Chapter Eleven

Suzy cracked her eyes open, a dull throbbing in her head was the first thing to greet her. Disoriented, she blinked, trying to focus on her surroundings. The room was dimly lit, furnished with a simple wooden bed, a rickety chair, and a small table cluttered with vials and a half-empty mug.

This was… an inn. A run-down, barely functional inn, but an inn nonetheless.

Relief washed over her, momentarily erasing the throbbing pain in her head. She was safe. Or at least, safer than she'd been in the clutches of the thief.

Tentatively, Suzy reached up and touched her neck. The area where the thief's knife had pressed against her skin felt tender, but there was no obvious wound. Someone had taken care of her.

Panic clawed at her throat as she noticed something else. Her dress was gone. In its place, she wore a loose-fitting white shirt that hung loosely on her frame. Men's clothing.

Panic clawed at her throat. Had Davis…? No, the very thought of him taking advantage of her unconsciousness filled her with a cold dread.

"Awake already?" A deep familiar voice broke the silence, startling her from her spiraling thoughts.

Looking towards the source of the voice, Suzy saw a tall, broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway. His imposing figure filled the small room, and for a fleeting moment, Suzy felt a flicker of fear. He was shirtless, his skin rippling with muscles, and a dark scowl etched itself onto his handsome face.

As he strode closer, his features came into focus. Suzy's jaw clenched. It was him - the same man she'd met by the wall, the one with the pompous demeanor and self-important smirk.

"Pompous sissy?" the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, a knee-jerk reaction to the sudden intrusion. The memory of their first, less than pleasant encounter at the wall flooded back.

The man's scowl deepened as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Excuse me?" he growled, his voice laced with a dangerous edge.

Suzy felt a wave of heat rise to her cheeks. Panic prickled at the edges of her mind. Here she was, injured, alone, and spouting nonsense at a complete stranger. Truly brilliant, she thought sarcastically.

As the man took a menacing step closer, Suzy scrambled to her feet, her legs wobbly but surprisingly steady. "I… I apologize," she stammered, her voice regaining some semblance of composure. "You… you startled me."

The man stopped in his tracks, his gaze fixed on her. Then, to her surprise, he raised an eyebrow, an expression crossing his face. It was the same bewildered expression he'd worn the first time they met, adding fuel to Suzy's simmering irritation.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice cold and clipped.

He walked closer to the bed, his movements purposeful. Before Suzy could react, he reached out and touched her forehead, his cool fingers brushing against her warm skin.

Suzy flinched, swatting his hand away with a gasp. "Don't touch me!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with anger and a hint of fear. "I'm married to an idiot who didn't show up for his wedding!"

A slow smile spread across the Duke's face. "Indeed, you are, Duchess," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "And whose shirt do you think you're wearing?"

Suzy's gaze darted down to the loose-fitting white garment covering her.

A wave of realization washed over her, tinged with a touch of mortification. Of course, the shirt wouldn't have materialized out of thin air.

"It's… it's none of your concern," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

A slow smile spread across the man's face, a smile that did little to reassure Suzy. "Oh, it most certainly is," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "After all, it's mine."

Looking back at the man, Suzy's eyes narrowed. "So, you're the Grand Duke of Carleton?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don't you have a name?"

"Ryan". He answered.

"Ryan?" Suzy blurted, the name tumbling out in disbelief. "That's your name?"

Ryan's smile vanished, replaced by a cold indifference. "It's my name," he stated flatly.

Suzy narrowed her eyes. "Then perhaps you could explain," she demanded, her voice laced with a newfound defiance, "why the Grand Duke of Carleton is lounging shirtless in my room?"

Ryan's gaze flickered to his bare chest for a fleeting moment before returning to meet hers. "The innkeeper deemed it necessary."

Suzy bristled. "Whose fault is it? The innkeeper had to change me after you… well, after you shot me."

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something akin to annoyance crossing his face. "Shot you?" he echoed, his voice devoid of warmth. "Seems like your memory needs refreshing, Duchess. I was the one who took down the thief who was about to slit your throat."

Suzy's cheeks flushed with anger. The audacity of this man! "And whose fault was it that I was even in that situation?" she retorted, her voice laced with a dangerous edge.

Ryan's gaze turned steely. "Enough with the dramatics," he spat. "There are no fresh clothes to be had in this sorry excuse for an inn. Consider this shirt a loan."

He tossed a worn leather pouch onto the bed beside her. "The innkeeper cleaned your wound," he said curtly. "There's some coin in that pouch to compensate her.

With that, Ryan turned on his heel to leave the room, leaving Suzy speechless. He hadn't even bothered to ask how she was feeling, if she was in pain.

Fury bubbled up in Suzy's chest, hot enough to melt the icy demeanor of the man before her. "So, Ryan," She began, her voice laced with a bitterness she couldn't quite control. "Since you've graced me with your presence, perhaps you could enlighten me? Why the charade of a wedding? Why marry someone you so obviously despise?"

Ryan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze distant. "Despise is a strong word, Duchess," he replied, his voice devoid of warmth. "But let's just say your arrival wasn't exactly… anticipated."

Suzy's jaw clenched. "Oh, I understand perfectly," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "My family, in their infinite wisdom, decided to sell me off to secure some… political advantage."

Ryan's lips twitched into a humorless smile. "Political advantage is a kind way of putting it. Let's just say your family's debts were… inconvenient."

He turned to leave but she repeated the question which made him halt.

"And what about you, Ryan?" she demanded, her voice shaking with barely contained anger. "Why did you agree to this marriage? Do you also have some family obligation you're fulfilling?"

Ryan froze at the doorway, his back stiff. He didn't turn around to face her, his silence a deafening answer in itself. Suzy's voice trembled with barely contained anger.

"Do you even have a reason for this charade?" she pressed, her question echoing through the small room. "Or are you just as much a pawn in this game as I am?"

Still no answer. Ryan remained a statue, his silence a wall she couldn't seem to breach. Suzy clenched her fists, frustration burning in her eyes.

"Fine," she hissed, her voice laced with a dangerous calm. "Keep your secrets. But don't think for a second that I'll be a submissive wife. I was forced into this marriage, and I won't make things easy for you."

A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Finally, Ryan turned, his eyes cold and emotionless.

"The innkeeper will see to getting you some fresh clothes in the morning," he said curtly, his voice devoid of warmth. "We leave at dawn. No further delays. Get some rest."

Without another word, Ryan turned and paused for a moment, his hand hovering on the knob. "One more thing, Duchess," he said, his voice cold and laced with a warning. "There will be no more outbursts like tonight. You are in my domain now, and you will behave accordingly." Those were his last words before slamming the door shut behind him leaving Suzy fuming. He offered no explanation for his actions and no apology for his callous behavior. Suzy was left alone with her anger and her fear, married to a man who seemed to despise her very existence.