My Bratty Wife
Chapter 203 - Two Hundred And Three

Chapter 203: Chapter Two Hundred And Three

Davis entered the study, closing the door quietly behind him. His expression was, as always, impeccably neutral, but his sharp eyes likely took in the faint flush still lingering on his master’s face and the almost imperceptible tension in Ryan’s posture as he tried to shift subtly in his chair, adjusting his clothing. Davis, however, gave no outward sign that he noticed anything amiss, simply waiting respectfully for Ryan to acknowledge him.

Ryan cleared his throat, running a hand briefly over his hair, forcing his mind away from the lingering scent of lavender and the softness of Suzy’s skin. He turned his full attention to his aide, his gaze sharpening, the earlier heat replaced by a familiar, calculating coolness. "Davis," he said, his voice steady now. "You have news?"

"Indeed, your Grace," Davis replied, stepping forward. "Regarding the... unfortunate individual recovered from the grounds after the incident of that evening. I have completed a thorough examination, as you requested."

Ryan nodded curtly. "And?"

Davis paused, choosing his words with care, laying out his findings like pieces on a chessboard. "The man was not a common ruffian, your Grace. His hands, though rough, lacked the ingrained calluses of a lifelong labourer or soldier. More akin to a hired guard or perhaps a disgruntled groom. His clothing, though deliberately plain, hid details. The shirt, for instance, was of a finer linen than typically found on such men, hastily acquired, perhaps."

He continued, his voice low and even. "More tellingly, tucked inside the heel of his left boot – a common hiding place, but poorly executed in this instance – I discovered this." Davis produced a small, folded piece of oilskin from his pocket. He carefully unfolded it on the edge of Ryan’s desk, revealing not a note, but a small, brass token, slightly tarnished. "This token, your Grace, is from ’The Gilded Cage,’ a rather exclusive gaming establishment in the main town. One known to be frequented regularly by... certain members of the nobles with expensive tastes and occasionally desperate needs."

Ryan stared at the token, his expression unreadable.

Davis pressed on with his logical conclusion. "Furthermore, the knife he carried, though seemingly plain, bore a tiny maker’s mark near the hilt – a serpent coiled around a rose. It’s the mark of Henri Dubois, a cutler known for his discreet work, favoured by gentlemen who prefer their purchases untraceable. Lord Evan, as you may recall, has commissioned pieces from Dubois in the past. The spy we killed belonged to him as well." Davis finally looked up, meeting Ryan’s gaze directly. "While no single piece definitively proves his involvement, the combination – the ill-fitting guise of a commoner, the token from a club your cousin practically frequents, a weapon sourced from a cutler he patronizes and a spy kept to monitor the assassination... the deduction points rather strongly in one direction. It suggests the assassin was procured hastily by Lord Evan days after we found substantial clues concerning the murderer."

Ryan leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming softly on the polished wood of the desk. "I already suspected as much, Davis," he said quietly, his voice flat. "Evan lacks subtlety, even in his treachery." He waved a dismissive hand towards the token. "But this hired fool... he’s just a rash decision. He wasn’t the one who actually wounded me and Evan might not be the main player in this game."

His eyes took on a harder, more distant look, recalling the chaos of the attack. " I’m not certain about it and," he continued, more to himself than to Davis. "The one who stabbed me... I didn’t see his face clearly in the confusion. But I saw his eyes." Ryan leaned forward again, his gaze intense. "I saw those eyes, Davis. Cold, calculating... and chillingly familiar. They belong to him. That same man, I’m certain of it now. That damned man who attacked the Duchess and myself months ago. That’s the real threat."

Davis absorbed this grim confirmation, his own expression hardening slightly in shared resolve. He waited a moment before asking the practical question. "What is to be done now, your Grace?"

Ryan’s focus snapped back to the present, his mind working quickly. "The body," he ordered crisply. "Dispose of it. Properly. No trace left. Weight it well and ensure it finds the bottom of the river tonight. Let the current be its undertaker." He paused, then added, "And prepare a carriage. Have it brought around to the side entrance immediately."

Davis nodded. "A carriage, your Grace?" he asked, allowing a hint of query into his voice, perhaps wondering if his master intended to pursue Evan immediately despite his injury. "May I inquire as to the purpose?"

Ryan stood up slowly, carefully, his earlier discomfort seemingly forgotten in the face of this new resolve. He walked towards the window, staring out at the grounds, his back to Davis. "I have an unfinished business to attend to," he stated, his voice low and cold, carrying an unmistakable weight of menace. "I need to be sure of something."

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The carriage ride across town was tense and mostly silent. Ryan sat stiffly upright, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, focused on the confrontation ahead. Opposite him, Davis sat watchful and quiet, understanding his master needed no conversation, only silence for whatever came next.

Soon, the carriage slowed then pulled to a smooth stop before a residence that was perhaps slightly more ornate than Ryan’s own city dwelling, reflecting Evan’s taste for outward display. Before Davis could even move to open the carriage door, the front door of the house opened, and Brook stepped out. His face registered a flicker of surprise at seeing Ryan return so soon, but years of training kept his expression professionally blank as he approached the carriage.

Davis opened the door and stepped out, followed closely by Ryan, who moved with a controlled stiffness, careful not to aggravate his injury despite the urgency driving him. "His Grace, the Duke, is here to see Lord Evan," Davis announced formally to Brook.

Brook bowed respectfully. "Of course. Lord Evan is currently in his study. If you would please follow me, Your Grace, Mr. Davis." He led them up the short flight of steps and into the entrance hall.

Ryan’s determined strides barely slowed as Brook led them through the hall and towards a pair of polished double doors. "Wait here, Davis," Ryan commanded quietly as they reached the entrance to the study, not breaking stride. Davis nodded silently, positioning himself unobtrusively near the door, while Brook also stepped back, understanding he was dismissed for the moment.

Ryan pushed open the study door without knocking and entered. The room was richly appointed, with bookshelves lining the walls, filled more for show than for reading, Ryan suspected. A large fire burned in the hearth, casting flickering shadows. Evan was seated behind a large, ornate desk, a half-empty glass of amber liquid beside him, looking relaxed, almost indolent. He looked up as Ryan entered, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. There was no surprise in his expression, only a smug sort of anticipation.

Ignoring the luxurious surroundings, Ryan walked directly across the plush carpet, the sound of his boots muffled but purposeful. He didn’t pause until he reached the chair positioned directly opposite Evan’s desk. He pulled it out slightly and sat down, his movements deliberate, controlled. He leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on his knees, his gaze locking onto his cousin’s across the polished surface of the desk. The air in the room crackled with unspoken tension.

Ryan dispensed with all pleasantries. His voice was low, cold, and carried absolute certainty. "You were the one, right?" he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, referring plainly to the assassin sent to his home.

Evan didn’t flinch. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the liquid in his glass, his smug smile widening. He seemed to be enjoying this, savoring the confrontation. He met Ryan’s hard stare with amusement in his eyes. "Now, Cousin," he replied smoothly, his tone deliberately provocative, "what do you think?"