London, January 1885

After weeks of dreary weather, the sun at last made an appearance on a cloud-filled sky which successfully lured Sabrina out of her shell made by the four walls of her chamber. She desperately longed to escape the confines of the icy castle that was Westhill and bask in some warmth provided by a celestial object if not by a mortal company.

The freshly fallen snow crunched softly beneath the soles of her winter boots as she ventured out, her thoughts preoccupied with Henry's recent proposition.

A few days following the tender moment they shared, Henry had knocked upon her door, delivering her an inconspicuous box. After opening its lid, Sabrina's initial observation discovered a collection of items—each intended to prevent the chance of conception, along with a detailed guide on their proper use.

It appeared her husband was indeed giving her liberty, a responsible liberty it seemed.

"Here you will find everything I could obtain for you at present, including the instructions on how to use each of these, ahem, devices. But do tell me in case you find yourself confused or unable to comprehend anything, and I shall be at your service."

Noticing her silence, Henry nodded and turned on his heel to take his leave, though his step was arrested by her hand placed upon his arm.

"Thank you, Henry, I appreciate your consideration and aid in this matter, I truly do."

She could ask for no more than this respectful amicability, despite a small part of her still clinging to the faint and miraculous possibility they both fall in love with each other. But alas, some things weren't meant to be, were they?

He smiled faintly in return. "It's nothing, Sabrina, just... remember that while in private we are free to indulge our vices, in the eyes of the world we must maintain the air of a chaste and virtuous couple. This means that we cannot avoid preparing for our roles as a duke and his duchess.

Even during her stroll, Sabrina had to roll her eyes and sigh at the vision of being taught the required etiquette for the balls, banquets and whatnot. Truth be told, she would rather be forgotten in some dark corner, relegated only to observing the ton, if only for the sake of garnering the inspiration for her stories.

How else was she supposed to choose her lovers? Either by word of mouth, rumours or...

...she could meet with Henry's long-term paramour, Miss Haggarty. If the woman was truly independent, she might have the knowledge and wisdom to guide Sabrina's interest in certain gentlemen that would suffice her desires responsibly, just like the man she had experienced in New York.

But then again, if Miss Haggarty was someone of ill will, she could do Sabrina more harm than prosperity. Still, she was someone more relevant in the quest of finding lovers than Caroline Clarke, who must've been rejoicing in relief to be moaning again during the apparent minute of pleasure that Henry was capable of.

At the thought of Caro, Sabrina frowned. She frequently put her ear to the connecting door in her attempt to ascertain whether Henry had resumed his affair, but there wasn't much to hear. And when she tried to catch them tupping by peeking through the keyhole, Sabrina couldn't see a damn thing. It was likely that he was visiting his lover in her bedchamber, and although Sabrina wasn't envious of them tupping, she was certainly jealous of him having the opportunity to be intimate so conveniently, while she still had no slight idea who to invite between her thick thighs.

Certainly, she could have told him to not engage in a tryst with Caro within the abode, but then Henry would surely have demanded equality in return, that Sabrina not invite her lover or lovers under the same roof. And that was something that she wasn't keen on foregoing, as it would be safer for her to admit gentlemen at her place rather than visit their house.

Or was it something else entirely that was nagging at her conscience and causing her to overthink things all the time?

Inevitably, Sabrina had to come to terms that Henry was benefiting from the arrangements he had made years ago, well, except Caro, but if she could see them just once... one time to comprehend what it was about Henry that made his sister-in-law so eager to slip under his sheets. The mere vision of her husband tupping someone else made her flush with warmth and feel the gentle heat in her pussy...

There was something peculiar about observing people fucking for Sabrina, she knew she shouldn't have, how immoral this kind of spying was, and yet she found herself peeping through the hole times and times again. Maybe it was the thrill of the act itself? Or longing to experience such?

Sabrina didn't have a specific point of interest in mind to visit during her stroll, rather, she was walking absentmindedly when she noticed a movement in her peripheral vision. It was only then that she realised the distance she was walking was quite far from Westhill, and if there was any imminent danger, no one would hear her screams.

She also hadn't told anyone about leaving the manor either, for which she reprimanded herself inwardly.

Her eyes were now fixed on the unknown - it seemed that something sizeable was approaching from behind the thick shrubbery and queue of trees, causing the dread to grip her heart.

Was it another human? Or an animal?

Nerves taut, she observed as a rider on horseback suddenly appeared from behind the path that curved into the undergrowth previously obscuring his figure, and at the sight of her standing in the middle of the path slowed the horse to a casual gallop.

Sabrina could now discern that it was a gentleman, dressed in his riding habit and a greatcoat, his ears protected from the cold breeze by muffs, who, as he approached her, dismounted from his horse and curtsied.

"Good morning, madam."

