The man stopped dead in his tracks, his head swiveling towards the source of the croaking voice. He looked at Suzy with an expression that could only be described as less-than-concerned. In fact, it bordered on cold.
Suzy’s heart hammered in her chest. This good-looking dude was her only hope! "Excuse me!" she re-shouted, her voice gaining a little strength. "I need your help! I’m about to fall!"
The man didn’t move a muscle. He simply stared at her with those intense, hooded eyes, his face unreadable.
Suzy’s initial awe quickly morphed into annoyance. "Seriously? Not even a flinch?" she huffed. "Look, I know I don’t exactly look graceful right now, but a little help here would be much appreciated!"
The man finally spoke, his voice as cold as his demeanor. "Climbing walls and dangling is hardly proper behavior for a lady, wouldn’t you agree?"
Suzy’s jaw clenched. Proper behavior? She was about to become squashed and this guy was worried about etiquette? "Proper behavior?" she sputtered. "Look, mister, I don’t care about proper behavior! I just need someone to catch me before..."
Her voice trailed off as a horrifying realization dawned on her. Her grip on the top of the wall was starting to slip. Panic clawed at her throat. "Okay, new plan!" she shrieked. "Just catch me! Please!"
The man’s lips curled into a smirk, cold and humorless. "Catching a woman scaling a wall in broad daylight? I can’t touch you. That would certainly cause a scandal, wouldn’t it, Lady?"
"Please." She pleaded sweetly.
The man remained silent, his gaze fixed on her with an unnerving intensity. Suzy felt a surge of desperation. Thinking fast, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"I just wanted to see the outside world!" she lied, her voice gaining a desperate edge. "My family keeps me locked up inside all the time! I snuck out to see what it’s like!"
The man continued to stare, his expression unreadable. Suzy’s annoyance was bubbling over. "Well? Are you going to say something or just stand there looking like a marble statue?"
Still no response. Suzy, on the verge of tears and full-blown rage, decided to try a different tactic. Maybe playing the damsel in distress would work.
"Actually," she lied again, her voice trembling slightly, "I’m not even supposed to be here! These people kidnapped me! They want to sell me to a... a..." she stammered, her cheeks burning, "...a brothel!"
She paused, hoping her outrageous lie would spark some kind of reaction. "It isn’t right, is it?" she pleaded, turning back towards the approaching figures of Doris and the guards who were finally rushing to her rescue. "They’re bad people. Help me!"
"Can you decide on the lie you want to use?" he said, a hint of skepticism lacing his voice. " Do you want to sight see or are you been kidnapped?"
She glared back at the man, who was still watching the scene unfold with a bored expression.
"Well?" she hissed, anger replacing her earlier desperation. "Aren’t gentlemen supposed to save damsels in distress? Looks like you’re a big disappointment, pompous sissy!"
For the first time, a flicker of emotion crossed the man’s face. It wasn’t concern, nor was it pity. It was... intrigue.
"Damsel in distress?" he repeated, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. "What, pray tell, is a ’sissy’?"
Suzy’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t bothered by her kidnapping lie? He wanted to know what a "sissy" was? The absurdity of it all was almost comical.
"A sissy?" she sputtered, disbelief coloring her voice. "You, of all people, don’t know what a sissy is? You, who stood there like a... a... a pompous sissy while I’m dangling for my life!"
The man’s lips twitched at the corners. Suzy, despite her anger, couldn’t help but notice the faint smile playing on his lips.
As the guards and Doris reached her, she couldn’t help but steal a glance back at the man. He was still standing there, his dark eyes fixed on her retreating figure. A shiver ran down her spine.
Suzy kicked her legs wildly, putting on a show of resistance as the guards tried to pull her down. They swarmed around her, their faces grim. With a collective grunt, they managed to pull her back to solid ground.
Suzy landed with a soft thud as one of the guards caught her, a mixture of relief and fury coursing through her veins.
"Who was that?" Doris whispered, her eyes darting nervously between Suzy and the wall because she knew Suzy was talking to someone.
