Regina clamped a trembling hand over her mouth.

“I told you we shouldn’t…!”

Her ears turned red with shame and her tear-filled eyes trembled pitifully.

Grey watched every moment with his eyes, not blinking once.

“It’s all right, Regina.”

He finally spoke, only after she had been thoroughly embarrassed.

“It can happen when it feels good. Even for a woman.”

It hadn’t been a mistake – not with that little amount. What had come out was a clear, slippery liquid, almost odourless.

Grey ran the palm of his hand over his chiseled abdomen as if polishing a stone, then tasted it.

Rather than showing disgust, his expression was one of helplessly aroused pleasure.

“I had only heard about this from the rough men in the gentlemen’s club. I’m very pleased to see my lady enjoying herself.”

She didn’t know why he had to sound so refined at moments like this. It made her want to bite her tongue.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, he leaned in and kissed her, his eyes dark with lust.

As she hesitantly accepted his tongue, the pole deep inside her twitched ominously.

“Open up.”

He commanded clearly after he had regained her lips.

“It’s your fault for being so adorably sweet.”

His words made no sense at the time – but soon her body understood.

Regina found herself screaming all the way home in the carriage.

***

Perhaps it was from being in the carriage for so long, but she had an old dream.

It was during the social season in Riddenborough. She had once been invited to a Saturday picnic.

Evergreen Park, a place frequented by the upper classes, was covered with green grass as far as the eye could see, like a sea of emerald.

The dresses of the ladies who had already arrived painted the park in brighter colours than the spring flowers.

Regina stepped out of the carriage and looked around in awe.

A strong arm suddenly stretched out in front of her.

“Thank you for choosing me as your escort, Miss Regina.”

“I should be the one thanking you, Mr Nigel, for coming with me.”

Nigel, the second son of the Duke of Sherrington, was by far the most suitable of all the ‘future husbands’ Regina had ever considered.

He had a strong, athletic build from his days playing rugby at university, impeccable manners and eyes that lit up every time he looked at her.

Their families got on splendidly – so much so that even Aunt Roselyn, ever the watchful chaperone, had shown an unusual softness. She’d even allowed them a private walk in the park, on the convenient excuse that it was lunchtime.

Regina had imagined herself as ‘Mrs Sherrington’ more than once.

And each time, she’d tried – tried so hard – to wipe away the face of a certain man that always popped up unbidden, like a muscle memory she couldn’t escape.

‘No. Anyone but Grey Cabil…’

There were countless reasons why she shouldn’t – but mostly it was fear.

The world Regina had grown up in, the society that had shaped her, had a deep-seated disdain for the bourgeoisie.

If she were to marry Grey – a man practically branded a public enemy – then all the kind friends and familiar faces she once knew would surely abandon her.

Besides, the idea of ‘choosing’ him seemed absurd.

She hadn’t chosen anything.

She had fallen in love with Grey the moment she saw him.

And Grey? He hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her.

Their only interaction had been that fleeting moment at the ball.

“Miss Regina. Are you well?”

“Hmm? Oh, of course.”

“You’ve been silent for a while.”

Nigel looked at her worriedly. Feeling guilty for daydreaming while with her partner, Regina offered him a gentle smile.

“Sorry. I was just wondering when my injured ankle would heal.”

“You mentioned that you twisted it at the ball, didn’t you?”

“Apparently the ligament is torn. Just my luck.”

Like the other young ladies, Regina wore an elegant dress. But the long crutch tucked under her ruffled shoulder clashed awkwardly with her outfit. Even sitting on the picnic mat, she needed her partner’s help.

“Thanks for your help, Mr Nigel.”

“Not at all. You can lean on me more if you need to.”

“I don’t want to burden you…”

“I used to carry rugby balls heavier than you at university.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

She gently scolded him, but a smile tugged at her lips – for all his rugged charm, Nigel had a surprisingly sweet side that she couldn’t help but find endearing.

And yet, with such a perfect suitor standing right in front of her, why did her thoughts keep drifting back to that scoundrel?

“I’ve heard that the injury was mostly Count Cabil’s doing. Is that true?”

It was then that Nigel mentioned his name.

