She was so still, he feared she was dead. Her hands laid unmoving by her sides, with sand buried in her fingernails. It was apparent to Race that her wounds had been cleaned —no doubt by the Physician— making the extent of her suffering quite apparent to him. It was then that he began to notice the marks on her body, marks most likely inflicted by the fingernails of a man. He stared at her dress, picturing the sleeves being ripped as her assailant abused her.

He imagined her screaming, most likely crying out for help. Did she cry out for him? Where was he when she needed him?

In a ball.

He let out a shaky breath, and settled on the edge of the bed by her side. He was in a ball with a group of people he couldn't care less about, and his wife was left at the mercy of an assailant. Then he had returned home, and rather than stand by her side, he had been busy engaged in a shameful act with her sister.

I am my father. He shook his head; he was worse than his father.

But he couldn't dwell on any of that, not right now. He turned his attention to Bianca; he needed to help her out of these clothes. No doubt if he asked a maid to do it, she would most likely deduce from Bianca's injuries that she had been abused. And Race couldn't let that happen. He couldn't stand for Bianca's image to be dragged through the mud. If the news got out, it would be a scandal he didn't want her to endure for he already knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of society's gossips' holier-than-thou nature. No doubt they would find a way to bend the truth. No doubt Bianca would be the topic of every single dinner party, luncheon, tea party, and ball. They would mercilessly ruin her reputation.

Perhaps they didn't love each other, yet, he felt the need to protect her. It was more for her, than it was for him, for he was nothing in the eyes of society. It didn't matter how much wealth he had, he would always be an irrelevant bastard —in this case, an irrelevant, rich bastard— but Bianca was the daughter of a duke, and whether of not she had married a bastard, she still had a reputation to protect.

He pulled her still form into his arms, and slowly began taking her clothes off. He fought to keep his mind from wandering to what it was that must have happened while she was being raped. He instead focused his attention on taking her clothes off. He noticed, once her clothes were completely removed, that her undergarments were ripped as well. Pulling them off, he placed her back on the bed, and gathered the ripped garments to the hearth, where he tossed them in the fire, furious.

The longer he worked, the angrier he became. He wanted nothing but to kill the animal who hurt Bianca. But he couldn't give in to his rage, he didn't have the luxury of time to do that.

He stared at Bianca, who now laid unclad on the bed, and decided then that he would move her to his bedchamber. It would be for her own good, he decided, finding a nightdress in her armoire, and slipping it into her body. It was the only way to keep an eye on her, and to ensure she didn't go through the horrible experience yet again.

Carrying her in his arms, he made his way out of the door, and up the stairs to his bedchamber. He placed her on the bed. Slipping out of his clothes, and into his nightshirt, he settled beside her.

“Forgive me, will you?” He smoothened her hair. “I should have been there, I should have protected you.” Sighing, he leaned back against his pillow. “That is what a husband does, isn't it, Bea? He protects? Perhaps we have our differences, and none of this was part of our plans, but...” He closed his eyes, and shook his head. “I won't let you get hurt, not again Bea. I will be here.”

**

Race's eyelids flickered open the second he felt something stir by his side.

“Bianca.” He turned to the side, as her soft moan reached his ears. She was indeed awake, and struggling to rise to a sitting position. “Bianca.”

She turned to him then, confusion reflecting in her eyes. “Race,” She murmured. “How... Why...” She pressed her hand to her forehead and collapsed back to the bed.

Shifting to her side, he wrapped his arms around her. “Don't move so much, Bea.”

“My head.” She cried. “My head hurts. All of my body hurts.”

“I know. The pain shall pass. It is expected, considering what you suffered.”

“Wha- what did I suffer? Where am I?”

He relaxed his hold on her, and leaned back slightly. “In my bedchamber. I didn't want you sleeping downstairs alone, I didn't want you to get hurt once more.”

She pushed away from him, her hand still pressed to her head. Straightening, she leaned against the wall, and tipped her head back. “Did I get drunk? I must have, perhaps that explains this horrid headache. I should not have been drinking before bed. Did I do anything to embarrass you?” She shook her head. “Of course not, you were gone with Carla.” Her words held accusations in them.

