London, December 1884

It appeared that there was a silver lining to Sabrina's pain and disappointment, as it provided her with the necessary impetus to pour her sentiments into the pages of her latest novel. She indulged in quietude, encountering Henry and the family only during mealtimes, where she scarcely uttered a word, though there was one tender moment when the children gifted her with sprigs of evergreen and mistletoe.

"These are for you, Your Grace," said the little girl, whom Sabrina judged to be no more than seven or eight years of age.

"Oh, how thoughtful of you," Sabrina responded with genuine delight. "My sincerest thanks," she added, curtsying with the child, bringing a smile to the girl's face.

The duke kept his distance as his wife asked him to, yet Sabrina often found herself pressing her ear against the connecting door, sensing rather than hearing the faint echoes of his footsteps as he moved about. She could not help but wonder whether he truly harboured a smidgen of remorse after what he did to her. Was he as cold within as he appeared to be without? Sabrina also couldn't let his remark about siring only daughters slip from her mind easily... Was it only a display of rebellion against his mother's wishes, like that of a wayward youth? It was difficult for her to fathom the man she had married, and likely would remain in the shadows until she learned more about him and his past... But would he ever reveal himself to her on his own accord?

Meanwhile, Henry was indeed feeling remorseful and distraught. Despite that he rarely pondered about the women in his life and past, thoughts of Lady Lucy Reed crept into his mind that day. She, too, had once been a virgin, and he had considered himself lucky to be her first, just as she had been his first. The anticipation, the tenderness, the care... How come he couldn't extend the same to his wife? Was it because he had been in love with Lucy then, or at least he had believed himself to be? Yet, wouldn't he have chosen her over his ambitions if that were truly the case?

And perhaps it was because, in those days, Henry had been an idealistic young man with a bright future ahead, believing the world was his for the taking?

Where had those years gone? he mused. One would think I garnered wits with age, but the opposite seems to be true.

He had always believed, for some reason, that Andrew would either miraculously produce an heir despite his apparent incapacity, or that Henry would expire before his brother. There should never have been a Duke Henry, nor a Duchess Sabrina, nor any of the shite he now found himself saddled with for the glory of the duchy he never anticipated inheriting.

Yet, he remained a man of a conscience despite the trying bitterness, and his better judgement reasoned with his reckless soul to give his marriage another chance before ultimately reverting to his old ways. Because, and though he didn't even anticipate this turn of events, he found his wife intriguing and worthy of exploration. A mystery he was so tempted to unravel, for whatever damned reason there existed.

She attracted Henry so much, yet he felt confused, struggling to understand himself... and how to win her favour now that he had been so terrible to her.

His attempt at appealing on her good side, a small gesture of reconciliation, took the form of a sumptuous bouquet consisting of thoughtfully arranged flowers. Those were carefully chosen for their unmistakable symbolism: white lilies to express his plea for forgiveness, purple hyacinths to convey the depth of his regret, and several red roses to underscore his respect and contrition. 

Tied with a pastel blue ribbon, the bouquet was presented to Sabrina in an elegant ivory vase, accompanied by a box of exquisite chocolates. It was nothing short of a powerful message, and Henry could scarcely remember the last time he had ordered flowers for anyone other than his mother.

Sabrina seemed to appreciate the offering at first, inhaling the floral fragrance deeply and remarking, "Good Lord, those surely smell like the garden of Eden!"

In the next minute, though, the duke witnessed his wife stripping the bouquet of its ribbon, opening the window and unceremoniously discarding the flowers and their water as if they were a grievous insult. After Sabrina put the vase on her table and adorned it with the ribbon, she turned to face her husband, noticing his furrowed brow.

She spoke up with conviction, "I appreciate the gesture and its meaning, Grantchester, I truly do, but there is nothing in this world I detest more than cut flowers. To me, they represent damage and decay, and I far prefer to admire them in their natural state."

Her reasoning was sound, and, well, it was indeed something new he had revealed about his wife that day – along with the revelation that he had married a draconic Amazon – as her attention now shifted to the box.

"I trust these are poisoned," she remarked, placing one of the chocolates into her eager mouth.