“I heard people whispering. They say this man picked a fight with Lady Roselyn, and in the midst of trying to intervene, you were injured?”

As expected, high society’s opinion of Grey was hostile. In reality, it was Roselyn who had both started the fight and pushed Regina, causing her injury – but somehow the story had been twisted.

Still, Regina couldn’t speak ill of her aunt, so she shook her head.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was all because I wasn’t careful enough.”

Nigel didn’t answer. When she looked up at him, he seemed distracted by something beyond the fence, his eyes fixed on the grassy field.

‘Rugby, maybe?’

She followed his gaze – and for a moment forgot to breathe.

A man in a new riding outfit that hugged his muscular thighs and long legs sat astride a black horse, his silver hair sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight.

His rolled-up sleeves looked ready to burst, and through the damp shirt clinging to his skin, his defined chest muscles were just visible.

With a confident smile that bordered on feral, he looked like a proud stallion in human form.

“It seems the Count of Cabil is here as well. Well, Evergreen Park isn’t private property after all.”

Nigel’s polite tone carried a clear note of prejudice – he was certain that Grey Cabil couldn’t possibly have been invited to this social gathering.

“Isn’t that polo they’re playing?”

Regina pointed over the fence at the eight riders crossing the field.

The men with mallets were shouting as they chased the ball. Since polo couldn’t be played alone, perhaps the gentlemen of the upper class had accepted Grey into their midst.

But Regina soon realised the truth.

They weren’t chasing the ball – they were chasing Grey.

It was so aggressive that it looked like the horses might collide, and the players were swinging their long, hard clubs wildly.

“They’re going to get seriously hurt!”

“Quite an intense initiation. The Count must have made some serious enemies.”

“Shouldn’t someone stop them?”

“A tree that doesn’t learn to bend must be broken.”

Nigel said with a short laugh.

He suddenly looked different to Regina. She had thought of him as a principled and decent man.

“I’m sure nothing will happen.”

Nigel added quickly, perhaps sensing Regina’s cold gaze.

“Do you see the horse Count Cabil is riding?”

“Yes.”

It was only ‘visible’ in the literal sense.

To someone unfamiliar with the breed, it was just a white horse, or a black horse, or a spotted horse.

Nigel thumped his chest in frustration.

“This is a thoroughbred! The finest racehorse breed!”

Regina thought she had heard this before. She knew it was a good horse, but she had no idea how good.

“A single stallion can cost more than a townhouse in Riddenborough”

“Th-that much?”

“Of course! Do you see why I’m so shocked?”

Bringing a thoroughbred – a breed known for its fragility – into a polo match, where horses often broke their legs, was unthinkable.

Nigel looked at Grey as if he were a fool forging spoons out of gold. He pretended to be contemptuous, but the envy in his eyes was unmistakable.

Seeing this, Regina suddenly wondered – did Grey Cabil, this man who always seemed so arrogant, live every day under stares like this?

“Ah!”

Hemmed in by two other riders, Grey looked as if he might be thrown from his horse at any moment.

From the sidelines, Regina felt her lungs constrict – frozen with panic.

But in the blink of an eye, Grey’s black horse lunged forward like a shadow slipping through the cracks.

With effortless grace, he slipped between the others, causing the two riders flanking him to collide and crash spectacularly to the ground.

Chaos erupted across the field and the referee’s whistle blew to stop play.

Grey dismounted as if nothing had happened and calmly poured water down his neck.

His sharp, pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed like the pull of a trigger – smooth and arresting.

Then, as if drinking wasn’t enough, he tilted his head back and let the water cascade through his already sweat-soaked hair.

A soft ripple of gasps spread out from all directions.

Only then did Regina realise that she wasn’t the only one secretly watching him.

All around her, women were staring at him with hunger in their eyes – stares so intense they felt they could rip the wet shirt from his body with their minds alone.

“Such vulgar behaviour in front of ladies! You could cover him in gold, but it still wouldn’t hide his lowly origins.”

Nigel muttered, clucking his tongue in disgust. And as if his words hadn’t made his feelings clear enough, he suddenly stood up, bristling with indignation.