She didn't remember.

Race found the news of Bianca's inability to remember her attack, both disconcerting, and relieving. He was concerned her lack of memory could indicate an issue with her health —even if the Physician thought the alcohol might have helped to blur her memory of that evening— and relieved she didn't have to live with the memory of the attack.

Deciding he would keep the truth of the events of that evening to himself, he made his way to Bianca's bedchamber after her consultation with the Physician.

“It still doesn't explain the bruises.” Bianca was saying, when he stepped into her room that morning. A maid stood trying to help her out of her dress.

“Leave us.” He motioned to the door, once the two women turned to him, startled.

“Of course, Mr. Belington.” The maid curtsied, and scurried out of the room.

He crossed the room and stood behind her. “Let me help.”

She watched him for several seconds, a small frown on her face. She released a sigh and nodded, before turning around.

“You were drinking,” He took hold of the laces and began loosening them. “You got drunk, and must have fallen down the stairs, because that is where you were found; at the foot of the stairs.” Once the dress was loose enough, he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her sleeves down. “That explains the bruises.” He finished, stepping back.

It was a lie, but it was only explanation he could give if he didn't want her to know the truth. What use would the truth be to her anyway? It would do nothing but break her heart, and force her to relive an already tragic event; an event he wished didn't happen.

And perhaps it didn't? Perhaps Bianca's inability to remember was because it didn't happen? He shook his head. The bruises on her body could have only been inflicted by a person, especially the ones on her inner thighs.

“I— why do I not remember?” She shook her head, and slowly turned around, her hand clutching her dress to her chest to keep it from falling. A part of him wished her dress would indeed fall to the floor, leaving her bare before him, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he mentally kicked himself for it.

“You were drunk.” He swallowed, his eyes falling to the floor. “Perhaps you shall come down for breakfast?”

“I would prefer to lie in bed.”

“Do you wish that I stay with you? Perhaps we should eat together?”

“No,” Her response sent a wave of disappointment down his spine.

“Very well,” He cleared his throat. “I shall have your breakfast brought up here.” It was the last thing he said that morning, before forcing his legs to carry him out of her room.

***

He shall not bed her, and bed her sister as well.

Bianca was angry, mostly with Race, and especially with Carla. But it didn't matter how hard she fought, Race stuck to his resolve to have her sleep in his bedchamber every night.

“You are my wife, Bianca, and you shall sleep wherever I wish for you to sleep!” He said impatiently that evening, as they stood having an argument.

With her arms folded and her chin raised, “No, Race, you shall not force me! This is my roo—”

“And my house, and you are my wife, and I shall carry you over my shoulders if I have to, to my bedchamber.”

Knowing he wouldn't give up, she stormed out of the room, and up to his own room. She kept her back to him the entire night, and didn't speak a word, determined to deny him her body if he dared to ask; he could dictate where she slept, but he couldn't dictate who she slept with. She would not be humiliated by a husband who would have her sister, and have her as well.

But Race didn't try to have her, not even once. He instead slept on the carpet beside the bed, and only spoke to her to find out about her health, or to invite her down to dine —all of which she rejected.

Race might not want her, but she wanted him. It was difficult to admit it, but her resolution to have nothing to do with him, became harder as the days progressed, especially when she woke up every morning, just before the sun rose, to the sound of movement around the room. When she would open her eyes, she would find him standing with his back to her, getting dressed in the dim room.

She liked watching him get dressed. She liked how uncomplicated his sense of fashion was, how easily he pulled a shirt over his head, how uninterested he was in a cravat and a jacket, how he almost always forgot to comb his hair.

Race Belington was different, a man unlike any man of the ton she had ever met. His well formed muscles as a result of all the hard work he must have grown up doing, helped him appear even more handsome, and his rugged sense of style, oddly appealed to her.

It was difficult to ignore him, especially because he had forced her out of her room, and brought her to his, in order to seduce her. But she did manage to ignore him. She clung to her pillow when she desired to cling to him, and when she thought of pulling him into her arms, she tightened her hold on the sheets.

Bianca was sitting by the fireplace cradling a cup of tea in her hands one chilly evening, just before dinner, when Race walked into the room.

Ignoring him, she focused her attention on the liquid in her cup. It was somewhat odd seeing him so early in the evening for she hardly ever caught a glimpse of him, except when he got dressed in the morning, and when he snuck into the room in the night time.