Confused, Race watched as she began crawling toward the edge of the bed.

“Perhaps it is best if I sleep in my own room.” She was saying, visibly struggling to reach the edge.

Race scrambled to his feet and hurried over to her side, where he was just in time to catch her just as her frail form threatened to fall to the floor.

“No, you must sleep here.” He carried her and placed her back on the bed.

“Why?” She groaned, rubbing her forehead. “I might feel a little crapulous, Race, but I'm not stupid enough to let you have your way with me right after you have been with my sister.”

What was she speaking of?! Surely she hadn't seen him and Carla engaged in a kiss, for she had been unconscious at the time! Unless of course, she meant other things by her accusation; she meant he was bedding her sister.

“Rest.” He bit out, frustrated, as he reached down once more to pin her to the bed.

“Unhand me!” She spat, trying —yet failing— to push his hands away.

“Bea, we mustn't argue, not tonight. You have suffered a lot, and I do not want to worsen your situation. I insist you sleep here tonight, and every other night for that matter.”

“You cannot dictate where I sleep!” Tears sprang to her eyes, and slipped down her cheeks. “You cannot have her, and have me! And ruin me! And shame me...”

Race wasn't sure what was going on. Bianca wasn't acting like a woman who had been raped for she refused to acknowledge the incident. She instead chose to focus on a falsehood by accusing him of bedding her sister, which didn't make any sense. Why would she think he had anything to do with Carla? They had only kissed twice; early that morning while she laid unmoving on the bed, and the evening they arrived the—

He gasped. She saw them. She had seen him kiss her sister.

Shame washed over him in that moment, but he didn't release his hold on her. He instead leaned down and captured her lips.

They were cold against his, he thought, even as he kissed her some more. He thought of all that she had endured in the short time they were married; first it was their forced marriage, then the death of her parents, then a miscarriage, and a rape. She had gone through all of that, and he had somehow managed to add 'unfaithful husband' to the list.

Guilt stabbed at his heart, as he leaned back and wiped her tears with his thumb. He didn't want to see her cry, neither did he want to be reason she cried. But he has done just that; he had made her cry.

“I do not wish to dictate anything to you, Bea.” He whispered softly. “But I must beg that you sleep here with me tonight, until we-”

“No!” She shook her head, and pushed him off of her. “Please leave me alone, Race. I do not feel too well.” Fresh tears began slipping down her face.

“Because you are not well, Bea.” Did she not remember? He frowned, uncertain. Perhaps he must ask how much of the incidence of last evening she remembered. “Bea, what happened last evening?”

She shook her head, her tears rapidly falling down her cheeks as she laid with her back to the bed. “I saw you... You and Carla,” She spoke through trembling lips. “Surely you must hate me, Race. Surely your decision to bed my sister, and present her in a ball as your mistress, is enough to force me to turn my frustrations to wine, until I am drinking myself to... I... well, I do not remember the rest. Perhaps I fell asleep?”

Race stared wide eyed at her. “Is that all you remember?”

“Yes. That is all that matters; the fact that I am married to an unrepentant philanderer.”

Then she did not remember? He shook his head, deciding he would have the Physician look at her tomorrow.

Sighing, he placed himself on the edge of the bed and stared down at his hands. “I kissed Lady Carla.” Even as he heard himself speak those words, he realized how stupid he had been to have kissed her. “It was my fault, and I'm sorry. I should not have, and I never will again. I am however not bedding your sister, Bea, never!” He ran his hands through his hair, and rose to his feet. Turning around to face her, “I—” The words died on his lips as his eyes came to rest on a sleeping Bianca.

Nodding slowly, he let out an exasperated breath, and drew the covers over her. He leaned down, “I beg that you forgive me.” He planted a kiss on her head, before settling on the carpet, and staring at the fire in the hearth until it went out, leaving the room cold.

He would have liked to climb into bed beside Bianca and pull her into his arms, sharing in the heat of her body. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he reminded himself that she did not want him in her bed. He was especially reminded of his promise to have a marriage in name only.