Darkness wasn't the only thing that blinded Race Burlington that evening, he was blinded by passion as well.

Joy raced violently through his veins, leaving his heart pounding with excitement as his fingers caressed the smoothness of her skin. He inhaled sharply, his nostrils bombarded with the unfamiliar scent of spices and cheap lye. It was unlike his lady, he decided, a small frown pulling at the edges of his brows. Lady Carla always smelled of sunflowers or roses, never spices. Perhaps she decided on a change tonight? And he hair –he groaned softly as she leaned further into him, their kiss deepening– he always assumed from a distance, that it would be softer to the touch, and shorter. Perhaps it had grown in the two months they had been apart?

Deciding he didn't care, Race glided his palm across the smoothness of her jaw, tipping her head backwards until he was brushing his lips across her chin. He didn't care for he was finally with the woman he loved. He, a bastard, rejected by all of society, deprived all of his life, was finally in possession of something he cared deeply for. And wasn't he truly lucky?! Just two years ago, Lord Noach Blaiz—the heir to his father's estate and the Marquess of Camden—had come in search of him. At first, Race was angry and wanted nothing to do with Noach because all his life, he blamed Noach for taking his father away from him. He assumed it had been Noach's fault his father was ashamed of him, and even more so, unwilling to leave him with an inheritance. But things changed when he met Noach, they formed a bond, and Noach gave him an inheritance from what their father had left behind.

Noach's acceptance of Race however, didn't change society's opinion or him; he was still the bastard son of a marquess. He was still without a title, and was still undesirable to every eligible single woman of the ton.

Until Carla.

His fair, perfect, Lady Carla! The woman whose beauty enchanted the entire room, whose presence was powerful enough to put any man under a spell. One bat of an eyelash and she commanded attention. Her smile was enough to leave him breathless, her beautiful brown eyes captivating enough to hold him prisoner.

He knew he loved her the first day he walked into that ballroom with Noach. He knew he would marry her the first time she turned to him and rather than dismiss him with a wave of her hand, offered him a smile. It was the first time he truly felt accepted by somebody other than his brother. Still, he didn't have the courage to court her. He was after all, a bastard. And she, the daughter of a duke. She certainly needed to marry within her circle and he on the other hand, needed to forget her.

He tried to forget Lady Carla, certainly he did. He had in the past, convinced himself he wanted nothing to do with the society that shunned him and took his father away from him. But then, he met Lady Atkinson, the mistress of his brother.

Cold and calculating, Lady Atkinson was everything she was accused of being. Scandal trailed her reputation including the fact that she had allegedly murdered her husband and was looking to ruin Noach the way she had ruined her dead husband.

Race knew not to listen to gossip, but as he stood before Lady Atkinson one evening, trying and failing to reason with her, he immediately knew he couldn't trust her.

With her eyes catching fire, she had leaned forward and whispered, "Not that I need to point out the obvious, Mr. Burlington, but no matter what you do, and who you are married to, you will always be an unwanted, bastard."

It was then that Race decided that he was done being the bastard, he was done paying for the mistakes of his father! He would take his inheritance handed to him by Noach, move to the manor in Bath, and send a marriage certificate asking Lady Carla to marry him.

For three weeks, he waited anxiously for her response. Everyday, he thought to give up, but the more he desired to give up, the more he desired to wait. He knew it was a silly way to propose –to simply send a marriage certificate to a woman and demand that she signs it– but he thought it a less shameful way to get rejected. That way, she would simply throw the certificate in the ocean, or pretend she never received it. He could also pretend he never sent it if by some stroke of bad luck, it got out.

Disillusioned, he returned home this evening to the news of his bride's arrival. Unable to contain his excitement, he had practically raced up to the room—and throwing caution to the dogs by disregarding her sleeping state—had began consummating their marriage.

He loved her, he decided as she fell asleep once more in his arms. He pulled her close against himself, her hair brushing his nostrils and the unfamiliar smell of lye drifting in. He buried his nose further into her hair and took a deep breath, enjoying the smell as he tightened his hold on her.

She had given herself—willingly—and had accepted him irrespective of his past, and for that, he would always love her. He would cherish and adore her for the rest of his life.

Fatigue washed over him until his eyelids were drawing close and his body was giving into the darkness.

It must have been a few hours later, he moaned, stretching his limbs as he began to wake up. He felt the warmth of the sun rays against his skin, but so much more than that, he felt the body of his new bride pressed against his.

Tearing his eyelids apart, he leaned further down and pressed his lips to her cold skin.

"Carla." He groaned, brushing his palm against the side of her neck as his blurry vision began to give way to the sight of her.

Her form seemed thinner...

Squinting, he leaned down further, his vision clearing up enough for him to see what he assumed was brown hair.

No, but it couldn't be! Carla didn't have brown hair, she had blonde, almost golden hair.

Race felt his lips fall apart and his heart beat begin to slow down, but he forced his hand forward enough to push her hair aside for it had somehow managed to cover her face.

"Lady Carla?" The words barely formed on his lips, his fingers brushing her hair aside.

She moaned then, turning sharply to him and cuddling against his side. But not before he saw her face, and certainly not before his eyes sent the signal to his brain that the woman who laid unclad in his bed, was not Lady Carla.