A Decadent Passion 

Warning: this chapter contains descriptions of a miscarriage.

The London opera house was teaming with activity. It was the first opera of the London social season, and every eligible member of the ton was attending. They were dressed in their finest attire.

Sitting in the dark red plush velvet chair beside her fiancé, Briella Weston felt anxious. Not only was she engaged to Lord Charles Valmont, Viscount Valmont, but she was also carrying his child. It was the second week of April, and she was nearly 2 months along. She had discovered her courses were late in February.

Briella didn't want the baby, didn't want to become Viscountess. She despised Charles with her whole heart. She had been forced into an arranged marriage with him by her brother, Francis. The engagement had taken place since December of the previous year. Their marriage was to take place in June.

Charles, on the other hand, was thrilled to have a beautiful woman on his arm. With black hair and dark gray eyes, he was considered by many to be very handsome. And he believed Briella complemented him perfectly. He was anxious to have her as his wife and have his son in his arms.

Briella shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the corset of her cream muslin gown making her nausea amplified. She fixed her eyes on her cream silk gloves which rested in her lap. Her eyes traveled to the very large and very uncomfortable diamond ring on her left hand.

Charles elbowed her in the ribs. "What's wrong now?"

Briella raised her head to look at him. "I am not well, if you haven't noticed."

Charles rolled his eyes dismissively. "Quite frankly I don't care. You are with child, it's expected of you to be unwell."

Briella glared at him, wishing she could vomit right onto his black shining boots. The nerve of that bastard to say such a disgusting thing to her. She certainly didn't love him, and it was quite clear he felt the same. "At least have the decency to ask how I am feeling my Lord."

Charles glared at her. "I'd rather not. Besides, the opera is about to begin. Try to contain your nausea."

Feeling as if she would explode from anger, Briella turned her attention to the stage at the front of the auditorium. She had a prime view of the stage and the performers, her seat located in the private box that Charles owned. She was going to ignore her fiancé, just as he was being dismissive of her.

As soon as the house lights came back up for intermission one hour later, Charles was on his feet. Without waiting for Briella to say a word, he pulled her up by her hand and practically dragged her out of the auditorium and into the lobby. He dragged her over to the drinking table, letting her go to collect himself a glass of champagne.

Briella glared at him, crossing her arms. "Do you not believe that you shouldn't be drinking? Especially because you do not control yourself?"

Charles took a long sip from his flute before glaring back at her. "How dare you say such a thing like that. I have self-control."

Briella stared at him, her mouth dropping open. "Excuse me? You certainly don't have any self-control my Lord."

Charles finished his first glass of champagne before reaching for another one. "You have no right to say such things to me. I'm going to be your future husband. You are going to be my wife and stay silent."

Briella's eyes blazed with rage. "I am not going to be a quiet little mouse and do your bidding! I have a voice and my own opinions!"

Charles finished his second glass, his eyes glazed over. He came right up until he was inches away from her face. "You are going to do as I say. You are going to stay quiet and out of my way. And, above all, you are going to give me a son."

Briella took a step back, both afraid of him and not liking his alcoholic breath. "I don't want your son."

Charles stared at her. "What?"

Briella stood up straight, tilting her chin up with defiance. "I don't want your son. I don't want to be married to you. I don't love you and I know you don't love me."

Charles growled, grabbing her hand and taking her outside. He turned around once they were alone, slapping her across the face. "How dare you! Your brother arranged this marriage!"

Briella stumbled back, holding her left cheek. "I know he did! Frances saw the two of us together, because of you might I add!"

Charles. "What the bloody hell did I do?"

Briella. "Francis found you on top of me in my bed chamber! He had no other choice but to arrange this bloody marriage! And now look at me, I am carrying your child and all you care about is yourself!"

Charles grabbed her by her shoulders, his face inches away from hers. "You listen to me you bloody little whore! I am saving you from a lifetime of destitution! You could easily be in a brothel by now! Instead, you are going to be among societies elite!"

Briella growled, spitting in his face. "I would rather be in a brothel than be your wife!"

Charles growled viciously, his fingers becoming tight on her shoulders. "If you would like to be a whore in a brothel, then be my guest. I didn't want you as my wife anyway. I simply took the offer from your brother so that I could gain your dowry."

Briella gasped, both from his words and from a sudden sharp pain in her belly. She took a staggering step away from him, dropping to her knees and holding her abdomen. Looking down, she felt tears of relief beginning to flow down her cheeks. Her cream muslin skirts had become crimson.

Charles glanced down at the blood beginning to flow from between his fiancé's legs. His dark eyes met hers, and they were filled with fury. "You lost my son. You fucking lost my son!"

Briella glared at him through her tears, her voice filled with determination. "I would rather it be your child than anyone else's!"