He was scarcely taller than her, and seemed much younger than his face would initially suggest, probably because of the thick moustache under his pointed nose. His hair was a shade between dark blonde and light brown, and he possessed lovely, striking blue eyes, much lighter than Henry's.

"Good morning, sir. I believe we have not yet been properly introduced."

His eyes flickered with mischief, and a knowing smirk appeared on his countenance. "I seldom make the acquaintance of uninvited guests, no matter how lovely they may be." Seeing her gaze narrow, he added, "Indeed, you're currently trespassing upon my land, madam. I'm tempted to turn you over to the constabulary for this grave transgression."

Sabrina chuckled. "I must caution you, sir, that I am not easily seized."

"I quite believe you," he replied with a swift nod, but something in his voice made her swallow, for it suggested a hunter's keen interest in his prey.

"Well, thank you for the discourse—"

"Pray, why do you not join me for tea?" he inquired, effectively halting the thread of her speech. "You must have walked a considerable distance in this blessed weather. A warm beverage would refresh you, and keep the illnesses at bay."

The gentleman then circled around her as if she were some sort of prized possession, while Sabrina kept him in her peripheral vision. His piqued curiosity was obvious, and for some reason it made her heart beat faster as nervousness crept upon her soul.

"Thank you again for the invitation, sir, but my family would surely object," she said, even turning on her heel with the intention of returning to the manor, anticipating the man's attempt to halt her endeavour.

Instead, he scoffed in disbelief. "Your family? The Clarkes only care about themselves, and you're no Clarke."

His cutting words did halt her in her tracks, causing her to regard the gentleman once more with a furrowed brow. Sabrina's initial reaction was to object, but she indeed didn't feel appreciated nor a part of the family. There was Clarke on her marriage licence, but in her core, she remained Sabrina Hartley and occasionally Bryant Alsher.

"I daresay it must have taken you no less than half an hour to reach my estate, and not a soul to accompany you," he remarked. "I imagine, were you to remain absent for another hour, none would think to come searching for you."

Again, the spoken truth resonated within her.

"So, tea?" he inquired, stepping closer and extending his arm towards her. "Do not trouble yourself—I should never dare incur the wrath of the duke by so much as allowing a crease in his duchess' gown. I am well aware of my bounds."

It was a dangerous undertaking to trust a stranger, but the desperate need for a friend mayhap warranted Sabrina accepting his arm and slowly returning to his horse. He took the horse by the reins and together they proceeded towards the tea that was likely to be served in the gentleman's home.

"What betrayed my origin?" she inquired, seeing his smile.

"Your accent, my dear."

She scoffed. "Ah, but of course. I presume that was a foolish question."

"Not at all," he shook his head. "Believe me, there are far worse questions you could ask me."

"For instance—who are you?" Sabrina asked in a tone laced with teasing.

It made the gentleman chuckle with sincerity. "Forgive me my coarse manners. Lord Arthur Jamieson."

"Lady Sabrina Clarke."

"Lady Grantchester," Arthur corrected her gently, and she smiled, albeit a little crookedly.

It felt so strange to introduce herself as a member of the House of Clarke, or by her title, as if the past months had been a dream and she was only now awakening from the sleeping spell that had been cast over the halls of the manor.

After they shook hands, the couple set off again, and Sabrina managed to engage Jamieson in conversation, learning that the man wrote poetry as a pastime. This titbit made him much more appealing in her eyes, although she did not yet see him in the light of her potential lover. He was younger than her, having celebrated his seven-and-twentieth birthday in December. Much like his peers, Arthur avoided the marital hoop with fervour, citing his love of freedom as the main reason.

"I take it your stance in the matter of marriage is traditional, given your status," he regarded her with a smirk once they sat in a sumptuous drawing room of his residence.

"I-I am not sure," Sabrina stammered, suddenly bereft of words.

Indeed, after everything that had transpired thus far, it seemed much more difficult to ponder the matters of her marriage, and even the nature of marriage itself, as her story took a very different turn than her visions.

Jamieson nodded and parted his lips to make a comment, but the servant interrupted them with their tea. As Sabrina took a hearty sip, feeling the warmth spread through her body, she heard him clear his throat before asking,

"How can you be unsure, Lady Grantchester? You married the man."

I married the man to keep my money, she replied inwardly. "Indeed I did. But I'd argue my views on marriage are traditional."

Her reply made him arch his brows. "Let us hear those views, then."

"I believe that people should marry out of love, Lord Jamieson, but if love is not the main reason for marriage, then they should be allowed to fulfil their desires with someone else rather than living in mutual contempt," she explained.

Arthur remained silent for a moment before inquiring further, "And which side is represented by your marriage—love or convenience?"

