London, December 1884

Sabrina left Henry's bedchamber just before the door to her room opened and an unexpected visitor entered her newly acquired domain. As she let go of the handle and turned, her gaze met that of Caroline Clarke. The widow's eyes still bore the animosity Sabrina had noticed during their introduction, but she resolved not to make judgements based on her initial feelings, instead letting time reveal the truth about her character.

The women regarded each other from head to toe, Caro being the first to speak.

"How audacious, inspecting His Grace's room before you have even stood at the altar."

"I presume it was in the same vein as your audacious entrance without so much as knocking on my door," Sabrina retorted, a condescending smile appearing on her countenance.

"I did knock!" Caro defended, her tone indignant.

Sabrina smirked as she had found herself in a similar situation many times in the past. "And I did not respond, did I? Yet here you are."

Caroline frowned. "I've come to ask you to reconsider marrying His Grace. I take you as a clever woman, and I am certain you observed how cold your introductions to the family were. You are not welcome in this manor, Miss Hartley, and you will not be welcome here even as the next duchess. His Grace is marrying you against his will, so as not to end up a pauper due to that blasted stipulation, but do not entertain the thought that he is thrilled about this prospect."

Sabrina's gaze narrowed as she regarded Caro from head to toe once more, and then her smile widened. "You must feel greatly threatened by my presence, mustn't you, my dear Lady Clarke? I have not even seen the man yet, but I am certain I am now looking at his paramour, perhaps one of many he possesses. And you, in particular, must be scared witless to keep yourself in his favour. Otherwise, you would be more clever and extend your friendship to me, however fictive that would be."

She then approached Caro even more closely and whispered into her ear, "If you wish to engage in games, you would do well to reconsider your strategies with greater care. Remember, my dear, sugar is far more effective than the whip. Otherwise, you appear as nothing more than a foolish, jealous wench, whom I shall not hesitate to crush beneath the sole of my boot."

Sabrina observed with amusement how swiftly Caro took her leave, her countenance soured. The woman must have felt utterly transparent, and rightly so. Unlike Caro, who was no Giles Clarke, Sabrina had spent decades observing people and listening to their stories. She understood exactly from which direction the wind blew in Caro's case. Learning that her intended was intimate with his sister-in-law did not ruffle her feathers in the least.

He was forty-one years old, for goodness' sake—a mature man with a personal history and established liaisons to keep him company. It was she who was the intruder in his life, the disruption of his settled ways.

But should he desire to continue such liaisons after their wedding, Sabrina knew she would find herself a lover as well, with or without His Grace's blessing.

But where's the love in such conduct? her reason objected, only to be swiftly silenced.

Sabrina then noticed a movement in her peripheral vision, causing her to start.

"Apologies, Miss Hartley," said the servant who had interrupted her thoughts. "It was not my intention to startle you. Your presence is expected in the drawing room. May I ask you to follow me?"

She nodded and followed the servant, a giant wave of nervousness and anticipation filling her soul, every nook and cranny. As the door to the drawing room opened before her, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly...

...only to open them and see that no one awaited her.

"His Grace shall join you shortly, Miss Hartley. Please make yourself comfortable in the meantime," said the servant, gesturing towards the settee in front of a generously laden table with tea and confectionery.

"Thank you," Sabrina replied, watching as the servant took his leave, closing the door with a soft thud.

She sighed, throwing her hands up and around to ease the tension overcoming her senses. It did not sit well with her that her intended husband seemed to be indefinitely postponing their meeting.

Is he avoiding me on purpose? she wondered as she approached the table. She had no appetite for the tea or the confections laid out before her. Though Sabrina was mature enough not to expect her story to unfold like those in her romance novels, saying that the entire welcoming procession to her new home was underwhelming at best was an understatement.

Meanwhile, the reluctant duke and forced groom-to-be regarded his uncle with a disdainful gaze, submerged to his chin in a tub filled with cold water.

"I hope I get an embolism and die. Then you become the duke, and the Hartley hag can be returned to whichever bog she came from," Henry said through his rattling teeth.

"An embolism? From cold water? Are you certain you didn't mean pneumonia?" asked Giles, arching his brows. He then motioned to the valet to help the duke out of the tub and dry him off.

Henry scoffed. "It doesn't matter as long as it guarantees my journey six feet under."

"Cease being so melodramatic, Henry," Giles chided. "No man perished because an unfavourable situation forced him into marriage."

"I could be the very pioneer," his nephew retorted, regarding himself in the mirror.

For a man of his age, Henry looked much better and in shape than most of his peers, due to spending many of his days on his feet, either walking or teaching. He knew that if he ceased being active, he would turn into his generously thick uncle, or, God forbid, his morbidly obese father. Nay, that was something he would not allow - he liked to think of himself as a handsome man, and he appreciated the attention his looks garnered from women. Whoever the Hartley hag was, she would be content with what her eyes beheld in the next few minutes. He was as certain of it as the sun rising in the east.

