London, March 1885

The duchess knew she needed her determination and a firm plan to see things through; otherwise, she would remain rooted in place without achieving a damn thing. The outline for her new book had seemed elusive yet again, hence she resolved to send at least the draft to Rodney earlier, ensuring her work met the printer's timeline.

Yet, upon opening her desk drawer, she discovered the folder was gone.

"Oh, no, no, no," she murmured anxiously, opening each drawer in quick succession before rising to survey the room.

"This cannot be—I left it in this very drawer, for fuck's sake!" she exclaimed, but nevertheless, proceeded to inspect every possible nook and cranny of her desk.

Hardly a day had passed between the time she put the folder aside and the time she returned to retrieve it. Once Sabrina ascertained that she indeed had not misplaced her draft by accident, she went in search of her maid.

"Excuse me, did you, or anyone else, tidy my chamber?" the duchess inquired, her voice strained with apprehension.

"No, Your Grace, no one enters without your knowledge," the young maid assured her.

Sabrina was beyond horrified at this point, wondering if she had gone mad for a moment and done something to her work while unconscious. What else could have happened to it but her own doing, really?!

Meanwhile, the true culprit behind the disappearance of her folder couldn't tear his eyes away from her writing. Especially the more risqué passages, for they also caused him stir beneath his waist. A mischievous smile crept across his face, fully mesmerised by the tale of a tormented hero and a rejected heroine that he neglected some of his lesser duties and allowed his mind to drift off into filthy daydreams.

The duke's hand moved almost on its own volition, grasping his cock in his hand as his imagination became rather untamed in painting his wife shackled, in bold amorous positions, and the like. Indeed, his ability to fantasise such scenes matched Sabrina's ability to put such visions on paper. After his conclusion, while cleaning himself, Henry mused between breaths, Good God! Is this truly what incites people these days—read a book and then pleasure themselves? I must be going mad!

Nevertheless, once Henry regained composure, he returned to his wife's manuscript and couldn't help but silently admire her talent for compelling plotting and penchant for crushing twists of fate. A swell of pride filled him, for she was not just another heiress idly squandering her inheritance and days without a clear purpose or goal in her life, commanding everyone with a wave of her little finger. Sabrina's need for accomplishment radiated from each page, leaving him to wonder what else was there to discover about the woman who bore his surname.

Hmm, Henry mused with an indulgent smile as he grasped his cock once more, so there seems to be no regrets about intruding into her drawer after all.

No wonder she was so disappointed by his behaviour when it came to intimacy, if her knowledge of carnal acts was extensive enough to produce a novel. And a second in a series no less, if his comprehension was correct! But it also meant that, as a virgin, Sabrina must have wished for a very different first time from the one he had delivered, perhaps the very experiences she'd so daringly described in great detail on the pages his eyes had been perusing by sheer accident of his inquisitive nature—at the recollection of those unfortunate past events, Henry felt a pang somewhere in his chest.

It seemed as if some of the poor decisions he had made would haunt him indefinitely.

All of sudden, the door to his study opened, and the proud Amazon strode inside, inquiry poised on her lips. Yet upon noticing what was in his hands—and it took her but a moment to recognise her own handwriting—she exclaimed,

"I believe that belongs to me!"

Sabrina reached out for her manuscript, but Henry was swifter, withdrawing the folder from the desk with a smirk.

"I instructed my servants to report your whereabouts, yet they did not. I suspect it was your doing that silenced their tongues," he said, rising from his chair.

His wife scoffed with amusement. "Our servants understand where their true loyalty lies."

"So, my own staff now conspire against me? I should dismiss them, the entire lot!" The duke frowned.

"And if they leave, I shall leave too!" she rejoined, her tone defiant.

Henry shook his head, taking a step back from the tigress before him. "I ought to bend you over my knee and paint your posterior red for the audacity and disrespect you've shown of late! And if you tempt me further, I'll deal the same with that lecherous skunk who dares to wedge discord between us!"

Sabrina sneered, her voice laced with scorn. "Oh, and what other demands has my noble husband to levy upon me?"

He didn't hesitate. "A clean bill of health would be a fair beginning!"

Greatly offended, she lunged at him with a cry. "Give me my manuscript, you cretin!"

"I merely borrowed it," he replied, keeping a safe distance from his wife, who was turning into a raging bull with each passing moment.

"Without my consent!" she fumed. "Return it at once!"

He deflected her grasp, slipping the folder behind him. "I promise you'll have it back once I've finished reading."

Sabrina scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I must send it to New York with all haste, or I shall forfeit my printing timeline!"

"Noted. Then I shall be swift in my reading," Henry replied with a smile and a mischievous glint in his eye, further agitating her as she tried to wrest her precious draft from his grip.

The scene grew absurd, with Sabrina's efforts resembling furious embraces, as he held the folder high beyond her reach. Finally, at one point he managed to slip it into an open cabinet, freeing his other hand. Sabrina noticed immediately, but before she could retrieve it, she was lifted by her buttocks and bore away. To steady herself, she wrapped her hands around his neck as he continued his advance, carrying her further away from the cabinet like a hapless mannequin.

