Race Belington went straight to his study that evening, disregarding dinner. He couldn't eat, not when so much rage pumped through his veins with terrifying speed.

He slammed the door to his study shut, and headed for the mantle, where several bottles of wine sat. He poured himself a glass, and downed the liquid.

"We got married ten months ago. It was a secret wedding."

Hissing, Race poured himself another glass as his brother's words from that morning, came back to him.

"I wouldn't want to shame Beatrice by having all of London believe she is pregnant out of wedlock."

He emptied his glass, and placed it on the mantle. Shame Beatrice?! He let out a mirthless laugh. Noah was a fool to let himself get trapped by the scheming widow.

Reaching for the decanter, he drank directly from the bottle.

"You mean nothing to me!" Bianca's words rang in his ears.

Withdrawing the bottle from his lips, he threw it into the fireplace, the sound of glass crashing into cement, filling the room. He held the mantle, and bowed his head over it, sweat clinging to his skin as he struggled to breathe.

"Nothing!"

He roared, kicking the grate of the hearth. He was nothing but an instrument used for her pleasure. The thought angered Race.

Straightening, he turned from the fireplace, and made his way to his desk. Well, no more! No more would he be used to 'pacify her lust!' She could find somewhere else to pacify her lust! And so would he. He would rather be with a mistress, than a wife whose intent was to use him. He didn't want to end up being his father, but Bianca left him with no other choice. She bruised his ego, crushing it to the dust. She made him feel worthless, and useless, and if he had thought for a second that they could at least be civil to each other, he had been wrong.

Race didn't leave his study until he was certain he had regained control of his temper, until the thought of his brother being married to a scandalous baroness, and his wife using him, no longer threatened to drive him mad.

By the time he made his way to his bedchamber that evening, the building was silent, his servants having gone to bed.

He laid restless in bed, desiring Bianca's presence. His arms felt empty without her. Still, pride kept him in his room. He couldn't go to her, not when she had blatantly insulted him, and admitted to using him.

***

Race left Bianca alone, and for the next two weeks that followed, he remained absent from the estate. At least, that was what she thought when she made her way to the dining area, and had to dine alone with her sister. She didn't know whether or not Race was present in the estate, and pride kept her from asking.

Severally, she went over her last conversation with him in her head, and every time, she hoped she could go back and change things. She knew she hadn't meant what she said, she knew Race did mean something to her, even if she didn't know what that thing was yet. However, she missed him. She looked forward to sharing meals with him, and yearned desperately for him to come to her every night. But she was always left disappointed.

Perhaps she should apologize? She sighed, taking a sip of her wine. She could tell him she hadn't meant what she said, perhaps then he would forgive her? She cou-

"What shall you be wearing to Lord Stable's ball tonight?" Carla's questions broke through Bianca's line of reasoning.

Turning sharply to the side, she frowned. "What do you speak of?"

"Did not Mr. Belington tell you?" Carla raised a brow, annoying Bianca.

No, Race did not inform her of any impending ball, but she would never admit to that before her backstabbing sister.

She raised her chin. "Of course, it only escaped my mind."

Carla stared at her, as if searching for signs of falsehood. "Are you two not close to each other? I did notice you still sleep in your old room, rather than the room meant for the mistress."

"I shall not sleep well on a bed Mother once slept in."

"And Father? Shall you sleep well on his bed? Race sleeps on it, and if you do not think it possible to sleep on Father's bed, then I shall assume you are failing to keep your husba-"

"Mr. Belington," She hissed, rising to her feet. "You shall not refer to him so casually by using his first name. And I shall waste no time apologizing to you for my sleeping arrangements. How we sleep is none of your business!"

Angered, Bianca spun around and made for the door.

"If you are starving the man of companionship, Bianca, it is my business!"

Bianca froze, and whirled around, anger pumping hot in her veins.

"What did you say?" She breathed through clenched teeth.