Suzy gritted her teeth. "Just some... some nosy stranger," she muttered, her voice tight with suppressed anger. She stormed past Doris and the guards heading to manor, leaving the frantic handmaiden and the bewildered guards in her wake.
As she marched through the manor doors, a single thought echoed in her mind – that arrogant, snotty... sissy. She would find a way to get back home and wake up from this nightmare.
A heavy silence hung in the air of the opulent drawing room as Duke Ryan of Carleton sat with his back ramrod straight. He was here for one reason and one reason only: Cassandra.
Across from him, Count Edmund, his silver hair meticulously combed, maintained a facade of forced cheer.
"So, Count Edmund," Ryan began, his voice low and gravelly, "I trust you haven’t changed your mind about our little... arrangement?"
The Count chuckled, a nervous sound that did little to disguise the anxiety flickering in his eyes. "Of course not, Your Grace! The thought of Cassandra becoming Duchess of Carleton is an honor beyond measure."
Ryan snorted, a humorless sound that sent shivers down the Count’s spine. "Honor? More like necessity, wouldn’t you say? Your coffers are running drier than a well in summer, and my father, bless his stubborn soul, had already cemented this deal with your before his untimely demise a month ago."
The Count’s smile faltered slightly. He knew exactly what the Duke was implying. His familiy, once prominent figures in the kingdom, were now teetering on the brink of financial ruin. This marriage, an alliance forged in desperation more than affection, was their last hope of regaining some semblance of their former glory.
"Indeed," the Count conceded, his voice a touch too eager. "Cassandra is a delightful young lady, perfect Duchess material. Beauty, grace, impeccable lineage..."
Ryan raised a hand, silencing him. "Spare me the fawning, Count. I know what she looks like from the portraits. Truth be told, I haven’t exactly been pining for a wife." His gaze hardened. "But duty calls, and besides, a deal has been made. I wouldn’t hurt my image, would i?"
The Count swallowed hard. "Of course not, Your Grace! Cassandra will be... most agreeable."
Ryan gave a sardonic laugh. "Agreeable, huh? Do tell, Count, how agreeable is she to marrying a complete stranger?"
The Count’s face flushed. "Well, you see, Cassandra... she understands her duty to the family. She wouldn’t dream of... disagreeing."
Ryan leaned back in the sofa, his gaze piercing through the Count. "Is that so? Perhaps you should remind her then, that duty comes before personal desires. A lesson she should uphold at all times."
The Count shifted uncomfortably. The "lesson" Ryan alluded to was the very reason for Cassandra’s recent... shall we say, erratic behavior. He hadn’t dared breathe a word of it to the Duke, fearing it might jeopardize the entire marriage arrangement.
"Rest assured, Your Grace," the Count said hastily. "Cassandra will be properly prepared for her new role. She’ll be..."
"A model wife," Ryan finished for him, his voice dripping with cynicism. "Obedient, silent, and an ornament on my arm. Precisely what I require."
The Count didn’t dare contradict him. He needed this marriage, even if it meant sacrificing his daughter’s happiness. "Exactly, Your Grace. We’ll set the date for the wedding as soon as possible."
Ryan steepled his fingers, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Within the month," he declared finally. "No need for a long engagement. The sooner this charade is over, the better."
The Count nodded eagerly, his heart sinking with every passing moment. He had a feeling this "charade" might prove a lot more challenging than either of them anticipated.
As Ryan rose to his feet, a flicker of something akin to pity crossed his features. "Just see to it, Count," he said, his voice softening slightly, "that your daughter is... well-prepared for her new life."
With a curt nod, Ryan swept out of the room, leaving the Count alone with his anxieties. He sank back onto the sofa, a wave of weariness washing over him.
Cassandra’s recent behavior, the rumors swirling around her supposed "illness," gnawed at his already frayed nerves. He needed to find a way to control his daughter, to mold her into the obedient wife Ryan demanded.