Calantha glared up at him. "What do you think you're doing?"
Ryder only smirked, pinning her effortlessly beneath him. "You don't attack a man like that and expect to get away with it."
Confusion flickered in her eyes, which only deepened his amusement.
"Get off me," she snapped, pushing at his chest. But Ryder didn't budge. Instead, he caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, leaning closer, just enough to brush his breath against her cheek.
"Careful," he murmured, eyes narrowing in mock warning. "You keep squirming like that, and I might forget this marriage is fake."
He brought his free hand to her cheek, tracing the soft curve of her jawline and the outline of her face like she were a sketch he hadn't finished studying. "I like you like this," he said, voice low and strangely sincere. "Unfiltered. Angry. You're prettier when you're not pretending to be composed."
Calantha shook her head, "No, you just want to bring me down to your level."
Ryder chuckled, his fingers sweeping across her brow. "Did you know your eyes change color? When you're uninterested, they're a dull green. But when you're angry, curious, or excited... they darken—like a storm rolling through a forest. Like now."
"I will show you a rolling storm." Her head jerked up in an attempt to bite his finger.
He laughed, actually laughed. "There it is. Definitely furious."
"You're a sick man," she hissed, writhing under him—but her movements only made things worse. His body responded instinctively.
"You have no idea. Have you ever been kissed before?" His question was a whisper, a dark temptation that slid between them like silk.
Calantha froze beneath him, her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened. "What sort of question is that?" she shot back, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. It trembled—barely—but enough for Ryder to notice.
He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "A simple one. I'm just curious if anyone's ever dared to taste that sharp tongue of yours."
Calantha's breath caught in her throat. She flashed him a look of shame and disgust. " How dare you!"
"Is that a yes or a no?" Ryder asked, raising a brow at her.
Calantha searched his eyes for a few seconds. "That is none of your business!"
Ryder's smile deepened. He leaned in, lips ghosting the side of her cheek. "It is now. You're my wife, remember?"
"Fake wife," she corrected sharply, her voice tight—or so she hoped. "No rings, remember?"
When she thought it was impossible, his lips tipped further. "Which makes it more interesting."
Her lips parted, probably to argue, but no sound came out. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and something shifted in his expression—something that made her pulse hammer against her ribs.
She couldn't tell if he was still teasing or if things had taken a dangerously real turn. There was a glint in his eyes now—a slow, simmering hunger that made her feel like a rabbit cornered by a very charming, very annoying wolf.
Oh no. That wasn't her heart thumping like a northern war drum. Nope. Probably just… indigestion. Or anxiety. Or both.
Definitely not attraction. No way.
She swallowed hard, clinging to the last thread of dignity like a woman hanging off a cliff in a corset. He was getting far too close, and she was running out of witty comebacks and more importantly, functioning brain cells.
Yup. She was in trouble. Big, broad-shouldered, smug-faced trouble. The kind that smelled like danger, looked like a sin, and grinned like he'd just caught a fish with his bare hands—Of course, she was the fish.
Her gaze wandered up to his face again, half-hoping—no, desperately praying—for a flaw. Maybe he smelled bad. That would be fair, right? A man lowborn had no business smelling decent. A whiff of something rotten—the lingering stench of old onions—or even a touch of bad breath could've snapped her out of this madness.
His grip on her wrists loosened as his fingers traced down the inside of her arms, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake. "You should be careful, Calantha," he murmured, voice low and rough, "playing with fire this close, even if you think you can handle the burn."
But no. Life wasn't so kind.
His breath smelled like grapes. Actual grapes. The kind noblemen had hand-fed to them by maids with swan-like arms. Sweet, expensive, and completely unhelpful to her cause. Even his scent was well-composed. Was that… rosemary?
She nearly groaned. Where the hell was the smelly man she hated so much?
Just when his lips were a mere breath from hers, A loud ahem shattered the tension like glass.
Both of them froze.
Ryder stilled, his body tense against hers before relaxing . Calantha's eyes snapped toward the source of the interruption.
Standing a few feet away was Gloria, arms crossed, her expression as sharp as a blade and twice as cold.
Calantha immediately shoved Ryder off and scrambled to her feet, her face flaming with mortification. Ryder rose more slowly, brushing grass from his clothes with a sigh and a pointed lack of shame.
"Gloria," he greeted, smoothing his hair like he hadn't just been caught nearly ravishing his fake wife in the dirt. "What are you doing in the garden?
Gloria's brows lifted, unimpressed. "I could ask you the same, but I believe I already have my answer."
Ryder grinned as his eyes landed on a frowning Calantha. He asked, "How did it go?"
Gloria's eyes flicked briefly to Calantha, then back to Ryder. "I need a word. Alone."
