My Bratty Wife
Chapter 242 - Two Hundred And Forty Two

Chapter 242: Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Two

Suzy stood before him, her eyes sparkling with pent up desire, her earlier whispered words – "I am not yet satisfied" – hanging in the air between them like a silken invitation. Her hand, which had been resting on his erection, now began to trace feather-light patterns on his arm, sending little shivers of awareness through him.

He swallowed, his gaze dropping to her inviting lips, then quickly back to her eyes, his mind a battlefield of desire and ingrained caution. "Cassandra," he began, his voice a little hoarse, "my love, we... we can’t. Not now, not now. What if I ...?"

She tilted her head, her smile unwavering. "Dr. Abernathy, assured me it is perfectly fine, Ryan," she said softly, her fingers now gently stroking his cheek, a touch that made his carefully constructed composure tremble. "For the baby, for me. He said so himself."

Ryan’s eyes widened slightly. "Really?" he breathed, a spark of hope, of incredulous relief, igniting within him. The fear that had kept him so carefully distant, so afraid of inadvertently harming her or their unborn child since they’d received the news, had been a heavy burden. If the doctor had truly given his blessing...

She nodded slowly, her gaze tender and full of understanding for the turmoil he’d clearly been experiencing. "Yes, really."

He looked at her, truly looked at her – the soft curve of her cheek, those freckles, those tiny dot that are like stars scattered across the sky, the gentle swell of her lips, the desire that lit up her eyes – and a wave of longing, so potent it almost buckled his knees, washed over him. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to lose himself in her.

But then, his gaze fell upon the dreadful stack of documents Davis had just brought in, their official seals and curling ribbons a reminder of his ducal duties. They stared back at him, a silent rebuke to his distraction. "The courier..." he murmured, his voice laced with regret, "he’s waiting for these. They require my seal, my attention."

Suzy’s hand stilled its gentle caress on his cheek. She didn’t pout or sigh with disappointment. Instead, a thoughtful, almost calculating, glint appeared in her eyes. With a graceful movement, she stepped back, walked over to one of the plush visitor’s chairs, and perched on its edge, looking every bit the capable Duchess.

"Well then, Your Grace " she said, her tone suddenly business-like, though the playful sparkle remained in her eyes. "You can share them. I can attend to half of the documents, and you do the rest. It will be faster that way."

Ryan blinked, surprised by her practical suggestion. "No, Cassandra," he objected immediately, his protective instincts flaring. "Absolutely not. The doctor explicitly said you need rest. This will be far too stressful for you, especially after... well, after everything."

She raised an eyebrow, a familiar gesture that he knew usually preceded a rather unanswerable point. "Have you forgotten so soon, Ryan," she said, her voice smooth and even, "that you have subjected me to far greater stress before? When you made me, your brand-new, somewhat lost Duchess, plan the entire Carleton ball with barely a month’s notice?"

Ryan fell silent. He remembered. Oh, he remembered it vividly. They were just newlyweds then, their marriage an arranged alliance, their interactions often fraught with misunderstanding and a simmering amount of banter. He had been aloof, demanding, and she... she had always managed to get under his skin in the most infuriating, and yet, strangely captivating way he could possibly imagine.

Suzy, seeing his silence, pressed her advantage. "And if I recall correctly," she continued, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips, "I handled it rather well. The ball went quite smoothly, wouldn’t you agree? You, yourself complimented the arrangements." She leaned forward slightly, her gaze direct and unwavering. "So... the faster we finish these tedious papers, my dear husband, the faster I get to be on you... or rather, the faster we can attend to my... ah... hunger." Her eyes danced with mischief.

She didn’t wait for his response. She rose, walked back to his desk, and calmly took a portion of the documents from the top of the stack, carrying them back to her chair.

Ryan watched her, a mixture of displeasure, admiration, and a renewed surge of desire warring within him. She was magnificent. He hesitated for only a minute or two, his sense of duty battling with his concern for her, and then, with a sigh that was half resignation, half anticipation, he reached for his own share of the documents. If this was what she wanted, if this was her way of reclaiming normalcy, of asserting her strength, who was he to deny her?

And so, an unusual peace settled over the Duke’s study. They worked together, the scratch of quills the loudest sound for a while. Suzy, true to her word, was surprisingly adept. She would occasionally ask a question, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sought to understand the complex fine print or the implications of a particular clause.

"Ryan, this land lease... the terms for renewal seem rather unclear. Should we not specify a fixed percentage increase tied to crop yields rather than leaving it to ’prevailing market rates’?"

Another minute she’s asking another. "This petition from the weavers’ guild... their concerns about the imported silks seem quite valid. Perhaps a temporary tariff is in order?"

Her questions were intelligent, insightful, and Ryan found himself genuinely impressed, and not a little proud. He answered her patiently, explaining the nuances, guiding her where necessary, a new kind of intimacy blossoming between them.

After a couple of hours, Suzy’ stomach let out another, more insistent rumble. She looked up at him, a sheepish grin on her face. "It seems my... other hunger is also making its presence known."

Ryan chuckled. "Then we shall attend to it." He called for the guards outside to call for Davis presence, and when Davis appeared, he requested a light meal be sent up for them both. Soon, a tray arrived with delicate sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a pot of fragrant tea. They ate together in the study, their conversation easy and companionable, a comfortable interlude in their working day.

Refreshed, they returned to the documents. Suzy continued to ask her valid questions, ensuring she made no mistakes, her initial burst of energy now tempered by a quiet diligence.

The afternoon sun climbed higher in the sky, its rays warming the room, creating a sleepy, peaceful atmosphere. Ryan, focused on a particularly complex trade agreement, was deeply engrossed in his own work.

When he finally finished his portion, signing the last document with a flourish of his quill, he stretched, a satisfying ache in his shoulders. He looked over towards Suzy, intending to see how she was faring, perhaps to offer assistance with her remaining papers.

But she was no longer working.

Her head rested on a stack of completed documents on the table before her chair, her cheek pillowed on her folded arms. Her breathing was slow, deep, and even, a soft, beautiful rhythm in the quiet room. The sunlight caught the reddish highlights in her disheveled curly hair. She had fallen fast asleep, utterly exhausted by her efforts.

A wave of tenderness, so powerful it almost brought tears to his eyes, washed over Ryan. He stood up quietly, his chair making no sound on the thick rug, and walked over to her. He watched her for a long moment, this incredible woman who was his wife, his duchess, the mother of his child. This woman who had faced down kidnappers, endured unimaginable terror, and then, with unwavering spirit, insisted on sharing his burdens, only to succumb to the innocent fatigue of pregnancy.

He bent down and, with infinite gentleness, scooped her into his arms. She was lighter than he expected, yet she felt so precious, so vital. She snuggled instinctively into his embrace, her head finding the curve of his shoulder, a soft, contented sigh escaping her lips even in sleep.

He carried her out of the study, through the quiet corridors of Carleton Hall, and into the familiar sanctuary of their bedchamber. He laid her gently on the large, canopied bed, drawing the covers over her. She continued to sleep, her face peaceful, the earlier lines of strain erased. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead, his touch as soft as a butterfly’s wing, and pressed a lingering kiss there.

"I love you so much," he whispered.

With one last, adoring look, he turned and quietly left the room, heading back to the study. There was still work to be done – her remaining documents, and his own endless responsibilities that needs to finished before nightfall.