Once he was dressed in the finest, blackest attire he possessed, he regarded himself anew, loosening his cravat slightly. Despite the despair he had endured in the past weeks, he did not look much distraught nor fatigued. His face was sharply defined with high cheekbones, a proportional nose, and pursed lips.

Fuck, since when do I resemble my mother this much? he mused, then turned to his uncle.

"Let's get this charade over, shall we?"

Soon, he stood before the door that was to reveal his fateful bride-to-be. He took a deep breath and entered the drawing room at long last.

Sabrina's curiosity had grown with the passing of time, prompting her to approach and touch the artefacts she saw within the room to occupy her tempestuous mind. She was touching an ancient vase at the very moment Henry entered, remaining unaware of his presence despite the door making a thud upon closing.

Henry's brows furrowed, for he had expected her to be nervously watching the door, fidgeting about, immediately meeting his gaze, and perhaps gasping at the sight of him. Or it would be he who gasped at her unsightly visage. Now he observed only her back, with thick, long, and incredibly sleek hair of a milk chocolate colour cascading down her shoulders akin to a waterfall.

And for some inexplicable reason, he felt his stomach churning as if it were imploding from the nervousness that gripped his senses, causing him to frown briefly in dismay. He had encountered many women before, for fuck's sake!

Sabrina continued to trace the pattern on the vase with her fingers when she noticed that the front part was moving slightly. When she applied a bit more pressure, the tablet unlatched, and she barely managed to catch it in time before it inevitably fell to the floor.

"Oh, fuck!" she exclaimed in a lower voice, causing Henry's stomach to flutter unexpectedly!

Oh, good Lord, why am I reacting so strongly towards someone so insignificant to me! he lamented inwardly, taking a deep breath. Granted, she was to become his wife and a duchess, quite an important figure, yet he resolved not to care for her as a person, nay, never.

He took a step or two to the side to observe what she was doing, only to see Sabrina trying to return the tablet to its place to no avail as it kept slipping out.

Oh, fucker, why, why won't you stay put, confounded little thing, how do I explain to the duke that I'm so thoughtless and clumsy and–

She recoiled when she saw a figure entering her peripheral vision, dropping the stubborn item from her hands. It fell to the floor with a metallic thud, but no one in the room paid any attention to its whereabouts.

For it was at that very moment when two worlds collided, as blue-grey eyes locked with dark, almost black eyes. From this point onwards, their lives would be intertwined forever.

Sabrina parted her lips, then closed them again and gulped. Despite all her preparation and envisioning of this turning point in her life, she found herself at a loss for words.

Henry took notice of her nervousness and sneered inwardly, then glanced at the tablet lying still on the floor. He could be the gentleman and pick it up for her, yet he was also in the mood for testing his bride.

"Good manners dictate that we retrieve whatever we have dropped, do they not, Miss Hartley?"

Sabrina felt goosebumps appear all over her form from the sheer sound of his voice, and her inner tension grew under his bespectacled, intense, yet grave scrutiny. Only when she knelt to pick up the tablet and saw his smug smirk did she realise it was a test and that she had failed it utterly.

Henry, on the other hand, relished the view of her more than generous décolletage as she wore a gown specifically chosen to please his male gaze.

Good Lord above, do you see those jugs too?

At the same time, he reprimanded himself for gawking at her like a hungry eagle, ready to swoop in and claim her attributes for his own pleasure. No, he was not interested in any of her features at all, of course not!

"This vase is a rare treasure from the Ming Dynasty that once ruled the Chinese Empire. Its front tablet detaches, revealing hidden artwork inside, as you could have seen yourself. Such craftsmanship was reserved for the elite, the most wealthy nobles," he explained to Sabrina in the tone he used so often in front of his students.

"I-I like its pattern," she stammered, flushing crimson anew.

"If you're slow and careful enough, there are two little pins that hold the tablet in place. Now, try to return it to its rightful position."

She turned to the vase and placed the tablet on its front, carefully moving it toward those almost invisible little pins. Yet her hands were uncooperative, and she kept missing one pin or the other.

Henry furrowed his brow, thinking, If she is as inept in intimacy as she is with this vase, our shared nights will be minimal. Pity.

Now, now, why would he think of her in such a manner!

Good heavens, what sustenance did they feed her in America to make her so tall? And that hair, why is it unbound? Do they not understand the use of hairpins across the sea, or is this some latest fashion trend? And truly, is it just her skirts, or does she indeed possess such a considerable arse? I doubt she is presently wearing a crinoline. Hips wider than the span of the Thames she has. And as I would rest on one bosom, she could cover me with the other, which is not inherently unfavourable, but... she is not to my taste at all, though she appears much younger than her years! Perhaps there is some charm to her, though her mere gaze vexes me greatly.