Sabrina gasped when her back met the firmness of the wall, and Henry eased her to her feet with a wicked grin.

"I'd almost forgotten how well your arse fits my hands," he remarked.

"Oh, enough of this idiocy, Henry!" she exclaimed, thumping his shoulders with her clenched fists. "I daresay your paramours' arses feels precisely the same!"

His brows raised. "Is that jealousy I detect?"

Sabrina scoffed at the audacity. "They may keep you for all I care!"

"And you shall not?"

Before she could utter a scathing reply, her lips were taken by the assault of his ravenous ones, causing her stomach to churn strangely at this sudden, brazen act. Henry kissed her with unbridled passion, hunger evident in the movement of his lips, causing her mouth to open slightly only to be invaded and tasted by his tongue. The wet kiss caused her loins to feel the first sparks of flame and her clenched fists opened as Sabrina stroked his arms, then grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck.

They hadn't had sex for months, so it was a question of who would snap first under the weight of the tension that spread over their heads like an invisible veil that thickened with each quarrel, leaving the other to exercise the marital duties—or at least that's how these two dimwits excused this sudden act of intimacy.

Oh yes, Sabrina fell back on the belief that she was cornered by her hulking husband with no way to escape, just as Henry told himself he was doing what he was supposed to do and taking the person he was supposed to do it with.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly as their lips finally parted and Henry began to raise her skirts.

"Telling my wife how talented she is," he replied in a husky voice. "How I admire her writing style and her plotting ability. It's phenomenal—you are phenomenal."

Her heart! Sabrina felt it fluttering wildly at this sudden acknowledgement, even her lips trembled a little, that's how his words touched her soul.

"Sabrina, my dear, have you run out of drawers? That would be quite unexpected given our combined wealth," he teased as his finger slid into her womanhood.

She gasped and couldn't help but admire the playfulness that had resurfaced; the little dimples in his cheeks, the glasses that were lopsided after their scuffle, and the light brown hair that was tousled in all directions. Henry was so painfully handsome at the moment that she was tempted to shed a tear of glee, but his skilful finger was joined by another and began to work her into pleasurable relief.

"I... rarely wear... drawers... during leisure..." Sabrina tried to explain, but the fire, stoked to unbearable heights, left her unable to finish even a simple sentence as her words were replaced by soft moans.

Henry didn't yet know how much he needed to see his wife consumed by pleasure, to be completely captivated by him and his doing. To see her eyes clouded with lust, to feel her slick wetness and the soft clasp of her pussy around his fingers—it all made him smile with contentment.

He wouldn't make the mistake of not paying attention to her cues any longer.

Her breath quickened, and when she cried out as she reached her climax, it sounded like the sweetest melody his ears could ever hear, even his heart fluttered a little! His cock quivered as well, longing for the warmth of her silken embrace that he had long been denied.

Henry gave his wife a moment, long enough for her to come to her senses, but not long enough to question her or his next steps. He kissed her again, much gentler now, taking time to play with her lips, even biting the lower one in mischief, eliciting a soft chuckle from her.

All this to manoeuvre his other hand into releasing his sturdy prick from his pants. Before Sabrina could utter a word, he had shifted her bottom towards him, sliding effortlessly into her honeypot as she instinctively raised her hips in a welcoming gesture.

"Oh, good Lord, you're so big," she remarked, resting her weight on the wall, her eyes wide with either surprise or alarm.

Or perhaps both.

"I am, aren't I?" Henry conceded, beginning to thrust slowly, his attention focused solely on her face. "The mighty hammer to torment one very haughty witch."

She smiled at his remark and let out a moan—despite her earnest attempt, and for some inexplicable reason, Sabrina missed him, her husband, who had many layers to him. It was difficult to admit, but Henry seemed to give her something that no lover ever could... but how long before he took it away from her indefinitely?

Her eyelids dropped a little as his rhythm grew increasingly insistent, pushing them both towards sweet relief, but the quiet pleading was still there, reminding him of her wish.

Do not make me with child.

Sabrina then pulled the front of her tea gown loose enough to free her tits from their feeble confines and pointed her nipples at him, licking her lips in the throes of passion. Henry smiled at her shameless and suggestive effort—he could've expected his wife to be anything but passive, and gladly accepted one of the nipples in his mouth.

As he had to bend down slightly, his shaft slid out of her folds, causing her to feel the momentary emptiness, though it was balanced by the pleasure she was receiving elsewhere on her body. Only when he had tasted enough of her tits did he make her spread her legs further, lifting the left one as he helped himself inside her with his right hand.

Then she wriggled a little to get a better angle, letting her mind wander back to pleasure as he quickened his pace, gripping her thigh tightly for support. Her soft moans became cries and her hand gripped his neck again while the other supported her raised leg.

Sabrina was pinned to the wall, at the mercy of his cock, tongue, lips and teeth, and he finally managed to find the right tune to play on her violin.