Getting to know this gentleman was refreshing for her, but as soon as they crossed the threshold of his home, a certain tension could be felt, at least on Sabrina's part. It was this tension that seemed to thicken as she found herself so outspoken in the company of a literal stranger, and as they sat side by side, mere inches apart, her anticipation only arose.

"I'm free to explore my wants and desires with other men... at my convenience."

Sabrina observed his hand slowly rise as it cupped her cheek gently. "This is... difficult to believe. You're so tender, eloquent and clever, not to mention your striking natural beauty. The duke must be insane or in love with someone else, to have willingly let you slip from his grasp."

"He... well, we tried to give our union a chance," she began, closing her eyes as he pressed his lips to her other cheek. "But we found out rather early on that we weren't meant for each other."

Sabrina's own words surprised her with how easily she let them roll off her tongue, and also saddened her, for she wished, oh how she wished, that the reality was much, much different... But, ever the pragmatic woman, she was also aware that some wishes had no place in the stark reality of common days.

Arthur followed the outline of her face with his lips, venturing down her neck to her collar. "I wish the fashion wasn't so prudish these days," he remarked, but didn't allow Sabrina to react as he assailed her lips with vigour.

She didn't mind at all, it certainly felt perfect to be desired, wanted... and now also pressed to recline on the settee. Despite the layers and layers of fabric on her, Jamieson was quick to reach underneath it all and commence the removal of her briefs in his quest to reach the flower of her womanhood.

But then he noticed her countenance as the fabric reached her knees and ceased.

"Is all well, Sabrina?" he inquired with concern.

She was pallid and the dread was clearly emanating from every fibre of her being.

"I don't think I can proceed with whatever it is you have in mind for me. Apologies."

And as swiftly as Arthur had got her briefs half off, he pulled them up just as quickly, corrected her skirts and embraced her in a hug.

"You have nothing to apologise for! I may be a lover, but I'm certainly not an assailant."

Sabrina sighed. "I see you for the first time today, I barely know you—"

"Most of the folks do not require more than that, you know," Jamieson interjected.

She caught the use of the word folks in his remark, but before Sabrina could inquire, he handed her the cup of unfinished tea, and said, "I shall recite you some of my latest verses if you wish."

Sabrina nodded, and Arthur began to recite as he softly caressed her arm,

"It is in your eyes

The ruthlessness of gods

Through your wicked lips

I hear words no more.

It is in your heart

The knowledge of the olds

Through the touch of skin

I sense your form no more.

It lies in our faults

The shyness of wrens

Though bereft of wings

We see us no more."

Then he fell silent as his gaze regarded something in the far distance, mayhap farther than his home and yet closer than his heart.

"Are you mourning the loss of a loved one?" Sabrina inquired softly.

Her question made him clear his throat and blink his eyes a few times before locking gazes with her again. "I am, though my loss is figurative. I-I'm uncertain why I chose those verses, truly, it was likely because they have been on my mind for a while. But I promise, my poetry is usually more... cheerful." Arthur then sighed and added, "I implore you not to tell anyone. The reputation of a careless hedonist is something I wish to maintain."

"Why?" Sabrina asked, taking his hand in hers as a sign of support.

It seemed he appreciated the gesture as he pressed her hand firmly and smirked. He seemed to appreciate the gesture as he pressed her hand tightly and smiled. "I do not wish to arm my enemies with my vulnerability, with the fact that the esteemed Lord Jamieson turns into a sensitive woman at certain hours of the day."

"Do you harbor many enemies then?"

"No, but I could have."

"You do not expect me to become your enemy?" she teased.

"On the contrary, I was convinced I had stumbled upon a friend the moment I caught you trespassing upon my property," he returned, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek.

But he didn't remain chaste for long, mainly because of Sabrina - she was quite moved by Arthur's openness and it was she who locked lips with him this time.

Soon she was helping the gentleman to get into her briefs again, although he only reached into her loins with his hand. Sabrina gasped as she felt the touch of his fingers tracing her hidden lips.

"Shhh, my dear," he cooed directly into her ear. "Isn't it so convenient that this piece of undergarment has an opening? A hole so small that I can please you in the most chaste manner."

Arthur's touch was hot yet gentle as he approached her wetness and spread it over the sensitive spot where he was trying to locate her clit. It was her sharp inhale and soft moan that confirmed the success of his efforts.

"Is it there, Sabrina?" Jamieson inquired softly, his breath still warm on her face as he applied more pressure to her delicate bud. "Did I find it?"

"Y-yes," she replied, sighing.

He was meticulous and methodical, but after sensing a quickening of her breathing, he moved his fingers into her pussy to the sound of Sabrina's loud gasp. She gripped Arthur's hair at the nape of his neck and the settee with her other hand, but inevitably the climax soon engulfed every fibre of her being.