Determining that he would not spend half the day observing her ineptitude, he approached the vase and placed his hands over hers to guide the tablet into position. Once it clicked and remained, he said softly, "See? It is that simple."

Yet his hands lingered, wholly sensing the softness of her skin, when he suddenly jolted as if her touch was scalding.

Sabrina became confused by his sharp movement, and it did not help that he walked away with his hand over his chin as if he had to ponder something very thoroughly.

He is undeniably handsome and far more distinguished than his peers, and he surely knows it. Now I understand why Lady Clarke behaves so foolishly over this man. He must certainly be knowledgeable in the arts of the bedchamber, though I sense only coldness and reluctance in his manner, which may well be caused by the climate here. Perhaps I would not select him out of a crowd of handsome men I have encountered to this day, but being intimate with this fellow would not feel akin to marching to the gallows, methinks. But perhaps we shall never reach that point, as his mere gaze infuriates me greatly.

They both endeavoured to find something, anything to stoke their resentment, yet both fools failed spectacularly, though neither would ever admit it, not at that juncture.

She's undoubtedly a virgin, that one, Henry mused, likely a prude who has never seen a single cock in her life. Well, though it may be awkward for both of us, I would gladly bed her. Repeatedly, that is.

His chest is so broad, Sabrina mused wistfully, I wish he would toss me on the settee and show me his prowess, pressing his weight upon me, penetrating with his cock over and over again, until I cry...

When he turned, Henry almost leapt in surprise at how closely Sabrina was trailing behind him.

"Good heavens, Miss Hartley," he exclaimed in shock, "is it not customary in America to maintain one's distance?!"

She said nothing, only furrowed her brow.

Henry sighed. "You are not a woman of many words, are you?"

Sabrina smiled wryly as she responded, "On the contrary, Your Grace, I have words for days. Yet something tells me you care little, given the cold reception from your family and the length of time it took you to behold me. Humor me, My Lord, did all your hiding and avoidance like a little boy benefit you in any way?"

Her spiciness caused him to smile wryly as well. It seemed that this tall woman, with two voids instead of eyes, the Amazon in her own right, was far more clever than he had anticipated.

"I am glad we can dispense with pretences so early," Henry began in a condescending tone, placing his hands behind his back. "We both know that were it not for the stipulation, we would not be meeting here today. So, it should not surprise you, Miss Hartley, that I indeed care very little for you, nor will I ever care for you, as our marriage will be in name only. Now, humour me, why would a woman of your wealth and wit remain a spinster for so long?"

Sabrina's countenance grew stern as she regarded him with her piercing gaze, taking in every detail from head to toe.

Quite shameless, are we, he mused, though his own gaze missed not a fibre on her.

Everything about him spoke of his aristocratic lineage and refined tastes; there was nothing amiss, no thread loose, nor a hair out of place. His posture revealed nothing but disdain towards her, and his words conveyed the same sentiment.

"Not before you humor me whether it is considered prudent in England to be rejected by one's family outright and denied a handshake before even becoming acquainted with one's spouse-to-be," she said.

His gaze narrowed. "Only after you humour me why someone like you would leave everything familiar behind and travel to an unknown place, binding your life to a man you never met? Are you aware this is a life-altering decision, Miss Hartley? That you will not be allowed to leave English soil nor divorce me, regardless of what transpires in our marriage?"

Her eyes narrowed too, as she briefly pondered, Yet another fool, a victim of patriarchal thinking.

"The money you would receive as a payoff would be my family's, therefore mine," she hissed. "And I couldn't possibly allow some dratted man to profit from me."

Henry scoffed at her words. "So you prioritised money over remaining within your safe harbour? Damn, speak of being as shallow as a summer puddle. And here I was hoping you would provide a more sophisticated answer, perhaps that you were fleeing from some predicament or someone threatening you. Such reasons would make your decision somewhat understandable in my eyes."

It seemed his words now cut deep as Sabrina's gaze shifted to the floor, and she visibly gulped. She heaved a retort, but what could she tell him? That she indeed ran away from the place where everyone knew her and also her disability? Where everyone keeps judging her for something she could do nothing about? That she, perhaps naively, harboured some hope that the duke would receive her with a smidgen more respect?

"Indeed, I am shallow," she said almost inaudibly, though her gaze remained fixed upon the floor. "I am the shallowest person in this world and I want nothing but to keep all my money to myself as I bathe in it every damned night."

It did not escape his attention that her eyes became filled with tears that threatened to spill over, but she did not give him time to react as she turned on her heel and briskly walked away and out of the drawing room.

If only you could walk out of my life in such a fashion and never return, he pondered, though he did not feel any satisfaction. Yet it served them both better to maintain a distance from each other, as it never ended well for him to truly care for anyone.

And he never loved anyone, did he?