Bianca's hand was buried in the crook of Race's arm as they made their way into Lord Gregory's ballroom that evening. He forced a smile to his lips as they exchanged pleasantries with a few people, when all he wanted to do was spend the evening with Bianca in his bed. He missed her, and desired to cradle her in his arms. He desired to explore her body with his hands, but her reluctance a few hours ago, told him she didn't share his desire, and Race didn't want to force her. He instead released his hold on her, and after promising to wait downstairs until she was dressed for the ball, made his way out of the room.
He found no interest in the ball that evening. The longer Bianca stayed by his side, the more difficult it became to ignore her. He didn't think the evening could get worse, until a gentleman asked Bianca for a dance, and she willingly obliged him. Race was then forced to watch jealously as another man expertly danced with his wife. Bianca too, was a good dancer. She neither missed a step, nor stepped on the gentleman's foot. Race thought they looked perfect together, for he was a well bred gentleman of the ton, and Bianca, a well bred gentlewoman. Race on the other hand, was anything but well bred, he was a Marquess' mistake, a proof of his infidelity.
Bianca returned to his side once the music was over, only to be whisked away by yet another gentleman as soon as the music began again.
“Perhaps you must take me on a twirl around the dancefloor as well, Mr. Belington.”
Race tore his eyes off of the gentleman whose hand clutched tightly to Bianca's waist, long enough to glance at Carla with a frown on his face.
She held out her hand to him. “Shall we?”
Race had half the mind to decline her request, but he imagined it would be embarrassing to do so in the midst of everybody. He however thought it best to have a conversation with Lady Carla, and perhaps make her see the foolishness in flirting with him? It was silly, and unbecoming of her to think anything can ever happen between them.
Nodding, he took her hand, and led her to the dance floor.
“I am not the best at dancing.”
She giggled. “Do not be so modest, Mr. Belington,” She leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. “I certainly enjoy every second with you. If you will follow my lead, you will be fine.”
“Lady Carla,”
“Carla. You mustn't be so formal, Race, we are practically family, especially because you are married to my sister.”
“Yet you so blatantly choose to disrespect our union.”
She stiffened. “What do you mean?”
Race didn't want to cause a scene, and sensing the emotion in Carla's voice, he imagined that she would.
He pulled away slightly. “We must speak outside.”
Carla nodded solemnly, and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. Race scanned the ballroom for signs of Bianca, as he and Carla walked out, but he didn't see her.
“I know these grounds quite well,” Carla spoke as they walked. “Lord Gregory has a library we can talk in.”
She indeed led him to the silent library, away from the noise of the ballroom, and the intrusion of guests. Carla made her way over to the shelves and began exploring the books they held.
“Lady Carla,” He sighed, walking over to where she stood with her back to him. “We must talk.”
“You do not love her, Race. You said so yourself the day you were forced by my father to marry her.” She didn't turn around.
Shocked by her words, Race stood still for several seconds, before regaining his composure. “I do not hate her. And perhaps we were forced to get married? Fate brought us together—”
“Fate,” She turned to him, eyes glistening. “Fate, not love.” She reached for him, and sensing she would kiss him, he backed away. The last thing he needed was a woman —other than his wife— in his arms. For he wasn't sure he would be able to resist the temptation. “You love me, Race! You love me, and Bianca took you from me!” She yelled, her chest rapidly rising and falling.
“Took me?” Race was exasperated, mostly because he knew Carla never really wanted to get married to him, and especially because he didn't know why she was flirting with him. “I asked you to marry me, I sent a marriage certificate.”
“Bianca never told me of your plans. She took the certificate and journeyed to Bath where she seduced you, and forced you to marry her.”
Race shook his head. He vividly remembered the evening Bianca arrived his manor in Bath. He had been told by his hired hands that the daughter of the duke had arrived, but he hadn't been told which daughter they spoke of. Then, he had been handed a note; one he didn't read, for he had been too anxious to be with his wife. Perhaps his servants had misunderstood things, and had led Bianca to his bedchamber, thinking she was Carla? And who could blame them, Bianca and Carla had the same surname, it was easy to mistake their identity. He had consummated what he thought was their marriage, in the dark. He hadn't seen her face, and she most likely hadn't seen his as well. It had been a mistake.
“Would you have married me if you had seen the certificate?” He watched Carla, knowing the answer even before he asked. He knew she cared nothing for him, and everything for money and position.
She glanced down. “Perhaps.”
“You wouldn't. You do not love me, my lady, and I am in doubt I loved you either. Perhaps I was a fool to have been misled by your beauty, but love? Love is too strong a word. Love should only be used in reference to a person one cannot help but think about, a person who causes one's heart to stop, skip, flip, accelerate...” He chuckled, his mind wandering to Bianca. “A person who invades one's thoughts at the oddest times in a day. A person one desires to be with, whose presence evokes pleasure and unspeakable joy. A person whose kiss makes you weak in the knees, whose kiss doesn't make you feel guilt.” He raised his eyes to Carla and held her gaze. “That person is not you, Lady Carla,”
“Race,” She gasped, stepping forward.
He shook his head. “It is Bianca. I love your sister, and I must let her know.” He made to go out of the door, when he halted in his tracks and turned back to Carla who stood watching him with wide eyes. “I shall send you to London for the season.” It was a decision he made in that moment, the best way he thought of getting rid of Lady Carla. Perhaps she would find a husband in London? He hoped she would. He would attach a sizeable dowry to her. In the meantime, he would work to gain his wife's heart.
*
It took Carla —the woman he thought he loved— to open his eyes to the fact that he was in love with Bianca.
Excitement rushed through Race's veins as he sat beside Bianca in the carriage. She hadn't spoken a word since they left Lord Gregory's home together, with Carla choosing to sleep over with Lady Gregory, Lord Gregory's daughter. Race thought it best that Carla wouldn't be around to bother them, and as soon as she returned, he would have her taken to London for the season.
“Have some tea with me in the drawing room.” Race said, once they were home.
Bianca shook her head. “I do not feel well.”
Frowning, he reached out and touched her forehead. Warm. “Shall I have a bath made?”
She shook her head once more, his hand falling to his side. “I only need to lie down.”
“Very well.” He kissed her on the lips, right there in the hallway before his butler. She stiffened, causing him to pull away. A feeling of rejection washed over him as he leaned back. Perhaps it was best not to force her? He wanted her badly that evening, but she seemed determined to reject him. “I have work to do in my study. You should lie down.”
He didn't await her response, before making his way down the hallway and to his study where he spent the entire night doing nothing but thinking of Bianca. He was a fool if he thought he could work with her on his mind.
He loved her, and she loathed him. It was obvious she didn't like him, not even a little. It was also obvious to him that he couldn't tell her how he felt, until she fell in love with him as well.
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