London, December 1884

Sabrina dreamt of her past lover from New York. She remembered his gentle touch, warm breath on her neck, and the trail of kisses all the way down from her lips to her abdomen, as he reclined on his side. She immediately fitted herself to the curve of his body, and pressed her arse against his groin, smirking at the feel of his hard member. He kissed her arm, then also playfully bit her shoulder, much to Sabrina's surprise.

When she felt his firm touch upon her hip and a gentle spank on her buttock, she sensed something was amiss.

With her eyes wide open and a gasp, she tried to extricate herself from his embrace, but it was too late—the man in her waking life wrapped himself around her body like a serpent, unwilling to let go.

"Going somewhere, wife? I could swear you nestled yourself against my cock a second ago," he remarked close to her ear, causing her face to flush with a rosy hue.

"I was only acting up to my dream," she retorted, to which he ungentlemanly pushed her onto her stomach.

"Oh, what kind of a dream?" Henry inquired, his interest piqued.

"That I was with a man from my past."

He pulled her nightgown up to her hips, then straddled her as she lay on her belly and smiled upon her reply. "What did this chosen one do to you, pray tell?" But before she could utter a word, he pulled the fabric up to her armpits. "Remove it this instant—if you're spending time in my bed, you are permitted to do so nude only."

Sabrina groaned but complied, allowing him to rid her of the nightgown, which she saw flying over and falling to the floor. It was then that her heart began to beat faster, recognising there was no chance to escape... not that she wanted to.

Henry effectively pinned her to the bed, moving her hair aside to lean in and kiss the back of her neck. "I'm still awaiting your answer," he said as he continued down her spine, causing Sabrina's skin to reveal goosebumps and bloom the first tendrils of want below her waist.

"He was tender and kind. Though he was paid to provide me with pleasure, he took good care of me," Sabrina replied, yet she soon regretted the admission.

The duke stopped in motion. "You paid someone to tup you? Why on earth would you do that?!"

She remained silent as the true reason contained the secret that she was unwilling to reveal, not to him, not to any living soul in England. Her focus had shifted to the sensation that her husband was providing her with his lips and demanding hands. Yet when he resumed his kisses, casually stroking his cock between her halves, she pleaded, "Not like this, I beg you."

It wasn't his intention at all, Henry only became mesmerised by how good she felt in his hands. How many places on her body he could touch, slap, squish and kiss. Indeed, the number of women he bedded in his life could be counted on the fingers of both hands, but Sabrina was different in how generous and beautiful her body was to his keen eyes. He also kept asking himself what possessed him to demand his wife's body so ardently, but the answer was yet elusive.

"Not from behind? I did not think you would want to observe me as I enter your sweet little cunny," he said in a teasing tone, then allowed her to roll onto her back.

He got momentarily bereft of breath as his gaze fell upon her magnificent tits, dark areolas the size of saucers with those adorable little nipples that hardened as he released his grip on the tits and began to toy with them using his thumbs.

It certainly had a further effect on Sabrina, though there was also the unwelcome guest creeping into her soul - the fear. The dread that Henry would discern something displeasing and refuse her once more due to his tastes, crushing her confidence in the process.

And then there was the other dread that he was going to hurt her with his shaft. She had only seen it in a half-erect state last night, and Sabrina could only guess how much more would it gain when fully erect, though one thing was clear - there would be no virgin in the room after Henry was done with her.

"Husband, I was with a man, but we haven't done it... the whole act," she remarked nervously. 

Even to call him her husband still felt a little out of place as the fears began to eat away at her self-confidence in a ruthless way.

"You do not have to lie to me, wife," he replied, his gaze fixated on her nipple he was about to devour. "I would not judge you for what you did in the past, intimacy included."

Sabrina gulped. He did not trust her, but why should she be surprised? She did not trust him either, after being refused at every step, and those scarce moments when he revealed himself to be thoughtful could scarcely mend her attitude. But wasn't this her desire, wasn't it her misguided fantasy that she could possibly find happiness in the embrace of a stranger?

Where there is no love, there is no trust, and where there is no trust, there is only pain and disappointment, her own words from one of her novels resonated within her conscience.

Henry kissed his way down to her loins, firmly parting her thighs, and when Sabrina felt his tongue on her clitoris, she moaned softly. It felt good, very good even, but it still did not do enough to ease her mind as thoughts of her insecurities continuously assailed her conscience.

