she’d woken with a splitting headache that made her surly and incapable of doing her work, I sent her home with instructions to stay at home tomorrow as well. Grateful for the distance between us. She clearly did not remember what she’d said (what I’d said), let alone the kiss, or how I’d carried her to the duchess’ bedroom, loosened her gown, and forced myself away lest I strip her naked to see exactly the shape of her breasts and colour of her nipples.
* * *
Two nights later, my table was filled with the brightest political minds—including, I flattered myself, my secretary. Florey and his cronies puffed with pride as they introduced Hartwell to their political rivals. And, despite her obvious youth, she was welcomed with open arms. It was not often that one so young was so knowledgeable or so ready to speak her mind.
“I’ve not much of a head for wine,” Hartwell confided. Her face already flushed and her words more deliberate. I kept an eye on her for fear she’d confess her desire to be an omega. That admission was for my ears alone.
“Well, there is no harm in that amongst the omegas, but alphas must know how to hold their drink,” someone chided.
“A greenhorn can be foxed on a sip of good canary, there is no shame in that,” the Prime Minister, William Pitt the Younger, chuckled, looking far more lively than I had ever seen him. I’d placed him at the far end of the table for fear that some political arguments with my secretary would not end well for my young friend. But, despite the difference in their politics, Hartwell and Pitt were chatting amiably about rhetoric. I indicated for Florey to get in between his niece and the Prime Minister. I disliked the way they were looking at each other. As if they were sharing secrets. Her secrets belonged to me.
“Your protegé will cut us out at the next election,” James Lowther observed through his looking glass. “We must ensure Pitt secures a decent majority in the next by-election.”
“What? Must you always be bringing your people in through those boroughs you keep in your pocket?” Paxton sneered. “She will best any you pick…”
“Why my dear Paxton. I thought you and the pup were not friends?” the slippery toad’s smile had Paxton’s upper lip curling.
“Lowther, watch your tongue or that one will demonstrate her bloodthirsty side. I do not think she has plans to run anytime soon. Far too young,” Paxton smirked. “Ah, you do not believe me? She has been near to challenging half the town for even allowing one of the fair Hartwell omegas’ names to be mentioned.”
“Makes the blood heat to think of them,” a bluff beta chuckled. I managed to hold a growl back and a glance at Paxton showed the same. He bared his neck in submission. “Not like that, my lords! I meant if they were alphas, or even betas, they would set the world alight. Ain’t that so, Florey?”
The uncle to the omegas in question merely smiled. “I believe they will, but because of their dynamic—not despite it.”
Lowther snorted and made some excuse to leave our little group, but it was with some consternation that I watched him cross to where Pitt and Hartwell sat.
“Leave her, Your Grace,” Florey chuckled. “She throws her heart over the fence no matter.”
Paxton’s frown deepened as he watched the tete-a-tete that had just been interrupted by the slippery Lowther.
“Excuse me, but I will go and prevent a duel,” Paxton gave a stiff bow and broke away. He strode towards the group with a purpose I had yet to see from him. Paxton bent closer to Hartwell, whispering something into her ear that caused my secretary to blanch. At Paxton’s insistence, Hartwell trotted after him like a dutiful puppy. I found myself circling through my guests until I was close enough to the open door to catch something of their conversation.
“… Beatrice would…” Hartwell’s voice was stiff but hushed such that I missed what she had to say about her sister.
“Viola is the one I wish to speak to,” Paxton said. He sounded on edge. “Or will I have to go to Weymouth Street to meet her?”
“Viola…”
I held my breath. Was Paxton interested in Viola? And why? Beatrice seemed to fill his every thought, no matter the circumstances. “I do not think that Beatrice—“
“A word more about any one of my sisters and I shall call you out,” Hartwell snapped. “Their names should not cross your lips. If you must speak of them, Miss Hartwell shall be the only thing I shall find acceptable. Do you hear me, Lord Paxton?”
I grinned at how the scamp had sneered Paxton’s title as if it were a slur.
“Why, you brat!” Paxton snapped.
That was my cue. I pushed open the door and stared both down. Neither seemed embarrassed, but I could not hold back a soft growl when I saw how close they were. “I think this tete a tete is finished,” I told them. “Paxton, stop crowding my secretary. Hartwell, stop challenging your betters.”
Both alphas bristled at my words, but this was my house and my word was law. I might not have Paxton’s height, but I had strength on my side.
My firecracker secretary gave me a stiff nod and strode back into the bright room, the picture of offended dignity. Any other time, I might have smiled at the ruffled feathers. Perhaps even sought to ruffle them further before soothing the bruised ego. But I was in no humour for levity.