Seemingly unbothered by conversation as well, she heard his movements around the room. Curious, she raised her eyes slightly above her tea cup just in time to watch him slip out of his trousers.

Heat immediately climbed up to her cheeks, setting her entire face on fire, as well as causing her heart to pound faster. Surely he knew she was seated here, yet, he chose to get dressed before her, like it was the most natural thing to do... She shook her head, it was natural, he was her husband. Yet, she couldn't help but feel flustered, embarrassed even.

“Will you please help me with this?” He turned fully to her, her eyelids widening at the sight of his unclad body. Perhaps her heart pounded so fast because she had never really seen him without his clothes with the room so brightly lit by the fire? Perhaps it was because it had been several weeks since they had been together as a couple... “Bianca?”

Gasping, she tore her eyes off of his body to his face, his eyes filled with something she couldn't read, and his brow raised.

“Y- ye- yes?” She fought against the feeling of desire that was now fighting desperately to consume her.

“This.” He held up a fabric, and at closer inspection, she realized it was a cravat. “Will you help me with this? I have to wear this for the ball tonight and I am not very good at tying it.”

“I know.” She blurted

“You do?”

She glanced down at her hands. She needed to pull herself together. “I noticed you do not bother with formal clothes.”

His small chuckle drifted to where she sat. She raised her eyes to find him smiling.

He nodded. “I am not accustomed to formality, my lady, I didn't have such luxuries growing up and being the bastard of the Marquess.” He turned sharply from her, and to the armoire, where he pulled out what appeared to be a new suit.

“What did you do growing up?” She watched him get dressed, thankful she could do it with the lights on, and not bother about getting caught.

“Work in the mines, factories, farms, and every other job England had to offer.” Once clothed in his black trousers and white shirt, he held out the cravat to her.

She rose to her feet, and crossed the room. Taking the piece of fabric from him, she placed it around his neck, and began tying the edges with trembling hands.

What was wrong with her? Why was she so attracted to this man?

“I am no expert.” She said, hoping he would not notice her trembling hands.

“Certainly better than me.” His breath tickled her cheek.

“Whose ball shall you be attending this evening?”

“Lord Gregory's. Camden insists I honor these invitations for according to him, it is an indication that London might just be accepting me into their social circle. Would you like to know what I think, my lady?”

Bianca wanted to point out her displeasure at his reference to her being so formal, but she simply nodded.

He leaned down slightly, until their noses were nearly kissing. Bianca's heart did a flip, but she managed to maintain her footing.

“I think they want to be present when I squander the money, so that they can laugh in my face.”

She swallowed. “I do not think you capable of misusing the funds you have inherited from my father.”

“You don't?” His eyes lighted up.

She shook her head. “No. I—” Her next words were quenched by his kiss.

So warm, and so sudden was his kiss, that she could barely do anything but collapse into his arms, and respond to it.

She felt his fingers bury themselves in her hair, and gently caress her scalp, as her arms wound themselves around his neck. Moaning softly, she tilted her head to the side, causing their kiss to deepen.

Her body trembled with passion, yet common sense told her not to give in to it. This was after all the same man who was bedding her sister, was he not? He was the same man who only sought to use her to bear his sons. And if she did give in to her desires, would it make him care anything for her? Would it make him forget her sister and love her?

Knowing the answer, she pulled away, ending the kiss abruptly.

Race stood breathing heavily before her, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Bea?” He gasped, stepping forward.

She moved back and shook her head. “Perhaps you must go now, you do not want to be late.” She focused her attention on his now lopsided cravat. It must have gotten ruined while they had been kissing.

He took a step to her and pulled her back into his arms, evoking a gasp —that was quickly silenced by the capturing of her lips once more. She clutched his shirt as the kissed.

“I do not wish to go.” He trailed her jaw with his warm lips. “I wish to stay here with my wife.” He kissed her neck.

“You shouldn't.” She mumbled incoherently.

“Then come with me.” He kissed her on her lips, before leaning back.

Breathless, Bianca didn't think herself capable of doing anything else, but agreeing to his request. Yes, a ball room full of people was the cure to the madness that threatened to do nothing but drive her to Race's bed once more; a place she desired greatly to be, yet knew she shouldn't be.