But she wanted this, didn't she? She had spent years imagining how it would be to be taken by a gentleman. It was happening one way or the other, and it was already tiring to wait for the ideal man to make her the woman she desired to become.

Her husband was trying, but it seemed to Sabrina that Henry was only following the path he had trodden with other women. It mattered little to him how she felt during the act. After all, there was no love between them, hence no trust, and she had to prepare herself for the pain and disappointment that was sure to follow.

After a few minutes, he returned to kiss her on the lips while his entire body covered hers, and while he kissed her eagerly, Sabrina felt his cock in her slit.

"You can touch me as well, you see? No need to be shy," he said hoarsely, and she complied, placing her hands on his strong arms.

Never in her life had she felt so conflicted about what was to transpire, but as if some invisible hand pressed upon her mouth, she was unable to utter a single word.

Henry teased her centre at first, moving the head of his shaft up and down, feeling her slickness and finding the opening to the place where she had never welcomed anyone before, while his wife released his arms and grasped the bed sheets in anticipation of great pain instead.

And just as Sabrina's form tensed, Henry inserted his cock into her pussy, filling every nook and cranny of her womanhood. For him, it felt glorious to be inside a woman after such a protracted period of self-imposed celibacy.

But he halted the second he heard her plaintive cry.

When Henry finally gazed at her countenance at last, seeing large tears forming and leaving her dark eyes across her temples, it felt as if someone punched him in the gut. He knew in an instant, without a second thought, that he had made a huge mess of both of them, inciting his immediate regret that he had even dared to slide under the same blanket as his wife.

A myriad of emotions assailed his reason. Desire. Insanity. Guilt. Arousal. Voracity. Regret.

He ought to have retreated, being well aware that things went to hell in a handbasket as Sabrina sniffed and regarded the ceiling of his four-poster instead of his countenance. But Henry also felt his control slipping away, hence he slowly and cautiously proceeded to withdraw his cock from her wounded pussy.

But when he moved slightly, she got startled again, clenching her inner walls with such a might that meant only one thing - Henry had lost the battle with himself for good. He couldn't prevent it nor forestall the gush of his semen to invade her quim he had so brutally deflowered.

Sabrina didn't feel the warm seed flowing inside her, but the sound of Henry panting for his dear life gave away what had just happened.

"I hope I won't become with child," she murmured, defeated.

Henry withdrew from her and sat on the bed, trying to rule over the last remnants of his wits as frustration and disgust with himself tested his character. "If you do not wish to become with child, you ought to say it out loud before we engage in intimacy. You... you could have said aught was amiss, I'd cease in an instant, Sabrina. Dear God, I would leave you alone had you said a single word to me."

"And you would have listened, as you did when I said I wasn't fully intimate with a man, certainly," she retorted, her voice betraying her great and immeasurable disappointment.

She swiftly stood up, picked her nightgown up from the floor and ran into her chamber.

"Sabrina!" he called after her.

Apologies, it was not meant to transpire like this, he added inwardly, as she disappeared behind the door with a loud thud. She left a smudge on the white linen behind, a bit of blood mixed with semen, and Henry couldn't look away from the tangible evidence of his imbecility.

How could he have been so thoughtless, letting his prejudices get the better of him in something as delicate as intimacy? It was never his intention to hurt her, and yet he hurt her immensely by not heeding her cues, mindlessly catering only to his own pleasure...

Was there any recourse possible at this point? His mind was abuzz with inquiries, but answers were an enigma, not to mention that he was feeling physically worse with every minute of realisation that dawned on him.

Henry rose from the bed and approached the mirror in his room. "You selfish bastard, you goddamn idiot," he said to his reflection.

Indeed, it was the time in Henry Clarke's life when he would rather be someone else, anyone else in the realm with much more wits than Henry Clarke possessed at that moment.

Meanwhile, Sabrina used the chamberpot to force the spunk out of her pussy, biting her hand in an attempt to subdue her weeping. She felt horrible for not halting Henry in his endeavour when she clearly wasn't prepared to take him, but she was also heartbroken by his mistrust.

Except for the fact that she had a cunt, it was clear as day that she meant nothing to him.

Her insecurities were also once again the victors in this battle; she had always been at war with herself, and would clearly continue to be for days to come.

"The girl has died, long live the woman," she uttered in the silence of her room.

