Meant to Bea

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Bianca's hand was buried in the crook of Race's arm as they made their way into Lord Gregory's ballroom that evening. He forced a smile to his lips as they exchanged pleasantries with a few people, when all he wanted to do was spend the evening with Bianca in his bed. He missed her, and desired to cradle her in his arms. He desired to explore her body with his hands, but her reluctance a few hours ago, told him she didn't share his desire, and Race didn't want to force her. He instead released his hold on her, and after promising to wait downstairs until she was dressed for the ball, made his way out of the room.

He found no interest in the ball that evening. The longer Bianca stayed by his side, the more difficult it became to ignore her. He didn't think the evening could get worse, until a gentleman asked Bianca for a dance, and she willingly obliged him. Race was then forced to watch jealously as another man expertly danced with his wife. Bianca too, was a good dancer. She neither missed a step, nor stepped on the gentleman's foot. Race thought they looked perfect together, for he was a well bred gentleman of the ton, and Bianca, a well bred gentlewoman. Race on the other hand, was anything but well bred, he was a Marquess' mistake, a proof of his infidelity.

Bianca returned to his side once the music was over, only to be whisked away by yet another gentleman as soon as the music began again.

“Perhaps you must take me on a twirl around the dancefloor as well, Mr. Belington.”

Race tore his eyes off of the gentleman whose hand clutched tightly to Bianca's waist, long enough to glance at Carla with a frown on his face.

She held out her hand to him. “Shall we?”

Race had half the mind to decline her request, but he imagined it would be embarrassing to do so in the midst of everybody. He however thought it best to have a conversation with Lady Carla, and perhaps make her see the foolishness in flirting with him? It was silly, and unbecoming of her to think anything can ever happen between them.

Nodding, he took her hand, and led her to the dance floor.

“I am not the best at dancing.”

She giggled. “Do not be so modest, Mr. Belington,” She leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. “I certainly enjoy every second with you. If you will follow my lead, you will be fine.”

“Lady Carla,”

“Carla. You mustn't be so formal, Race, we are practically family, especially because you are married to my sister.”

“Yet you so blatantly choose to disrespect our union.”

She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Race didn't want to cause a scene, and sensing the emotion in Carla's voice, he imagined that she would.

He pulled away slightly. “We must speak outside.”

Carla nodded solemnly, and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. Race scanned the ballroom for signs of Bianca, as he and Carla walked out, but he didn't see her.

“I know these grounds quite well,” Carla spoke as they walked. “Lord Gregory has a library we can talk in.”

She indeed led him to the silent library, away from the noise of the ballroom, and the intrusion of guests. Carla made her way over to the shelves and began exploring the books they held.

“Lady Carla,” He sighed, walking over to where she stood with her back to him. “We must talk.”

“You do not love her, Race. You said so yourself the day you were forced by my father to marry her.” She didn't turn around.