Ryder gave Calantha a glance, his mouth twitching with what Calantha recognised as amusement. "We'll continue this conversation later," he whispered to her before following Gloria back into the house with a heavy sigh.
Once they were out of earshot, Gloria stopped and turned to him. "Our plan... is not going as planned."
Ryder frowned, all teasing gone from his face. "What do you mean?"
Gloria hesitated. "Your sister. She still refuses to see you."
His eyes searched Gloria's face for any hint of playfulness, but there was none. "Did she say why?"
"Oh, she said a lot of things. Things are not looking so good for you." Gloria exhaled, her hand flying to her forehead, "She wants you to come to the manor."
Ryder raised a brow, confusion and frustration evident in his eyes. "You know that's not possible. I promised them never to set foot there so long as they keep Eleanor safe and I won't break it."
"Ryder, she doesn't know that. To her, she was abandoned by her brother."
Ryder let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. "That makes no sense. Why would she ever think that?" His eyes searched the air, as if he might find answers dangling somewhere. "I wrote to her, Gloria. Every single week from prison, just like I promised. If anyone should feel abandoned, it's me. She never replied. Not once."
Gloria folded her arms. "The girl I spoke to today… she didn't sound like someone who's read a single letter from her beloved brother."
Silence.
It was suffocating, and then it burst with Ryder's deep voice. "What in the devil's balls is happening, Gloria?" His voice cracked—half rage, half wounded disbelief.
"I wish I had the answers," she said quietly. Then, after a long pause, "Or maybe I do. And maybe deep down, you already do too."
Their eyes locked. And then it hit him. His face twisted into something primal. It was a mixture of anger and fear. "Oh lord, Lady Jane and her son wouldn't dare—"
Gloria cut him off. "What if they've already dared?" Gloria raised a questioning brow at Ryder, whose nose flared in anger. He turned sharply, fury radiating from every part of him, but Gloria grabbed his wrist, holding him in place. "What do you think you are doing?"
"Making sure she hasn't," he bit out, breath ragged.
"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded.
"To make sure she hasn't," he snapped, breath heavy with anger.
Gloria's grip tightened. "It's that same blasted temper that got you in this mess. You think barging into the manor with fists clenched and fire in your eyes will help? You think Lady Jane will just hand Eleanor back and wave you off like a good son?"
Ryder shook his head, his patience slipping right through his fingers. He could feel it in every breath he took. "Do you expect me to stand by and watch Lady Jane take my only family away from me?"
"No," she pressed. "What I expect you to do is use your bloody senses." Her voice and eyes softened. "You know how cunning that woman is. She's had years to play the game. And you? I am sure you already know that you are not exactly her favourite person in this world."
Ryder's eyes narrowed, jaw working, but he was listening. He hated that she was making sense.
Gloria continued. "We need to be smart. We need to plan. Remember plan B?" She tapped a finger against his chest. "The festival?" After a few seconds, he nodded. "Good. I just want you to know that all hope isn't lost, and we need to be extremely careful."
At last, Ryder exhaled slowly. "Fine."
Gloria gave a firm nod. "Good. Mother instructed that I meet her and Sophia at Mrs. Humphrey's farm. I'll be on my way now." Ryder nodded, his eyes distant.
Turning on her heel, Gloria walked out of the house, but stopped in her tracks when she caught sight of Calantha, sitting on the weathered bench—it was surely her favourite spot in the house.
Ryder appeared at the doorway and followed her gaze. His steps slowed as he took in the sight of Calantha, her fingers fidgeting at her sides, brows drawn together—not out of judgment, but concern.
Their eyes met, but Ryder's expression shifted. Whatever softness had been there before—the teasing, the hunger, the spark—it had all vanished like smoke in the wind—like they were never there.
Calantha still sat frozen. She turned her head slightly, just enough to follow his retreating back. He didn't look back. Not even once.
She stood slowly, her knees oddly unsteady, and she walked towards Gloria. The weight of confusion pressed against her chest. Did she do something?
"What happened?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. "Why is he—"
"Don't ask me anything," Gloria snapped, her voice like flint. "If he wanted you to know, he would have told you himself." She stormed off
The words landed hard. Calantha flinched, blinking as if slapped.
Suddenly, she hated how familiar this feeling was, being kept in the dark while everyone else danced around secrets.
Secrets that had ruined her life.
That had snatched the ground from beneath her feet and tossed her straight into Ryder's world—into a ship she hadn't chosen to board, with a man whose truths were hidden behind shuttered glances and clenched jaws.
She wasn't trying to pry.
She just wanted to understand.
To be trusted. For once, she wanted to be let in.
Was that too much to ask?