My Bratty Wife
Chapter 65 - Sixty Five

Chapter 65: Chapter Sixty Five

Fury contorted Suzy’s face as she writhed in Ryan’s grasp. Her fists pounded a futile rhythm against his back. "Put me down, Ryan! This is absurd!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with outrage. She kicked her legs uselessly, frustration mingling with a strange vulnerability as he carried her across the room.

Reaching a sturdy table by the wall, Ryan didn’t hesitate. He carefully lowered her onto the worn surface, the wood cool against her skin. Before she could react, however, he stepped between her legs, effectively pinning them to the chair. His hand clamped firmly over both of hers, pressing them against the wall above her head to keep her from bulging out his eyes.

Suzy’s struggles turned frantic. "Get off me!" she screamed, her voice tight with barely suppressed rage. Her heart hammered in her chest, a frantic drum against her ribs. The indignity of the situation, her rage, and a flicker of hurt warred within her.

Ryan, his face a mask of grim determination, maintained his hold. "Duchess, calm down," he commanded, his voice low and firm but laced with a hint of desperation. "We need to talk, but you can’t keep throwing books and insults."

His words, though reasonable, only served to fan the flames of her anger. "Talk?" she spat, her eyes blazing. "Let go of me first, you brute!

The room fell silent, the only sound Suzy’s ragged breaths echoing in the tense air. She glared at Ryan, her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowed in a silent accusation. Finally, Ryan broke the silence, his voice calm but firm.

"Duchess," he began, his voice low and gentle, "I understand your anger. It’s true, I brought someone in to assist with the ball preparations."

He paused, anticipating her reaction, but Suzy remained silent, her gaze unwavering.

"However," he continued, "that doesn’t mean I discarded your efforts or didn’t appreciate them. In fact, it was quite the opposite."

Suzy’s lips twitched, a silent scoff escaping them. "Liar," she spat, the word laced with bitterness.

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the edge of the table. "Dr. Abernathy spoke to me after he visited you last night. He expressed concern about your well-being, saying you were experiencing extreme fatigue. He advised you to rest and avoid stress."

Suzy’s eyes flickered for a moment, a flicker of guilt momentarily replacing her anger. She hadn’t considered that Dr. Abernathy’s report might have influenced Ryan’s decision.

"Therefore," Ryan continued, a hint of explanation in his voice, "I felt it was best to call upon someone who could manage the preparations without placing any additional burden on you."

He paused again, searching her face for any sign of understanding. "The person I contacted is an old friend of the family, someone who has extensive experience in organizing the Carleton Balls. In fact, she’s been handling them since... since my mother’s passing."

Suzy’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t known that. Suddenly, a new layer of complication unfolded before her. Bringing in an outsider made sense in light of Dr. Abernathy’s report, but the fact that it was someone connected to his past, specifically his late mother, stung.

Sensing her unspoken question, Ryan added, "I was actually surprised when she told me her youngest daughter was now old enough to assist. It seemed like an ideal solution."

Suzy finally spoke, her voice quiet but laced with a hint of hurt. "Why didn’t you discuss it with me, Ryan?" she asked, her eyes pleading for an answer. "This is my duty, the Duchess’s duty. I’d put so much effort into the preparations already..."

Ryan sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Duchess," he said earnestly, his voice soft, "calm down. I know this is important to you, and I apologize for not explaining things better beforehand. But please, believe me, I was only acting in your best interest, and in the best interest of the ball itself. So please calm down." Ryan released her wrists slowly, his hands lingering for a moment as if unsure.

Suzy’s anger subsided somewhat, replaced by a grudging acceptance. She rubbed her wrists where Ryan’s grip had been firm but not unkind. "Fine," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. "But..."

She trailed off, biting her bottom lip in contemplation. Suddenly, a sharp sting made her gasp and clamp her mouth shut. "Ouch!" she cried, wincing as a sliver of pain shot through her lip.

Ryan, who had been watching her intently, noticed the incident instantly. His gaze dropped to her lips, and a jolt went through him. There, in the soft pink flesh, was a familiar crimson stain – the same shade of red as the lipstick he’d smudged off at the inn. A memory flickered in his mind – the heat of her skin, the way her lips had parted in surprise under his touch.