"I wouldn't make it so simple for you," Henry replied with a faint smile.

The duchess fought a smirk, but her expression softened into a sigh. "You never seem to make anything simple, do you?" she murmured.

Henry found himself momentarily at a loss for words.

"Thank you," Sabrina whispered as she brushed past him, leaving him alone in her chamber.

Certainly, it didn't seem as if he had made any progress in softening her attitude towards him, but he also understood that she might need more time to forgive him. In the meantime, he was determined to be a bit of a fly on the wall about her person and to find out what else there was to learn about her.

It also pricked him to see Sabrina's face light up when he brought her the post addressed to her. The genuine smile, the spark of anticipation in her eyes, and the haste with which she opened the first among the stack—she never looked at him with such warmth, which only made her more lovely in his eyes.

That's because you rejected her, you fool, as did your family, echoed in his mind. Hardly a reason for Sabrina to celebrate in joy, not to mention your conduct thus far.

Sabrina noticed him lingering in her chamber. "Do you intend to tarry for long?" she inquired in a sharp tone.

Henry arched his brows. "Do you wish to be alone with the letter from your American lover?"

He noticed Rodney's name, very well, she pondered. Let the rat stew for a while.

"Indeed," Sabrina replied coolly, and returned to her reading.

"What sort of a lover is content without having a taste of his woman's quim with his cock? Was he your lover for only a fleeting minute, perhaps?" Henry inquired provocatively, leaning back in a chair across his wife.

Had her glare possessed the ability to slice, his head would surely have rolled off his shoulders and landed a few feet away from the rest of his body. Firstly, to punish him for behaving as if they were good friends; secondly, to silence him as he interrupted her reading the letters sent by people whom she apparently cherished.

"A patient, kind lover does not exert himself over his lady's wishes. I must ask, Grantchester, are you this daft perpetually or only continually?"

The Amazon surely knew to pounce with precision! Her way with words made him chuckle.

"He is, at most, a business associate of yours."

"He is not!" she retorted, though quickly corrected herself. "I mean—he is my associate, but he is also a lover. Our constant proximity led us to fall for each other."

"A poet and a fabricator you are, my dear wife. You sound far too defensive for a woman trying to sell me such a preposterous tale," he replied with a lingering smirk.

Sabrina's lips curled into a smirk of her own. "Thus he spake, reading from the Encyclopedia of Women, penned by His Grace himself."

He couldn't suppress his laughter at her clever riposte, and as she watched his face light up with genuine amusement—dimples and all—for once in what seemed ages, Sabrina felt something inside her to soften. But she quickly quashed it; after all, it had been only three days after their unfortunate intimacy, and Henry certainly didn't deserve her forgiveness just yet.

Sensing a change in her demeanour, he cleared his throat and rose to his feet. "As much as I've enjoyed this rare moment of civility between us, I must return to my study. It seems Giles is intent on cramming all the ducal knowledge into me within the span of three days."

"No rest for the wicked," she murmured under her breath.

"Pardon?" Henry paused, turning back to her.

Sabrina shook her head. "Nothing. Do enjoy your time with Lord Clarke, Grantchester. I'm certain he has much of great importance to impart upon your ducal brow."

There was something prickly and venomous in her tone that made him narrow his eyes.

"What is it now, Sabrina?" he inquired sternly.

"I was merely wondering, if you are with your uncle and I am here, where is Lady Caroline? I doubt she is with your mother—her mere gaze seems capable of wilting anyone who dares to cross her path."

So, that was the matter at hand—his dear wife was likely under the impression he was spending time with Caro instead of Giles.

Henry shrugged his shoulders. "She's left to her fucking devices, whatever they may be. Why, if you wish to spend time with her, I'm certain she's not far from this manor, if in the exterior at all."

Sabrina fixed him with that bewitching gaze of her black eyes as if she desired to pry into his innards to determine whether Henry was telling the truth.

"Are you in love with her?"

The suddenness of the question made him scoff in disbelief. "Absolutely not! I'll admit, I desired the woman in the past, but never pursued intimacy until after Andrew's death. We had a brief affair, but I ended it the moment I learned I was to be betrothed to you."

