Meant to Bea

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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.