Slowly, Bianca forced her trembling body to settle on the bed once more, the sheets falling from her grip. Her lungs were constricted, making it almost impossible to breathe, and there was a sharp pain splitting through her skull, but she ignored them —both her need to breathe and the pain that threatened to drag her into darkness— and instead focused her gaze on the closed door behind Lady Beatrice.

In only a few minutes, Race would walk in through those doors, and Lady Beatrice would tell him what she assumed was the truth; his wife was caught in bed with a man. Bianca wasn't sure she had the strength to dispute Lady Beatrice's words, but she knew she would try. Perhaps Race would believe her? Surely he knew her well enough to know she would never choose to disgrace him like that. Surely, he knew she loved him too much to hurt him.

And if not? A part of her knew Race would most likely doubt her words. His insecurities about his birth and their forced marriage, would make him believe she truly did what she was accused of. But if he sat to think about it, then there was a chance he would believe her. There was a chance that given the time to heal, and for his anger to subside, he would believe her innocence —something she didn't think she would ever need to prove. For some reason best known to Lord Wilson, he was determined to shame her, even at the cost of his own reputation. Bianca could not understand, and given the state of her mind and the pain in her head, she didn't believe herself capable of understanding it right now.

The seconds went by slowly, each person maintaining their positions —Lady Beatrice by the door, Lord Wilson by the window, and Bianca on the bed— in silence.

Stretching her legs before her, Bianca struggled to breathe as the sound of approaching footsteps sounded from the halls.

Her face paling, she turned her attention to Lady Beatrice in a failed attempt to plead for mercy, but Lady Beatrice was already turning around, and the door was already swinging open to reveal Lord Camden.

A small frown creased the Marquess' face, his brow lifting slightly as his eyes momentarily rested on Lady Beatrice. “Darling, I was in the middle of a very important round of cards.”

It was clear from the teasing tone of his voice, that he failed to notice the presence of the other two people in the room.

“This is important.” Lady Beatrice stepped to the side, Camden's head turning briefly to Bianca —who instinctively reached for the sheets once more— before turning sharply to Lord Wilson. His frown deepened, and Bianca immediately felt light headed. “What in the devil is going on here?”

A soft sob escaped Bianca's lips in that second, and scrambling to her feet, she trudged forward until she was standing before the Marquess.

She clasped her hands before her. “It isn't what it lo—”

“This gentleman was caught alone with Mrs. Belington.” Lady Beatrice interjected. Bianca pulled her eyelids shut, her heart beat slowing down as she considered the great scandal that would follow the news. Not only would Race be shamed for being a bastard, he would be mocked for marrying a harlot. The whole town would laugh at her! Rumors of how she connived her way into Race's bed would spread, and the legitimacy of their child —if they stayed married long enough to have one— would always be questioned.

“What?!” Camden said.

“He was caught trying to force himself on her,”

A loud gasp escaped Bianca's lips, her eyelids snapping open.

“What?!” Lord Wilson yelled from his position by the window.

Turning briefly to glance at him, Bianca turned wide eyed to Lady Beatrice who was nodding to the questioning look in her husband's eyes.

“It was a good thing we walked in here when we did, or I'm certain this man would have taken advantage of Mrs. Belington's weak state and most likely raped her.”

“That is preposterous!” Lord Wilson's voice rose a notch higher.

Camden turned angry eyes to him. “Are you calling my wife a liar?”

His jaw dropped, his eyelids widening.

“I do not specifically remember extending an invitation your way, Lord Wilson. Frankly, we were never in the same circle. So, perhaps we must assume my wife is indeed lying, why did you come to a dinner you were not invited to? Why did you come into a room occupied by a woman in a weak state?”

He licked his lower lip. “I was invited here by Lady Bianca, and we were in the middle of—”

Bianca shook her head furiously. “That is not the case, my lord! You must believe I have only met Lord Wilson once, when he came to my home in search of my husband.”

Camden turned briefly to her, and she searched his eyes for a sign that he believed her, but found nothing.

“You do not expect a woman with a lover to admit to it, do you, my lord?” Lord Wilson spoke once more.

Turning from her, Camden faced Lord Wilson, his eyes fixed on him for several seconds. Bianca wanted to cry in those seconds, but she imagined crying would give off the wrong impression of guilt. So, she stood still, praying that she would be believed.

Slowly, Camden took a step forward, his eyes still fixed on Lord Wilson. Bianca could not see his face, but she had no doubt it was still creased by a frown as he kept moving, his eyes never leaving Lord Wilson.

When he came to a halt before Lord Wilson, a sharp hiss immediately followed the sound of something cracking. In only a second, Lord Wilson was sprawled on the marbled floor, writhing and groaning in pain as he held his nose.

“Neither do I expect a man with a lover to shamelessly admit to it!” Camden barked, his voice sending a cold chill down Bianca's spine. “Not only have you come in here uninvited, you have laid your filthy fingers on my sister-in-law, defamed her reputation, and most importantly, called my wife a liar! And for all of this, my lord, I shall ensure that you spend a large part of the rest of your miserable life, in jail.”

*

Race regretted his decision to listen to Lady Beatrice and stay behind in the drawing room, when his wife obviously needed him. He should have insisted Bianca stayed home that evening, and when she started showing signs of being sick, he should have taken her home himself. But Lady Beatrice had quite the power of persuasion, and considering the fact that Noah was helping him pay off debt, you wasn't keen on getting on his bed side by refusing his wife's request to take Bianca to a room upstairs to lie down.

It was an hour later before Race realized he was alone in the company of Noah's guests. Almost panicking, he was instantly relieved when Noah showed up in the room once more, but was surprised when he motioned for him to join him by the doorway.

Placing the glass of wine in his hand on the table, he made his way to Noah.

“Your wife needs you.”

Frowning in confusion, Race simply nodded to Noah's words, suddenly desperate to get to Bianca.

Noah led him through the halls and up a flight of stairs, coming to a halt by a wooden door, he pushed it open and stepped aside for Race to enter.

Race had barely entered the room, when something threw itself on him. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around her waist, the scent of her skin filling his nostrils. Her soft sobs drifted to his ears, momentarily stopping his heart.

Tightening his hold around her, he drew her further into his arms, uncertain of his ability to speak. What was going on? Why was she crying? Perhaps she was feeling worse than before? He immediately knew it wasn't her health, but something worse.

Still clinging to her, he looked to Noah for answers, but the Marquess simply shook his head, before taking hold of Lady Beatrice's hand and leading her out of the room, leaving them alone.

He kissed her cheek, smoothening her hair. “Perhaps we must go home now?”

When she nodded, he leaned down and scooped her into his arms. She settled in his embrace, her cheek pressing against his chest as her eyelids flickered shut.

Without another word, Race carried his wife home.