"Why?" she continued, probing his intentions further.

"I was attempting to be fair and considerate of my bride. Is that not what a decent man should do?" Henry tried to turn the questioning back on her, but she deftly sidestepped his trap.

"Where was your decency that night?"

A chill crept up his spine. "It left me altogether when my desire to fuck you prevailed any sound reason. It seems I'm not a decent man after all, am I?"

She narrowed her gaze at him. "I cannot say for certain yet, as we've scarcely spent time together."

Was that a glimmer of hope he felt? Henry sighed—better not to nurture any such hopes, lest he make yet another grave mistake. He watched as her attention returned to her letters, and he moved towards the door, intending to finally take his leave.

But he hesitated, turning back to his wife. Indeed, they had spent little time together, partly due to his own foolish avoidance, and partly because he had been giving her space after hurting her.

"Would you care to join me for a stroll later?"

But perhaps she was too absorbed in the letter she was reading, and mayhap her disregard was deliberate and a response in itself. Henry made a slight nod and departed the chamber, heading towards his study.

Yet his thoughts did not entirely abandon the matter of his wife and her disposition to the extent that it vexed even the most patient man that was Giles Clarke.

"Henry?" Giles called out as he noticed his nephew's gaze wandering somewhere deep within the confines of his thoughts. "Henry!" he exclaimed with growing impatience.

"Hm?" Henry finally responded, gazing at his uncle.

Giles shook his head and took the seat across the table, the one reserved for a duke, which he had occupied before Henry joined him in the study. "I've spent more time in this chair than your brother ever did, may the Almighty grant his troubled soul peace. Can you even fathom the countless hours spent trying to make him appear the proper duke? All the anxiety and effort to conceal the truth that he had once been in Bedlam? The prayers that he wouldn't do something improper and draw unwanted attention? Fuck, Henry, I'm too old and weary to be a duke again in your stead."

Henry's brows lifted in surprise; it had been years since he'd heard his typically reserved uncle utter with such coarse language.

"I should be enjoying the autumn of my life with my Anne, tupping her while I still draw breath, not instructing yet another Clarke on what to do. And aye," Giles interrupted his nephew's attempt to interject with a raised hand, "I'm fully aware that you did not seek any of this shite as you so eloquently put it. But it has come to pass and there is no choice but to accept the situation, and that you will need a new secretary. Also, your mother has already summoned someone to instruct you and your wife in the etiquette required to navigate society."

"Already?! It's not even New Year's, for Christ's sake," Henry exclaimed.

His uncle smirked. "You think you have all the time in the world because you're in mourning, don't you? But this period will end sooner than you realise, hence it's crucial that the time is used wisely to prepare you for the role. The title carries influence, and influence is money—something we all depend on, as do you. I won't push you to take your seat in the House of Lords, as Andrew never did, but the rest is unavoidable, I'm afraid. Do not mistake me, boy; if it were possible, I'd gladly take on the ducal title instead of you."

"And I'd gladly leave you this damned title with all its obligations, but I'm afraid I have no intention of expiring anytime soon," Henry remarked with a touch of sarcasm, drawing a hearty laugh from his uncle.

When the duke prepared himself for bed later that evening, he found himself unable to resist the urge to peek inside his wife's chamber. Not a single night had passed without him observing her resting countenance.

Henry needed to be certain she was still there, still breathing.

It was foolish, preposterous even. Where would she go? Their lives had been irrevocably intertwined since their nuptials. Yet, despite the absurdity of it, he still opened the connecting door and quietly stepped into her domain.

This time, Sabrina was not asleep but reclining in bed with a book in hand. She lazily lifted her gaze from the pages as she noticed movement in her periphery.

"What is it, Grantchester?" she inquired, her tone calm.

I want to fuck you until you cry out my name, crossed Henry's conscience.

"I merely wished to see if you required anything," he replied, his voice composed; banishing his sinful thoughts to the darkest recesses of his conscience.

I require your cock, she replied inwardly. But only if you can treat me properly.