“Paxton, what are you doing? Harassing my secretary? She is a whelp not worth...”
“You’re a fool, Orley. You really have no idea what you’ve done? Gotten yourself entangled with that family. Madness. Bad enough that Beatrice is in Paris when we are at war with France. Now Viola must run mad. If you had any sense of propriety—“
“Propriety? Rich, coming from you!” I snapped. “She’s a child. Leave her be.”
“You don’t know, do you?” Paxton pulled a face of disgust. “Dammit, man. I put this firmly at Beatrice’s door. If it weren’t for her stunts last summer, Viola would be safely mated off to some sensible scholar or rising politician—perhaps one on the other side of this door. And Iris would have her nose in a book, rather than sneaking about town.”
“Leave,” I growled, a deep possessiveness of the twins reverberating through my chest. “I’ll not have you acting nursemaid to those who aren’t your responsibility. I’ll watch over my own secretary.”
“Orley, I’ll go. But let me warn you. That family. They’ve no care for anyone but their damned ideals. If you don’t fall into line, they turn vicious. Watch your back.”
“And stay away from Viola,” I snapped.
Paxton laughed. “Viola is a rebellious little brat with no one to rein in her flights of fancy. Not her alpha twin. Not her sisters or mother. My only interest is to keep her out of trouble. But if you think you can manage her,” and he tilted his head with a bitter smile. “Perhaps it would do you good to tangle with one of the Miss Hartwells. Teach you a lesson in humility.”
“Even Beatrice? Should I woo her?” I couldn’t follow his conversation but the taunt was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
Paxton stepped forward, barely keeping himself under control. “If you were... Beatrice is the thorn in my side. Not yours. Never yours. She shall never belong to—“ He growled in frustration. “Let us say I am drunk. My mind muddled… The omegas in that family are a sickness you never want to be cured of. I just hope you don’t catch it.”
* * *
“Why was Paxton so desperate to talk to you last night?” were the first words I spoke when Hartwell entered the library the following day. The evening had passed smoothly after Paxton had left, but my eyes kept tracking back to her dark head bent close to another’s, deep in conversation. That Paxton had chosen to corner my secretary puzzled and vexed my alpha. That possessiveness had kept me tossing the few hours I had tried to sleep. I was bleary-eyed and irritable. I snapped at Timms and was dissatisfied… I knew what was bothering me. My secretary.
“Some trifle—“ she waved a hand. The easy dismissal caused a growl to reverberate deep in my throat.
“Since when do you consider your sisters’ honour trifling? I overheard some of your conversation. Do not bite my head off. I was concerned. He is a rake, and dangerous. Do not snarl like that. Let me finish. If he is putting any pressure on you, on your sisters, you will tell me. I will ensure—“
“My conversation is none of your concern, Your Grace,” she said through gritted teeth. “My sisters are not your concern.”
“Paxton seems to be very interested in both—“
“Dammit, Syon. What does it matter what someone like Paxton thinks?” she shouted. “He is a rake...”
“What did you say?” I could not contain my fury. This whelp had the temerity to raise her voice at me, and in my own house? When I was showing understandable concern for her beloved sister? For Viola. But it wasn’t just that. She was refusing my help. And that I would not allow. “Did you try to alpha me in my own home?”
That stubborn jaw tensed, but she did not deny it.
“Follow me,” I growled. My alpha would be satisfied. I must dominate, exert my obvious superiority. Put this pup in her place—beneath me. The image caused my cock to give a twinge of anticipation. There was a moment before I heard her steps struggling to catch up with my longer stride. We arrived at the gallery, its long walls covered with paintings of long-dead Orleys and their mates. I had converted it to act as a place to practice fencing when I’d been a young man. The furniture was sparse and shoved against the walls. I strode down its length to where at the far end were a collection of blades I kept for my personal use. I found my breath coming out in harsh pants. Something basal had riled my temper, and it was on this girl I intended to take it out. She claimed to be so good with a rapier that she would take on any alpha, and she just a stripling.
“Choose,” I snapped as I stripped off my jacket and began to roll up my sleeves, carefully tucking away the lace cuffs.
“What are you doing?” she asked. I spun around to find her standing before me still dressed and making no move to take a sword from the many I kept.
“Prepare to cross swords. Any number of times I have heard you brag that you could take on any alpha. Come on! Test your metal against me.”
“I will not,” she replied ever so calmly, but I knew all her expressions by now that I could see the tension around her eyes telling me she was not as composed as she would wish me to believe.
