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“DAMN!” I shouted, my frustration overcoming me.
A firm hand landed on my shoulder.
“Go home, Iris,” my uncle urged me. I nodded, knowing I needed to get away from the persistent scent of alpha. Perhaps my mother was correct. Alpha scents at their strongest sparked aggression in omegas, no matter how close to a heat. I had learnt one thing in my short foray into a temple of alpha dominance: there was fire and anger, there was defiance in even the supposedly gentlest of dynamics.
I was lucky not to run into Lord Paxton as I walked through the rooms that had begun to fill. Making the street I turned the wrong way, hoping that by taking the longer route I could better cool my head. My confrontation at the club had shaken me. More than once I had been on the brink of exposing myself. The danger was immediate, and if I didn’t control myself I would, I knew in my bones, risk losing my life.
* * *
The incident at the club resulted in a blistering lecture from my uncle the following morning. He claimed he would never take me to one of the London clubs again because he could not trust my temper. My temper! To imagine an alpha telling an omega they were too fierce. I did not know what to think and instead of arguing—for I knew I never wanted to go to an alpha club ever again—I turned my mind to learning how to be the most believable alpha. Everything from alpha-alpha friendships, to how to dance like an alpha, and any number of other details I might be expected to know. Most embarrassing was the need to learn how to react to an omega. How to puff out my chest and swagger. How to press up against a pitiable omega when one wanted their attention. It was both intriguing and alarming how little respect alphas seemed to have for omegas. How the propriety drilled into omegas from the moment they presented was so carelessly discarded by alphas, particularly male alphas whose arousal was considered not only acceptable but even a compliment! My uncle assured me that while these might be an alpha’s instincts, civility and social mores were considered the hallmark of the best alphas. To even suggest that an alpha would lose control around an omega was madness, tantamount to the worst insult to that alpha’s honour. Duels had been started for less. When I asked if my run-in with Lord Paxton qualified, I saw once again the amused man behind the dissatisfied facade. “Of course! Should anyone question your ability to defend an omega, remember that encounter. By the by, be glad to know that Paxton has not made a story of it. You are safe.”
Which led to one thing that stood greatly in my favour. I had been trained in both fencing and shooting so if I found myself in the wrong—or more terrifying needing to call someone out in all seriousness!—at least I had some way to protect myself. But even with this assurance, and my uncle’s promise to save me should the need arise, my stomach was full of butterflies. What if I was found out? What if the duke did not accept me as his secretary? What if he threw me out when I began to pressure him to change his politics?
More quickly than I would have liked, I found myself walking towards the Duke of Orley’s London residence. With the help of Drews, I was dressed exactly as a young alpha who had aspirations for working as a secretary was meant to dress. In a pocket I held my letter of reference; in my heart, I told myself that what I was doing was right. I was ensuring omegas could own property and manage their own interests. If I saved an omega from a marriage that could only bring her misery, so much the better. My cause was just. My path? Yes, that was unsure. Every time I thought about how I would beat the odds.
I remembered playing chess. My next step was a gambit. A chance, a risk that had me sacrificing a pawn—my omega name and nature—in the hopes of winning the game.
So my first step into Orley House was full of false confidence.