"Nothing, truly. I am quite well," Sabrina said with a faint smile, betraying nothing of her inner sins.

It seemed to her that her husband hesitated a bit as if on the verge of saying something more, even parted his lips, but then reconsidered.

"Good night, wife."

"Good night, husband."

Sabrina's words caused Henry to return his gaze to her, his ears catching the first time she'd addressed him without his title name since that unfortunate tupping. Nevertheless, he simply nodded and returned to his chamber, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

Sabrina watched him until he disappeared from view, then placed her book aside. Despite the misgivings, she had to acknowledge that she had healed... and found, somewhat unexpectedly, that she missed his manly presence, the lust he had shown her. It was mainly her inexperience, fright and deep-seated insecurities that had prevented Sabrina from easing into their union. But he had made an effort, and even going so far as to please her with his tongue without a second of hesitation. Indeed, finding some silver lining and move forward became paramount, for how else were they supposed to coexist in this marriage?!

She rose from the bed and regarded herself in the mirror. Sabrina was aware that she was no longer a young, fresh-faced chit in her twenties. At one-and-thirty, she had little time to squander on sulking and self-pity. There might already be a child growing within her womb, and by refusing her husband the intimacy he desired, she was also denying her own needs.

When the connecting door reopened, Henry was taken aback to find Sabrina standing there. His surprise deepened as she approached his bed.

"Is aught amiss?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern, to which she shook her head.

Sabrina was still a woman of little experience, still shy and hesitant to voice her desires, for she had only ever penned them her whole life. Not even the fleeting intimacy with the gentleman she paid for that purpose had emboldened her in pursuit of this man, who seemed so unlike her at first glance, yet so compelling to explore despite his flaws. During the sleepless hours of the night, she would often gaze at the canopy above her, pondering what it was about the duke that had made Caroline Clarke crave him so unashamedly... And it seemed far easier to show him her curiosity than to tell!

Thus, she found herself sitting at the edge of his bed, leaning in to press a kiss upon her husband's finely shaped lips.

Henry's initial shock and disbelief didn't last long, indeed, and before she knew it, his strong arms had drawn her to his side, much like a serpent taking its hapless prey into the burrow.

And similarly to an animal driven by instinct, he was soon prepared to feast upon his wife.

In a matter of moments, Sabrina was divested of her nightgown by his eager hands, and Henry, with a swift motion, removed his own garment, and paused to regard her in a quiet awe. The firelight from the hearth casting a warm glow upon his form, reminded her of those gilded Grecian statues with wide arms that the New York's elite so obscenely displayed in their grand homes.

"Do you see what you've done to me, Sabrina?" he asked, his voice thick with desire. "I feel as though I am losing my very reason at the sight of you."

He covered her with his imposing figure, yet this time he sought to be different, focusing solely on her pleasure; to prove to her that he had it in him to be the generous lover as she certainly required and deserved. And so Henry began by kissing her deeply, his tongue gently coaxing her to yield to his touch and playfulness. Then he paused, trailing kisses from her cheek down the curve of her neck, across her shoulder, and along the length of her arm to the tips of her fingers.

"A mere glance at your form leaves me maddened with desire," he murmured, his eyes drinking in the sight of her, her lips slightly parted in anticipation.

This time he was going deeper, and not only in the literal sense of the word. This time he wouldn't allow himself to be thoughtless, nor to overthink his touches. Henry turned his attention to her tits, sucking on one nipple, then another, enjoying the taste of her hardened skin and its fine texture. After a protracted moment, he continued downwards, kissing and licking her belly, pleasantly surprised that this time she spread her thighs wide for him.

The gates opened to welcome the warrior home.

Sabrina gasped as he kissed her clit and moaned, once Henry used the surface of his tongue rather than the tip to cover a larger area of her sensitive bud. He even dug his fingers into her thighs to hold her in place, but as soon as she closed them in an instinctive need to trap him in the worship of her clit, he rose quickly.

"Why did you cease?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of disappointment.

"Because I'm teasing you," he replied with a smirk. "I wish to see your lovely countenance as I press you overboard, straight in the arms of your climax, which you so richly deserve. Trust me, I want to treat you well, wife."