In fact, the violin became so loud that the whole house must have known what unholy deed was being committed in the duke's study. Henry was sure that the crows must have fled from the nearest eaves in panic. And he wasn't far from the truth, for Sabrina's maid crossed herself in terror and told the majordomo,

"The poor thing is certainly being taken against her will, and she is crying out in terrible pain!"

Henry watched his wife's excitement, enjoying the flushed, misty look on her face, her gaze completely lost in him.

"Some nights are long and lonely, Sabrina," he said like a madman, still ramming into his wife vigorously. "I tend to reminisce about the night you called my name. I love the sound of my name coming out of your mouth, could you do it again? Could you cry out my name, Sabrina?"

She arched her back a little under the onslaught of pleasure, and a second before her climax took hold of her, she cried out,

"Ah, Henry!"

Oh, yes, that was nectar to his soul, combined with her pussy clenching tightly around his shaft. Henry had to catch Sabrina's form as her legs buckled, and hold her tight, feeling the wild beating of their respective hearts. This was what he wanted to give her; this was the plan that had been coursing through his mind for some time now.

He was also dangerously close to climaxing, but since he had admitted that he cared for her, he knew that controlling his lust would become easier. And he was wise enough to self-gratify himself beforehand, as well as to finger his wife before his grand entrée.

A man had to be honest with himself and become better for the sake of his marriage, though he wouldn't tell her yet. What good would it do to arm her with such intense knowledge and a recipe for breaking his heart?

As Sabrina regained her strength, she felt Henry pat her bottom and pull down her skirts before he began to fix her gown. Taking her hand in his, he led her out of the study.

"I am immensely pleased with you, my dear, but I fear I must return to my duties. Send my regards to your lovers," he said with a mischievous smile, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and swiftly departed. The last sight of him, his still-raised rod of a cock, lingered before the door shut behind him.

Sabrina gazed at the closed door for a long moment, comprehending only then the absurdity of what had just transpired. He had her reasoning utterly tupped out of her—what other explanation was there for standing in the corridor with her manuscript still in possession of that villainous cad?!

Attempting to re-enter his study, she found the door locked. "Bloody miscreant!" she exclaimed, her clenched fist meeting the door with an indignant thump.

Within, the duke smirked at her temper, setting her precious work on his desk, and soon immersing himself in his wife's work.

For days following, Sabrina was like a startled bird, flitting from place to place, all the while circling him with only one question on her lips:

"Have you finished reading it?"

At mealtimes, she inquired nervously, "Did you read my draft yet?"

In the evenings, she would shyly open the connecting door, approach him, and plead for her literary child's safe return into her arms, saying, "Please, I need my book back!"

Each time, he merely shook his head, watching her eyes darken.

"Brute! Why are you doing this?! Does it bring you pleasure to tyrannize me so?"

"My dear," he replied, a teasing smile in place, "I am your husband. It's only right I know what you send into the world."

"Oh, please, I'm not even publishing it under my own name!" Sabrina huffed in protest.

"I'm aware," he said, giving her a sly nod, "and I find your nom de plume quite marvellous."

Later, sitting in her room, she sulked over her husband's antics, dreading she would miss her timeline, disappointing her friend Rodney in the process. Just then, the door opened, and there Henry materialised, her manuscript in hand.

"Bloody well on time!" she cried, seizing the folder with a glare before she set about bundling it for the publisher.

"I loved your writing and the genius behind the story," he said, smirking at how English his wife sounded when she cursed, though he doubted she was aware of the change yet.

Sabrina gave him a scornful look and turned her back to him as she walked over to her desk in the corner of her bedroom. There she began the process of packing her book so that it would be shipped and delivered into Rodney's hands without a single blemish.

Henry studied her intently, leaning against the door frame, hands deep in his pockets, oddly unsure whether he should want to get closer to his own wife, given the revelation that they shared a passion for the written word. But why was he suddenly so shy, a feeling he hadn't experienced since he was a youth? How had it returned now, with her? He cleared his throat, finally speaking,

"You know, Sabrina," he said, almost hesitantly, "I too have dabbled with the pen. I've written five books on my travels and... archaeological endeavors."

She did not respond whatsoever.

"I thought perhaps you might consider reading it. But I shall understand if the genre does not appeal to you."

Nothing.

He was nearly driven to remark, with more venom than he intended, that it would hardly cause her to fucking expire should she be a touch more forthcoming and appreciative in their marriage. Yet, reason prevailed, and he bit his lip instead.

She's angry at me, and being prickly at her after stringing her along with her manuscript will do nought to help us, he reflected, leaving the room in silence, though bitterness lingered.

He had never felt truly appreciated by his family for his professional achievements, but, curiously, Sabrina's indifference wounded him more deeply than he cared to admit. It stung to be rebuffed each time he extended a branch of peace; yet, perhaps he had earned it, hadn't he?

Why would she take an interest in my work now, he mused indignantly, she's never shown any inclination to ask what I do besides raking mistresses, so what reason would she have to start? There's any a cock at every corner eager to do for her exactly as I did in my study.

Sabrina finished packing and went to find a footman to have her manuscript sent off as soon as possible, not realising how much she was upsetting her husband with her seemingly dismissive behaviour.