A smug grin appeared on Jamieson's face as he felt her womanhood tighten around his fingers. "Done so soon? My, my, it seems your husband is severely neglecting your needs, Lady Grantchester. What can your little pussy do?"

He pressed his lips to hers and in a moment began his little trick on her delicate sheath and mind again.

Meanwhile, back at Westhill, Henry closed his book, which he had filled with various information and ducal tasks for the coming weeks. Then he pressed the bridge of his nose and sighed - the man at his core could definitely use some entertainment. Regardless of what Sabrina thought about their arrangement and him telling her the truth, Henry hadn't been intimate with a woman sans the moment at Moira's house.

But he didn't want to be celibate again either.

Especially not on his birthday.

His mother and uncle congratulated him, though without giving him any presents - not that Henry cared in the least - but it felt so odd, so strange, that he was alive while Andrew was not. Henry also warned Giles that he didn't wish his cousins or their spouses to express their wishes to him at all.

So when the door opened, he was certain that one or more of his cousins were too daft to heed his desire to be left alone, but it turned out to be his sister-in-law instead.

"Hullo, Henry," she said, as if they hadn't seen each other at the morning repast.

"What is it you want, Caro?" he inquired, though not in a hostile tone, more in a tired one. "I presume you're not here to wish me well on my birthday."

Her brows raised. "It is your birthday? Well, I'm not going to pretend that I care, Henry. I just wondered how you fare, since you seem so... civil with your wife."

Henry smirked - if anything, he could count on Caro trying to decipher his relationship with his duchess and where she stood in the grand scheme of things and tuppings. "Why do you care whether I'm on good terms with my wife or not?"

She scoffed. "If you expect me to beg—"

"Why, you can beg so nicely," he interjected, tapping the polished desk. "Do come over here and attempt once more. Something tells me I shall be more inclined to grant you your desire today."

Caro smiled, but narrowed her eyes as if she weren't certain whether she heard him correctly, hence he stood up, approached her closely and seized her in his embrace. His kiss was pressing and hungry, clearly confirming his intention. Henry could only rue that the gowns in this era were so restrictive, so difficult for a man to undress his lady, but Caro aided him with most of the buttons and cords; soon she was heaving her bosom as her hard nipples were nibbled and ruthlessly suckled by her reinstated lover.

Then, as if she weighed a feather, Henry let his paramour hop into his arms, locking his hips between her legs as he carried her to his desk. He was precise and determined, holding the reins of his pleasure as he thrust deep into Caro's equally hungry and aroused pussy. She supported herself with her hands placed on the desk as Henry held her legs up in the air, rejoicing in her loud cries. There was everything bestial about their sex, two people fucking out of mere convenience and their own grievances they were unwilling to share with anyone.

There was no grace, no affection, no tenderness; it was the rough and wild union he was used to giving and receiving. And it produced great results, so what was there to change?

It didn't take long for Caro to cry out at the peak of her pleasure, although Henry didn't stay in her womb long to savour her tightness, but finished by spurting on her exposed leg, even though he noticed the thin ribbon hanging from her pussy.

Breathing shallowly, he observed Caro's flushed countenance and couldn't help but smile - his lost confidence returning in waves. He was still capable of pleasing a woman, and keeping himself on a leash; Henry almost regretted that his fucking duchess couldn't be in the same room with them, watching how good he was. Surely she was going to miss out on being fucked to the last inch of her life by not being intimate with him any more!

He frowned at the thought - it seemed his infernal wife, the expensive chain with which he bound himself, was with him day and night, her presence near or far, physically or in the confines of his mind.

It might have been at the same time that Sabrina laid her hand on the one that gave her so much pleasure and said, "Enough."

There was also a smile from ear to ear on her face, exuding sheer contentment that she was desired and considered worthy of proper attention; almost wishing that her good-for-nothing husband could observe and learn a trick or two from this much younger gentleman than himself. The vision of Henry seeing her being fucked by another man made her privates stir with a new surge of arousal and warmth to her cheeks.

Strange, how her thoughts belonged to the duke almost immediately after she had been so deeply satiated...

Arthur kissed the hand that halted his pleasuring endeavour. "More tea?" he inquired, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

She chuckled heartily. "Shouldn't I repay the favor now?" Sabrina asked, her gaze wandering to his groin as he stood. The bulge was quite prominent, but Jamieson shook his head.

"No need, my dear. You shall repay me with another visit, that's what you shall do," he replied, winking at her conspiratorially.

When Sabrina and Henry met in an hour for a midday repast, it only took but one knowing glance to discern that they both had experienced a rather welcome relief. It was evident from Sabrina's flushed countenance and haze in her eyes, as well as in Henry's smug grin and content stride. They smiled at each other akin to actors in a grotesque, too - it seemed that the arrangement was ultimately beneficial to both individuals.

Butfor how long?