She had to swallow as she felt his fingers toy with her intimate lips and when they found the entrance to her hidden alcove, Henry slid them in without any resistance. He intended to deny her pleasure for a moment, to heighten her anticipation and lust, but he left such a delicate torture for another time.

"Ah," she gasped, eliciting his smile.

"Feels good, is it not?"

Sabrina exhaled in pleasure, but scoffed nevertheless. "I'd rather have your cock."

"Hah," Henry exclaimed in mirth. "One night with a duke and she turns into a hoyden!"

Her brows arched, though she first had to let out a soft moan before remarking, "That night wasn't anything spectacular to write home about. If that's what you provide to your lovers, I'm not surprised you're tarrying at home so much."

It was Henry who scoffed now, retracting his fingers from her pussy. "Very well, why don't you navigate my cock to your pleasure, madam? I shall rectify your poor opinion of me."

He leaned against her body, his weight supported by his arms, as Sabrina eagerly took his shaft in her hands. It was hard as a stone, yet so soft and hot... She even dared to stroke it once or twice, noticing how his breathing became shallow.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?" he teased, seeing the embers of desire still ablaze in her eyes.

She shook her head, her smile lingering, and shifted towards him a bit, letting him lower his hips so that his cock touched her slit. Sabrina then used one hand to spread her lips and the other to guide him inside her, but with a greater care, allowing him gradual insertion as her hand remained on his shaft. Henry's cock wasn't humongous, but intimidating nevertheless - if he had an inch more, he wouldn't be able to use it without being careful not to cause his women pain.

Once he was fully inside his wife, they both sighed with the satisfaction of their bodies finally falling into place, as if it was always meant to be.

"Are you feeling any pain?" Henry inquired of Sabrina.

"Not at all," sounded her content answer.

Hence, he lowered himself to his elbows and commenced to thrust slowly, locking her lips in a kiss. It felt heavenly and oh, so close to her soul as she passionately answered his efforts this time...

Sabrina allowed herself to stroke his back, feeling his muscles in motion. The last remnants of apprehension had left her with the several thrusts; despite his size, she was able to take him completely and without issues this time, resulting in her sheer contentment.

She would have laughed if it hadn't been for the pleasure she was experiencing at the moment.

Henry intended to progress into a more fervent thrusting as he raised himself up on his hands once more, when he noticed her hands moving to clutch his head at the nape of his neck, then her breath became shallow, and to his utter disbelief, she threw her hips against him, and then again, and again.

That brazen minx was fucking him, taking him down to the very abyss he wanted so ardently to avoid.

But what sent him over the edge was the most erotic exclamation ever to grace his ears, betraying her arousal and devoted commitment to their mutual pleasure,

"Ah, Henry!"

Now, he had enjoyed his share of enthusiastic lovers—women who would do wild things if only to please his male gaze and satisfy his lust. But this time, something in her cry stirred him in ways he had never experienced before, compelling him to a deed that was inevitable. And wholly regrettable given her wish.

He shamefully burst inside her womb without having the slightest chance to prevent it at all, as if his intimate experience spanning decades flew out of the window, reducing him to a green youth, utterly powerless to restrain his own urges once Sabrina had taken charge.

Sabrina's eyes widened as she felt the full force of his release, her expression twisting in dismay as she observed his shuddering form. Henry withdrew, but the damage was already done.

"I—I can explain—" he stammered.

She shook her head, her voice cold. "I told you I did not wish to conceive so soon, but clearly, I expected too much respect from you. After all, you've made it clear that you care nothing for me—your very words when we first met, do you remember? I can only wonder if you seek to make me with child to please your mommy, or if it is simply your own misguided attempt—I wager it's the former."

Henry's nostrils flared, and his expression hardened. "Now you are being unjust, Sabrina."

She scoffed, slipping out of bed and reaching for her nightgown. "You've shown me once again that I cannot trust you, nor your prowess."

With those biting words, she left his chamber, leaving Henry to seethe in anger over his apparent failure to satisfy his infernal wife.