“What? Do you insult me?” I stalked towards her. My behaviour went against my every principle. Yet I could not stand another moment with this child standing before me so aloof and cool while I lost control.
“Pick up a blade,” I bit out.
“You’ll regret this,” she said but removed her jacket with a grimace. She wore a suit of plain mustard velvet, which suited her. With every hair in place, with every smooth motion, I wanted to force her to break her unnatural calm and become as feral as I feared I was turning.
“You shall regret drinking too deep last night,” I snapped.
I slashed my blade through the air, satisfied with the way it cut through the still silence. But greater was my pleasure to watch as she picked up her own weapon and tested its weight. This was no coward. Not my secretary. Not my Hartwell. Mine, and no one else’s.
“Are you determined to do this?”
“On your guard, whelp.”
It was clear from the first that the young alpha was a genius with a blade. She glided and parried with ease that bordered on beautiful. But what she had in style she lacked in strength. The length of her arm put her at a severe disadvantage, which I was not afraid to press. Soon she was on the defensive, backing down the length of the gallery, her nimble feet keeping her forever just out of my reach. A good reminder of how elusive I found her at times.
“Fight! Stand and fight!” I snarled.
“This is madness!” she snapped. Her breaths were coming in shorter pants. There was something though in the air, a faint whiff of heaven, that had me press on and on. Violets and vanilla tickled my senses. It was madness, but until I could get everything that represented this entrancing and infuriating woman out of my system, I would be forever caught in a spell of the memory of Hartwell in that dress, smelling like of her omega sister. How I had wanted to rip Paxton’s arms from his body when I’d seen their little encounter last night! I could not get it out of my head that there was something private between them. Hartwell’s private moments belonged to me. She was my secretary. She was mine to order about as I chose. Mine to fight. Mine to reprimand, to forgive, to care for.
“Syon. Stop.”
My vision cleared at her shout. I saw the advantage and pressed on, relishing the way her shirt was slowly becoming drenched with sweat. She leapt forward and with a flash of her wrist she broke through my guard, and the buttoned point of her blade touched my side.
“Touch. Again,” I said. We took our positions. I started with a rush and lurched forward, returning the favour, only my mark was her heart.
“Touch,” she batted my blade away. “To what end, my lord? Why are you doing this?”
“En garde!”
“This is madness, stop!”
I growled deep in my throat and leapt forward. She had not expected my sudden movement and tumbled, landing on her back. I stood over her, primitive joy singing through my body to see her laid before me, defeated.
“I’ve stopped,” I panted and made no move to hide the triumphant grin that spread across my face. Taking in deep lungfuls of air I caught again that same scent I had become obsessed with weeks ago.
“Would you want to kill me?” she asked from where she lay on the floor, propped up on her elbows, a frown marring her pretty face. Her head fell back and for the first time, I saw the slender column of her throat bared in true submission. She then rolled to her feet and stood before me, using her sleeve to wipe away the sweat that dripped down her brow. Again, sweet violets and vanilla wafted toward me.
“Where were you this morning?”
She froze. I’d never seen a person stand so still before.
“I overslept, Your Grace,” she snapped. “My head aches from your good wine. Why must we do this now? Wooing is a long business. What is that the reason you choose to challenge me? Because I can’t win your omega for you fast enough? What demon must you exorcise this morning?”
I stopped myself from speaking. The countess? I had not thought of her, or my plan to marry her, in days. What did I want with an omega I’d never met? Had never even seen.
“You smell of omega,” I walked into her space, coming closer until she was pressed to the wall and I could lean down to the crook of her neck and inhale that intoxicating scent. “Like you did that day in the dress.”
“Viola,” she gulped. I was close enough to see the faint beat of her pulse. I ached with need as well but one I could never act upon. Shatter this precious relationship? I would not risk it. “I should go and wash... If that is alright with you…”
The image of the two of us bathing together flashed across my vision, and I took an unsteady step back.
“Yes,” I managed to get out the single word. Yes, I had said but to what? The madness of seeing her naked or the fact she wanted to get rid of her scent. “Go. Have one of the servants draw two baths, one for each of us.”
She nodded and fled the room, leaving her jacket behind. I sighed. I was no servant to be picking up after her, but it gave me some strange pleasure to bring the cloth to my nose and smell. Only there was nothing of alpha in the rich fabric. Just Viola’s heady scent—but beneath it something purely belonging to a pair of fine violet eyes that I knew as well as my own. I reached down and grabbed my cock, ran the heel of my hand down to where my knot pulsed. It seemed that it could not go down no matter what I did. Every moment an agony for someone I could not have.