Meant to Bea

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Trigger warning; This chapter contains scenes of abuse that some readers would find unsettling.

*

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-