London, February 1885

Sabrina regarded the deep red canopy above her head as she rolled off her lover, who couldn't hide the satisfied grin on his face. She rode him very well this time, sensing that their intimacy was beginning to take on certain contours that would eventually lead to their mutual conclusion each time they ended up in his bed.

"You were delightful, as always, my dear," Arthur said, raising himself on his elbow to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"So I am aware," Sabrina replied smugly to match his spirits, which made him smile and lean back with his eyes closed.

She soon learned that with Jamieson, conversations ran their course rather swiftly, perhaps owing to her not yet being entrenched in society, hence most of the rumours Arthur provided fell flat against his vigorous explanations of the ton's nuances. He was, however, a considerate lover, mindful of her needs, and even recited verses from the small diary he kept. Regrettably, those were rather quite naughty, short of eloquence and meaning as the ones he had shared on the day they first met.

It may have been too soon, but Sabrina sensed their arrangement was losing its spark—the novelty and excitement waning. And perhaps it was due to their limited repertoire of intimate positions.

Yet, the quietude that often unfolded among them in between their acts was not altogether unpleasant; it allowed her time to reflect on her circumstances and on her husband, who seemed to conceal far more from her than she had initially suspected. Sabrina, being who she was, would surely not rest until she found a way to extract those bits of truth one by one, relic by relic, from that seemingly obstinate, insufferable, vulgar man...

And mayhap it was her unwillingness to resign herself to a loveless marriage?

She knew it was a fool's hope. He had said as much—love had never graced his life, and he appeared staunchly opposed to the idea.

"Troubled thoughts?" Arthur asked, noticing her silence and the contemplative expression in her gaze.

Sabrina smiled, parting her lips to respond, but froze when Jamieson suddenly recoiled and sat upright in the bed.

"What is it?" she inquired, alarmed by his sudden change in demeanour.

"The whistle—" he began, but his words were cut short as the door was flung open with swift motion.

At the threshold of the chamber stood a gentleman, who with the nimbleness of a cougar stalking its game, approached the bed with the two sinners.

He was not overly tall, yet his shoulders were broad and tapered to a slim waist. A black cane rested in his hand, but what drew Sabrina's eyes the most was his unusual attire. Atop his head sat a tall, amaranthine hat, adorned with a golden band and a robust peacock's feather at its base. His tailcoat matched the hue of his hat, its golden buttons gleaming in the daylight. However, his cravat and waistcoat were of a rich teal, creating disharmony in his appearance, while the black pants and shirt subdued the overall look, preventing their wearer from resembling a pirate's parrot, but rather presenting him as a most elegant, undeniably wealthy gentleman.

Yet, when her gaze met his—two wicked orbs of burnished gold—caused Sabrina to question whether the gentleman was real or a mere figment of her imagination. Raven hair peeked out beneath his hat, and a smirk played upon his lips, shadowed by a few days' growth. Also, there was a palpable air of contempt about the stranger.

"It seems you have found yourself quite the companion, my dear friend. So much so, it seems, that you have forgotten about the hunting party scheduled to arrive at your estate today."

Good Heavens, even his voice was akin to the finest velvet!

Arthur cursed and, as God had made him, leapt from the bed, gathering his clothes in haste and fleeing the chamber, leaving Sabrina alone with the stranger. The gentleman watched Jamieson's retreat with mild amusement before turning his gaze back to the duchess, whose heart now pounded in her chest.

He smirked, the previous contempt in his expression giving way to mischief. Raising his cane, he slid it beneath the blanket, lifting it with clear intent to expose her form. Sabrina immediately seized the blanket and recoiled, her breath quickening at his brazen audacity, causing the gentleman to chuckle in amusement.

"Not even a glimpse?" he teased. "I assure you, I'm far more generous than Lord Jamieson."

"Never," she replied, dismayed at his outrageous proposition.

He was on the verge of remarking, but the entrance of yet another person halted his endeavour.

"Ah, Damon, there you are! I was wondering why you remained while Arthur joined the ensemble," the young male voice said.

When another stranger, who seemed to be in the first half of his twenties, halted beside the one supposedly named Damon, he whistled at the sight of Sabrina.

"Goodness gracious, what a ripe and beautiful plum his lordship is growing in this little garden," he proclaimed lazily, making it obvious he was drunk as a skunk.

