My Bratty Wife
Chapter 173 - Hundred And Seventy Three

Chapter 173: Chapter Hundred And Seventy Three

Fully dressed and with breakfast plates cleared, the couple settled into their respective tasks. Ryan resumed his investigation, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over documents and reports. Suzy, meanwhile, began to organize the plans for the orphanage jubilee, her mind buzzing with ideas. She drafted lists for the auction items, the guest invitations, and the entertainment schedule, her quill scratching across the parchment with concentration.

The hours passed, marked by the gentle rhythm of the rain and the quiet rustle of papers. The soft breeze drifting in through the open window lulled Suzy into a state of drowsy contentment. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she found herself nodding off, her head falling gently onto the papers spread before her.

Ryan, noticing her slumber, smiled to himself. He rose from his chair, his movements quiet and careful, and gently lifted her into his arms. He carried her to the bed, laying her down softly, and then pulled the covers over her. He lingered for a moment, watching her peaceful sleep, before returning to his work.

He sat at his desk, his mind preoccupied with the investigation. "What would Evan gain by killing the nobles? What would he gain in doing all these things?" he asked himself, his voice a low murmur, careful not to wake up Suzy. He began to draw patterns, trying to connect the dots, to find a link between the seemingly random murders and previous investigations. "He must have a spy here," he concluded, his brow furrowing. "That’s how he’s always ten steps ahead of me."

His gaze fell upon the letter that Davis had delivered earlier. He picked it up, his curiosity piqued. He unfolded the parchment and read the message, his eyes widening slightly. "Check Her Grace’s study for a gift specially wrapped for her."

He paused, his mind racing. A gift? What kind of gift? And why was it in Suzy’s study? A sense of unease settled in his stomach.

He quickly left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. He found Davis nearby and called him over. "Davis," he said, his voice urgent.

"You called, Your Grace?" Davis asked, walking quickly to his side.

Ryan held up the envelope and parchment, ensuring Davis could see them. "Do you know who delivered this letter?" he asked, his voice sharp.

Davis shook his head. "No, Your Grace," he replied, his expression puzzled. "I found it on the floor of the entrance door. I thought it was misplaced when Mr Bradford was receiving it. It was written—’To the Duke of Carleton’—in an expensive ink. The paper was also of high quality, and it seemed like an important letter, so I brought it in."

Ryan remained silent, his mind racing. They reached the door of Suzy’s study, and he pushed it open. In the center of the room, on the desk, sat a box, neatly wrapped in expensive paper. Davis stared at it, surprised. "How did that get here?" He asked but it was a rhetorical question.

Ryan walked towards the box, his movements deliberate. He carefully opened it, his breath catching in his throat at the sight that greeted him. Inside lay Suzy’s hair bow and a pair of her gloves, both stained with blood. A small piece of parchment lay beside them, bearing a chilling message: "Stay away, or the Duchess’s belongings won’t be the only thing tainted and marred by blood."

Ryan’s blood ran cold. He felt a surge of fury, an overriding rage that threatened to consume him. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. His fears are finally starting to actualize.

"Who else came in here?" he asked Davis, his voice low and dangerous.

Davis’s eyes widened, his expression filled with fear. "Only the maids in charge of cleaning and I, Your Grace," he stammered.

"Bring them to me," Ryan commanded, his voice sharp. " All of them."

Davis bowed quickly and hurried away, leaving Ryan alone in the study. He stared at the bloody items in the box, his mind filled with a chilling certainty. There is a rat within the castle walls, someone close enough to gain access to Suzy’s study and deliver this horrifying message. Someone who was watching their every move. The threat was clear: back off, or Suzy would pay the price. He knew he could not ignore this.

He covered the box and stood in front of the desk, his hands gripping the edge tightly, his knuckles white. He waited, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, for the maids to arrive. Minutes later, Davis entered, followed by three young women, their faces pale and their eyes wide with fear. They curtsied in unison, their voices trembling as they greeted him, "Your Grace."

Ryan’s voice, though low, was sharp and filled with barely contained anger. "What is this box doing here?" he demanded, pointing towards the covered box on the desk.

The first maid, her voice low and soft, stepped forward. "It wasn’t actually here when we were cleaning, Your Grace," she stammered, her eyes darting nervously around the room.

Ryan narrowed his eyes. "Tell me exactly what you did," he instructed, his voice firm. "Start from the moment you entered this room."

The maids, their fear evident, took turns recounting their actions.

"We came in together, Your Grace," the first maid began. "We dusted the furniture, starting with the bookshelf."

"And then?" Ryan pressed.

"Then we swept the floor," the second maid continued, her voice trembling slightly. "We moved the chairs and the rug, making sure we got every corner."

"Did you touch anything else?" Ryan asked, his gaze sweeping over their faces.

"Only the things we were supposed to clean, Your Grace," the third maid replied, her voice pleading. "We wouldn’t dare touch anything else."

"Did you see anyone else enter this room?" Ryan asked.

"No, Your Grace," they replied in unison, shaking their heads.

"And you are certain this box was not here when you cleaned?" Ryan asked, his voice leaving no room for doubt.

"Yes, Your Grace," they all replied again.

Ryan studied their faces, searching for any sign of deception. He believed them, but he couldn’t be too sure. He needed to be sure. He dismissed them with a curt nod. "You may go," he said, his voice cold.

The maids curtsied again, their relief palpable, and hurried out of the study.

As the door closed behind them, Davis spoke up, his voice thoughtful. "The box wasn’t here when I was gathering Her Grace’s papers either, Your Grace."

Ryan nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. He paced the room, his mind racing. "Someone is moving in and out of this room," he said, his voice low. "That bastard has planted another spy in here." He stopped pacing and turned to Davis. "Get Irene and Noah here," he instructed, his voice firm. "Immediately."

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