"I shall not stand by and let you ruin things, Bianca! Mr. Belington is Father's heir. The least you could do is produce an heir! Perhaps he shall divorce you, then what, Bianca? We shall both be out on the streets in no time, and without a sizable dowry, who shall marry me? Do not think of yourself to be so indispensable, Mr. Belington most likely has a mistress to keep his be-"

Bianca's fingers curled into a fist, as she whirled back around and made her way out of the room. It was all she could do not to hurl a glass, or a slipper at her sister.

She reached her room and slammed the door behind her, fuming. Carla had no right to speak to her like that! She wasn't some breeding mare! She wasn't Race's breeder! She wasn't merely good for bearing children! And why should she care whether or not he had a mistress?! Surely he wasn't cruel enough to even contemplate divorcing her. He wouldn't dare put her and her sister out on the streets!

Still, she couldn't bet on it. If she denied Race his privileges as her husband, he could divorce her based on that ground. Then what? She scoffed, rising to her feet. She and Carla had no family left, it was the sole reason Race —rather than a male family member— had inherited their father's fortune. If she didn't bear an heir, and something happened to Race, she and Carla would lose everything.

Tormented by her thoughts, Bianca rang for a glass of wine. It was evening already, and from her room, she heard the distinct sound of horses' hooves. She left the glass of wine on the table and walked over to the window where she pushed the curtains aside. Race. He stood down there, beside the carriage dressed in a black tailored suit. His hair was combed to the side. A second later, Carla appeared, dressed in a lovely yellow dress.

Bianca's intestines tangled into a painful knot, as she watched her husband help her sister into the carriage, before climbing in after her.

Pulling the curtains back, she made her way to the table, and downed the entire bottle of wine. She staggered to her feet, and rang for yet another bottle. Tears trickled down her face as she considered her predicament. She cursed Carla, and she especially cursed Race for putting her in such a state. They were most likely in the ball together, trapped in a room somewhere, engaging in sinful acts in the dark.

Her tears ran rapidly down her cheeks as she imagined Race kissing her sister like he had kissed her. He was probably happy he could be with Carla, rather than Bianca.

Did all of London know of her husband and sister's activities? She didn't hear many tales, except the ones Carla told her, but she imagined they did.

She staggered to her feet, the room swirling before her eyes. Slowly, she made her way out of her room, and into the night.

The air was chilly against her skin, but she didn't care. She wouldn't be shamed, not by her sister, and certainly not by her husband.

Lord Stable... Bianca barely remembered the directions to his manor, but anger forced her legs forward, out through the gates, and down the dark streets.

She must have been walking down the deserted streets for several minutes, before she realized she was lost. She wrapped her arms around herself, her emotions threatening to drive her insane. The effects of the wine made walking difficult.

She paused, her limbs aching. Perhaps she needed to go back? She could barely see anything in the darkness, and it would be dangerous for a woman to walk the streets without an escort.

What was she thinking? She mentally kicked herself, and turned around. Pain immediately traveled around her skull, a cracking sound following. The air was knocked out of her lungs, and her knees gave way beneath her.

Just as darkness began clouding her view, Bianca saw what appeared to be the form of a man, leaning down over her.

Pain surged through her skull, as her body began pulling out of its unconscious state. She moaned, and tried to rise, but pain held her captive.

"Do not move." The unfamiliar voice called.

"Help." Her lips trembled as it tried to form the words.

"Oh, there shall be no help for you, my lady," Something touched her knees, and it was then she realized her dress had been pushed all the way to her waist.

Fear immediately clouded her mind, as the realisation of what was happening, began dawning on her. She forced her eyelids apart, hissing in pain as she did so. Desperate, she tried to move, to run, but she couldn't.

"Plea-" The words died on her lips, as the stranger leaned down over her. She didn't know him. She had never in her life seen him. What did he want?!

He pushed her skirt further up her waist, and to her chest.

Her heart must have stopped. She must have yelled for help as loud as she possibly could. She must have cried. She must have clawed at him as he so savagely defiled her body.

She wasn't sure what she did. She didn't know what she did. And when she woke up, she remembered nothing.