Before Sabrina could do anything, the young man lunged at the blanket and tore it from her grasp, revealing her nude form. She cried out and tried to cover most of herself with her hands, her vulnerability causing her to blush deeply.

"Cover her, immediately," Damon snarled at the gentleman. "The lady is no whore, St. Arcey."

The lord hesitated for a second, then did Damon's bidding. "Very well," he said, returning the blanket to its former place. "It was not my intention to frighten you, madam."

"Return to our dear friends, will you? I shall assist the lady in her escape, but God help you if you reveal her presence to anyone," Damon warned the gentleman, who curtsied, almost stumbling over his legs, and took his leave with an unsteady gait.

He then returned his gaze to Sabrina. "It's for the best that you disappear from this place at once, you're not safe here anymore. There are twelve drunken men and only four whores downstairs, I assume you do not wish to become their fifth. Shall anyone notice your lovely countenance, I'm afraid all twelve of them would make use of your precious cunt at least once."

Damon spoke in a refined voice, as though commenting upon the weather, yet she could sense the underlying threat in his words.

"Very well, I shall attire myself quickly, but do avert your gaze."

He scoffed. "I shan't avert my gaze, for I have already seen all that you possess. Besides, someone must assist you in your dressing efforts, must they not? And I assure you, every discreet servant of the Jamieson's is presently occupied with other lordly whims."

Sabrina frowned, then rose and began to gather her clothes herself, though Damon approached and aided her in attire as if he were a trusted maid. His hands remained gloved in black, yet his eyes never strayed from her form, causing her cheeks to flush with warmth throughout the entire ordeal.

Once every piece of fabric was in its proper place, he smirked and, for the first time in those long minutes, met her gaze. "Shall we?" he inquired, his tone laced with mockery.

She nodded, and to her surprise, he took her now-gloved hand in his own without a moment's hesitation, guiding her towards the door and the corridor. Fortunately, they were on the ground floor, making their escape far simpler than if they had been required to descend the staircase.

Damon peeked out, noticing young St. Arcey standing before the grand door that led into the drawing room. He nodded to his friend before entering the chamber, allowing Damon and Sabrina to proceed with their escape. Yet as the door had not fully closed behind them, Sabrina paused and glimpsed inside, halting her companion to observe what was transpiring within.

Sabrina could observe a lady being stripped nude as one of the lords caressed and kissed her back from the nape of the neck to her buttocks, which he then spread apart and began to lick her derrière. Another lord, standing in front of the lady, played with her tits, and then one of his hands ventured between her legs. She seemed to relish in their attention, biting her lower lip in pleasure.

The duchess felt a subtle tug at her hand.

"Obscene and decadent, is it not?" Damon whispered softly in her ear.

"May we stay and observe?" she asked in return, licking her lips before swallowing.

He noticed the gesture, his lips curling into a grin. "I'm afraid we cannot. Not this time."

He placed his hand gently around her back and nudged her toward the intended path. They both nearly expired on the spot when a figure appeared in the hallway.

"Ah, I thought you had already departed," said Lord Jamieson, at which Damon loosened his hold on Sabrina's waist and drew Jamieson aside, rather ungentlemanly, so she could not overhear their conversation.

"Are you an absolute dimwit, Arthur?!" Damon hissed. "You would place a woman in such peril?"

"Calm yourself," Arthur retorted. "She was never in any real danger! Besides, you and the hunting entourage were expected tomorrow, not today!"

"Is she who I believe her to be?" Damon demanded, disregarding his friend's defence.

Arthur hesitated but nodded, causing Damon to scowl.

"Have you seen her husband? He could snap you in two with a flick of his fingers!"

Arthur raised his hands in protest. "They lead separate lives."

"And you, being unattached, think this wise?" Damon growled. "Say no more," he cut off Arthur's attempted response, "I shall return and carry out this charade to its end."

"Allow me to fetch your greatcoats," Arthur offered, and soon, Damon and Sabrina stepped out into the snow-covered countryside.

Damon took her hand again, their fingers intertwining, as though fearing she might drift away if he let her walk unaided. His pace quickened, and she struggled to keep up, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Please, you are too swift," Sabrina pleaded. Damon halted, gazing at her flushed face and the rise and fall of her heaving chest.

He then glanced back at the house, deciding that they were too far from any risk of being spotted by anyone lingering near the windows. Damon was also certain that, fortunately, the men inside were thoroughly preoccupied with gazing at the women and the ongoing debauchery.

