Meant to Bea

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Race stirred, his eyelids tearing apart to the sight of the dark room, as his fingers brushed something nearby. He immediately knew it was Bianca, even if he could barely see anything given darkness. The wood in the fireplace must have burned out in the middle of the night, and while he couldn't tell what time it was, he knew it was the early hours of the morning. It was not early enough to get out of bed, but he could barely convince his eyelids to shut once more. He had barely slept the night before after sneaking into the room in the middle of the night, hoping Bianca would be asleep by the time he went in. For some reason, as the days progressed, it became harder to face Bianca, knowing that the state of their finances was doing nothing but getting worse. But as he snuck into the room that evening, and settled into bed beside her, he immediately knew she was not asleep.

He had laid silently beside her, somewhat nervous she would reprimand him for sneaking into bed so late in the evening, but she hadn't. She had instead laid there, until the soft sound of her breathing began drifting to him.

Unable to fall asleep as well, he had laid wide awake wondering if he should pull her into his arms and apologize for his absence. He wondered if she was indeed upset about it.

It was a while longer before fatigue claimed him, and an even shorter time before he was waking up again.

He rose to his elbow, and stretched his neck to see if Bianca was still asleep, and from the sound of her breathing, she was. She was curled up on her side, her knees drawn up to her chest, and her body turned toward him. He couldn't see her face, but he suddenly desired to hold her close, to bury his face in her neck and revel in the sweetness of her closeness, and the scent of her skin. He wanted to forget in that moment, their predicament, and only think of her. He knew he had been doing everything but thinking of her. He had been so busy trying to ensure they did not get broke, he had withdrawn from her.

He shifted forward, and placed a hand against the side of her face. She moaned softly, but did not move.

Sighing because he did not wish to awaken her, he planted a soft kiss on her warm cheek, and struggled out of bed. It was most likely a few hours to day break, but he didn't think he was going to fall asleep anymore, so he decided to get started on working and trying to pay off some of the duke's debts.

He crossed the room and slipped out quietly. He made his way to the study where he spent the rest of the morning trying to sort of the accounts.

There was a knock on the door, the sound pulling him back to the present.

“Enter.” He did not bother to raise his head up.

“Good morning, Mr. Belington.” The butler greeted.

“Have Mrs. Belington know that I shall not be joining her for breakfast.” He lacked the appetite, and while he hated not spending any time with Bianca, he couldn't stand the thought of them losing the luxurious life she had grown up to. As it was, they already needed to fire a few servants. There was no doubt the news of their financial state was all over England. He certainly needed to fix things. Besides, she could dine with her sister, and he just might join them for supper.

“I am not here about Mrs. Belington, a visitor has called on you.”

Race raised his head up then. “Visitor?”

The butler nodded and crossed the room. He handed the card over to Race —Lord Anthony Wilson, the card read. Race frowned at the unfamiliarity of the name, before raising his head up once more, and asking the butler to usher the stranger into his study.

It was a few minutes before his butler appeared once more, closely followed behind by a large man who towered over him. His over six foot form was clad in a gray, tail coat worn over black trousers. His cravat was certainly the handiwork of an expert, and the white of the neck cloth matched perfectly with the color of the shirt worn underneath the coat. His straight, brunette hair reminded Race of the fact that he had forgotten to comb his hair that morning.