Without thinking, he moved forward, his hand reaching out. Before Suzy could react, his thumb pressed gently against the bleeding wound, applying pressure to stop the blood. Suzy’s eyes widened in surprise at his sudden closeness, her breath catching in her throat.

Ryan, lost in his own thoughts, barely registered her reaction. His mind was consumed by the strange sensation beneath his thumb – the unexpected softness of her lips, eerily similar to the memory that haunted him. "Why," he thought, a question swirling in his mind, "do I always see red lips when I’m near her?"

His internal turmoil was interrupted by the feeling of a tremor against his thumb. Suzy, overwhelmed by the unexpected intimacy, her heartbeat quickening, was starting to tremble. She felt a warmth emanating from Ryan, a comforting presence that both scared and excited her.

A strange calm settled over Ryan as he watched Suzy, her cheeks flushed and her eyes downcast. "Her lips are soft," he thought again, the memory of the inn replaying in his mind, a memory laced with a strange sense of longing.

He couldn’t resist the inexplicable urge any longer. Before Suzy could react, his thumb brushed against her lip, gently smudging the remaining bloodstain. A jolt of electricity shot through him, a mixture of desire and confusion.

A silent question hung in the air: ’If I took these lips in mine, would it be a sin or a salvation?’ His thumb lingered for a moment too long, the warmth of her skin sending shivers down his spine.

The sound of a voice shattering their unexpected intimacy startled them both. "Milady, are you in there?" Doris’s voice called from outside the door, a hint of worry lacing her tone. "I’ve been looking for you all morning."

Suzy and Ryan, jolted back to reality, scrambled to regain their composure. Suzy, cheeks still burning, swatted Ryan’s hand away from her lips with a barely audible gasp.

"Yes, Doris, I’m in here," Suzy replied, her voice slightly breathless. She cleared her throat and raised her voice a notch. "Is there anything you need?"

"Is His Grace in there, Milady?" Doris inquired. "Can I come in?"

"No! Don’t bother, I’m coming out," Suzy called back, perhaps a little too forcefully. Ryan raised an eyebrow at her sudden outburst, but she simply ignored him.

Ryan, his own face flushed with a mixture of guilt and frustration, cleared his throat awkwardly. "There," he mumbled, the words barely audible over the pounding of his own heart. "That should stop the bleeding. Be careful next time."

Turning towards him, she spoke through gritted teeth. "I’m sending Miss Adeline back. Her presence infuriates me."

Ryan, caught off guard by her sudden shift in mood, simply nodded. "Do as you wish, Duchess," he mumbled, his voice devoid of its earlier warmth.

Suzy, her face a mask of conflicting emotions, scrambled off the table and swept towards the door. "Excuse me, Doris," Suzy said, her voice regaining its usual poise. "I’ll be with you shortly." She opened it, and Doris’s worried face peeked in.

"There you are, Milady!" Doris exclaimed, relief flooding her features. "I was beginning to think something was wrong."

Suzy offered a wan smile. "Just a little discussion with His Grace," she replied dismissively. "Nothing to worry about."

Stepping out of the room, Suzy joined Doris in the hallway, leaving Ryan alone with the scattered Carleton books and the lingering scent of her lavender perfume. He stood there for a moment, the memory of her soft lips still tingling on his thumb as he pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the blood stain on his thumb.

He needed some explanation to himself about the strange pull he felt towards her, a pull that seemed to deepen with every encounter.

Davis entered Ryan’s study with a message clutched in his hand. A single glance at the room, however, caused him to pause in surprise. The usually immaculate study was in disarray – scattered papers littered the floor, books lay open on every surface, and an overturned chair added to the general disarray.

"Your Grace?" Davis stammered, his voice laced with concern. He was about to summon a maid to clean up the mess when Ryan spoke, his voice low and troubled.

"Davis," Ryan began, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. "Have I gone mad?"

Davis blinked, momentarily thrown off guard by the question. He had never seen Ryan like this – agitated, almost desperate.

"Mad, Your Grace?" Davis echoed, his voice cautious. He approached Ryan’s desk slowly, unsure of how to proceed.

Ryan ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, his eyes filled with a turmoil Davis couldn’t decipher. "I can’t seem to get that thought out of my head," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.