"Are you and Lord Jamieson good friends?" Sabrina inquired, breaking the oppressive and unnerving silence.

She remained wary of the stranger. Though he had rescued her from the clutches of inebriated lords who, in their state, would not have distinguished her from a common doxy, this did not exempt him from suspicion—he could very well be a scoundrel himself. Damon returned his gaze to her, smirking.

"Oh, Arthur and I are very dear friends."

It took Sabrina but a few moments to comprehend the situation into which she had unwittingly fallen. It appeared her husband had not been entirely wrong in his assumptions—a certain flamboyance exuded by both men, their easy familiarity and the admission...

"I... I apologize, I-I wasn't aware..." she stammered.

He sighed. "I see you've become his very dear friend as well. But there is no need to apologise, Lady Grantchester. Knowing Arthur as I do, you've likely been the victim of his artful manipulations. Let me venture a guess—he played the part of the lonely, sensitive soul, desperate for your attention. He pressed for intimacy, but withdrew out of feigned honour, then proceeded to engage you in the least compromising forms of lovemaking, all to win your trust. It's his usual modus operandi."

Sabrina said nothing, but her soured expression betrayed her, and Damon continued, "And I suppose he recited those touching verses, did he not? We wrote them together one night, mourning our respective losses before, well... becoming rather intimate with each other. Arthur's personal attempts at poetry are drivel—bawdy songs at best. I do regret that he used something private between us as part of his scheme to ensnare you."

"Why are you telling me all of this?!" she snapped, her voice trembling with anger.

Her face could scarcely grow redder and warmer as she found herself unable to meet her companion's gaze. Sabrina felt deceived, used, and mocked by this proud and elegant man, though there was nothing but sympathy in his tone. Then, she felt a gentle touch upon her chin—Damon's gloved hand urged her to meet his golden eyes once more.

"Do not be disheartened that you fell prey to Jamieson so easily. Many a lady, far more experienced in the art of love, has been seduced in the same manner. I tell you this only to remind you that in this realm, you can trust no one."

"Then I trust you just as much," she retorted stubbornly, provoking a sneer from him.

"You're learning quickly, my dear."

For a fleeting moment, Sabrina imagined Damon's eyes to be those of a cat—his teeth sharp and pointed—and she could have sworn there was the playful flick of a tail from side to side.

The man was a satyr; of this, she was certain—a creature of wild, untamed nature, embodying a carefree, mischievous, and hedonistic character. Known for its love of music, dance, and the pleasures of the flesh, including wine and carnal pursuits no less. Sabrina knew that the moment she lowered her guard, this man would exploit every feature of her being for his own pleasure.

She broke the spell, pulling her chin free from his grasp and resuming their intended path, momentarily forgetting that Damon still held her hand.

"Ugh, can we continue?" she asked, irritation evident in her voice. Yet the satyr offered no reply, merely using her hand as a tether to pull her back toward him.

She turned, attempting to resist, but to no avail—Damon was far stronger, and soon she found herself struggling within his firm embrace. Their eyes were now level, and Sabrina fully expected him to claim her lips despite his earlier remarks; the anticipation being fuelled by the potent sexual nature exuding from his gaze and manner.

"Do not hurt me," she whispered softly, her pulse quickening faster than that of a steed in full gallop.

A faint smile curled upon Damon's lips. "I begin to see why Arthur took you to his bed," he said, lowering one hand to trace the outline of her buttocks. "There's a wild fire in you, my dear, enough to set all of England ablaze. But I have no desire for another lover to come between myself and Jamieson, do you understand?"

He raised his hand and delivered a slap to her posterior. Though the many layers of her attire and her thick winter coat muted the impact, the threat and implication was clear. Sabrina gulped and nodded in assent. Damon then released her from his firm hold but retained her hand as they resumed walking.

"I'll take you to the edge of the estate. From there, you'll be on your own, for I must return to the hunting party without drawing suspicion about my whereabouts."

It was tempting for Sabrina to reminisce about the fleeting image she had seen in the drawing room, and she somewhat envied her companion for being able to return and bask in the debauchery. However, she couldn't possibly have known at the time of all the darker endeavours this gentleman was involved in...

"Who are you?" she asked as they continued their brisk pace.

Damon cast her a sly smile. "A friend."

Sabrina scoffed, and for the remainder of the journey, silence reigned between them.