Sabrina remained on the chamberpot for quite some time until the cold forced her to cleanse herself and slip under the blanket, where she continued to tremble from both cold and humiliation. When her maid entered the chamber, she asked her for privacy and that her repasts should be sent to her chamber as she felt unwell. The maid, quick to deduce the course of events from seeing the contents of the chamberpot and nightgown tossed on the floor, did not hesitate to spread the rumours among the staff.

"And her eyes! Poor thing had them red and swollen like two large radishes," the maid lamented.

The elder man-servant scoffed. "Did anyone truly expect our master to be a man of virtues? The elder one mad, the other a rapist, indeed. It's going south in this household!"

Unfortunately, as it was Christmas Eve, Sabrina's ordeal was far from concluded. Being seated in a carriage next to her husband, and Lady Regina with Lord Giles across from them on their journey towards St. George's Chapel, which was part of Windsor Castle, she felt every stone and hole they rode over, making her want to burst in a new set of tears from the pain.

Apparently, Regina noticed her subdued winces, teary gaze and silent demeanour, hence proclaiming, "I trust you have commenced the fulfilment of begetting children at long last. Hopefully, we shall bear witness to the christening of a strong boy in September."

Henry glared at his mother. "I pray it's a daughter."

I pray I'm not with child, Sabrina mused, though her husband's retort surprised her. There were scarcely any men desiring daughters, even less if the sire possessed a title.

Regina's countenance soured. "There's no use for daughters; why would you wish for one?"

"Because I have decided so. It is my greatest hope that my house shall see the birth of daughters only," her son said defiantly, further angering his mother.

"I am unwilling to argue with you on this hallowed day," Regina retorted. "Besides, it is not as if you could decide upon the babe's sex."

If Sabrina wasn't still angry at Henry—and herself too—she would have glanced at his face if only to see his expression. But knowing his wont, he likely exuded a cold, unreadable stare.

The Mass provided her with the relief and solace she needed after such an eventful day, though the return home was laced with pain once more. Once the servant had taken her warm hat and greatcoat, Sabrina swiftly walked away and ascended the staircase to her chamber without as much as a word, leaving the curious countenances of the Clarke family behind.

"What have you done to her?" Giles softly inquired of Henry, but his nephew was too ashamed to say even a word as well; he simply followed his wife's example and ventured into his own chamber.

He felt the urge to go to her room, but to what avail? What was done could not be undone, and matters always seemed to resolve themselves given the requisite time. All she needed now was peace and quietude, certainly not his presence, or...?

Henry sighed and undressed. Once he had donned his nightgown, he slipped under the blanket that had hosted Sabrina half a day ago. The trace of her scent still lingered there, making any dream elusive to him. He turned and tossed, yet despite the early morning hour, sleep eluded him as if he were an unworthy son.

Perhaps he could get her flowers or a basket from the chocolatier...

Or you could apologise, his conscience blurted.

Henry gave it a thought, then stood up and approached the connecting door. Upon entering and beholding his wife, another sting of guilt pierced his guts. She looked so innocent, so pretty... and he had trampled upon her so horrendously. Realising it was not the best time to wake her up, he slid under the blanket on the other side of the bed.

For some reason, her being so close had a calming effect on him, but Henry would wager that the opposite was true for his wife.

Then, after a long hour, Sabrina rolled over to him in her sleep, but something alarmed her to his presence, likely his scent, causing her to recoil and gasp.

"I'm not being intimate with you!" she blurted, eyes wide open though she could scarcely recognise her husband in the darkness.

"Please, Sabrina, I'm not seeking intimacy. I am here to offer my sincerest apologies," Henry replied in a composed voice. "I apologise for being an inconsiderate, thoughtless idiot, and for the pain I caused you. I should have trusted your word and not allowed the prejudices stemming from my narrow knowledge of... you, to cloud my judgement."

Her lip trembled slightly. "It took you nearly a day to muster an apology?"

"I—," he began, then sighed. What would it matter now that he intended to apologise immediately after the unfortunate incident, but his reason had been too shaken and slow to act properly? 

"Yes."

Sabrina sniffed. "Well, better late than never, I suppose. But I wish not to see you nor speak with you unless absolutely necessary, Grantchester."

Why did he feel yet another pang, this one closer to his heart?! Why did it even matter that she used his title instead of his given name or called him her husband? What the fuck was happening to him?! He wasn't supposed to care, dammit!

Bewildered, yet silent, he withdrew from Sabrina's bedside and returned to his chamber, while his wife reclined once more.

Despite the new tumult in his soul, after offering his apology, sleep finally granted him the repose he sought.