My Bratty Wife
Chapter 230 - Two Hundred And Thirty

Chapter 230: Chapter Two Hundred And Thirty

The private study was bathed in the warm afternoon light, but Ryan barely noticed. He stood before a gilded mirror, carefully adjusting the set of his dark blue superfine coat, ensuring it lay perfectly over his tailored waistcoat and crisp white cravat. His dark hair, usually styled with a degree of casual elegance, was today arranged with particular neatness. On his desk, beside a stack of work papers he’d been attending to, lay a small, beautifully wrapped gift – a delicate silver locket he’d commissioned, engraved with a tiny wildflower, Suzy’s favorite flower. He intended to give it to her at the orphanage jubilee, a small token of his love and appreciation for all her hard work.

Davis entered the study, his footsteps quiet on the thick carpet. "Your Grace, the carriage is ready and waiting downstairs," he announced.

Ryan turned, a faint smile touching his lips. He picked up the small gift, his fingers brushing the silk ribbon. "Excellent, Davis. Let’s go." He was looking forward to seeing Suzy, to witnessing the joy on the children’s faces at the jubilee she had poured so much heart into.

As they walked down the grand main staircase of Carleton Hall, its polished banister gleaming, Ryan’s thoughts were full of anticipation. "Do you think the charity auction would be concluded by now, Davis?" he asked, his steps light.

Davis, following a respectful pace behind, considered for a moment. "Yes, Your Grace. Given the usual duration, I believe Her Grace will most likely be with the children at the orphanage grounds as we speak, overseeing the final jubilee preparations."

"Good," Ryan murmured, imagining Suzy’s happy, bustling energy. "She deserves every success today."

They reached the expansive entrance hall, sunlight streaming through the tall, arched doorway. But the scene that greeted them was far from the peaceful departure Ryan had envisioned. Stumbling towards them, his face pale and contorted with pain, was Noah. He was disheveled, his uniform torn and dirtied. He clutched his left arm tightly, and he was limping badly, each step a clear agony. Bruises were already darkening on his cheek and temple.

"Noah!" Ryan exclaimed, his smile vanishing as he rushed forward, Davis at his heels.

"Good heavens, man, what happened to you?" Davis asked.

Noah leaned heavily against a marble pillar, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Your... Your Grace..." he stammered, his voice strained. "The Duchess... Her Grace... she’s gone!"

Ryan’s blood ran cold. "Gone? What do you mean, gone? Explain yourself!"

"The carriage, Your Grace," Noah managed, wincing as he shifted his weight. "After the auction... Her Grace got in... but before I could follow... the door was slammed. The driver... it wasn’t Aaron. A different man. He whipped the horses... they sped off. I couldn’t stop them." His voice was filled with self-reproach and desperation.

"I saddled a horse immediately, Your Grace," Noah continued, his gaze fixed on Ryan, pleading for understanding. "I pursued them as fast as I could, following the direction they took out of the city. But... but on the old mill road, about two miles out... there were others. Waiting." He touched his bruised arm. "Two of them, masked. They came out of the trees, ambushed me. One grabbed my horse’s bridle, the other... he had a club. I tried to fight them off, Your Grace, I truly did, but they were ready for me. They dragged me from my horse. I think... I think they were trying to kill me, or at least ensure I couldn’t follow. I was thrown down the embankment on the far side of the road."

He gestured vaguely, his face tight with pain. "My knee... I think it’s sprained, or worse. I hit my head. By the time I managed to crawl back up to the road and find my horse, which had bolted, the carriage... Her Grace... they were long gone. There was no sign. I rode back as fast as my injuries would allow to inform you."

Ryan listened, his face growing grimmer with every word, his initial shock giving way to a cold, furious resolve. Suzy, his duchess, taken. And by a group organized enough to plan an ambush for her guard. Don’t they know who she is? Don’t they fear death?

"Davis," Ryan’s voice was dangerously quiet but firm, "help Noah. Get him to his quarters immediately and send for Dr. Abernathy. Ensure his injuries are tended to." He turned back to Noah, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. "Noah, the last place you saw that carriage – the exact road, any landmarks, anything you can remember."

Noah, despite his pain, focused. "The old mill road, Your Grace, heading east, just before the abandoned miller’s cottage. That’s where they attacked me. The carriage was already some distance ahead by then, still heading east."

"East," Ryan repeated, committing it to memory. He wasted no more time. He spun on his heel and strode towards the stables, his earlier anticipation replaced by a desperate urgency. Within minutes, he was mounted on his fastest stallion, Thunder, a powerful black warhorse that few could outpace. He didn’t wait for guards or an entourage. This was personal. This was his wife.

He galloped out of Carleton’s gates, following Noah’s directions, pushing Thunder hard. The wind whipped past his face, but he barely felt it, his entire being focused on the road ahead, on the single, consuming thought of finding Suzy.

He rode straight, eastward, along the old mill road, his eyes scanning every inch of the path and its verges. For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing but the dusty track and the whispering trees.

Doubt, cold and insidious, began to creep in. Had he missed something? Had they turned off?

Then, his sharp gaze caught a flicker of color against the dull brown of the roadside. He reined Thunder in so sharply the stallion sidestepped in protest. Ryan leaped from the saddle, his heart pounding. There, lying in the dirt, was a pastel colored hat, slightly crushed but unmistakable. He picked it up, his fingers clenching the delicate silk. Suzy’s. The one she’d worn to the auction. Hope, fierce and desperate, surged through him. She was leaving him a trail. His clever, resourceful wife.

He remounted, his eyes now even more keenly alert. He urged Thunder forward, scanning, searching. A short distance later, a glint of black – one of her gloves. Then, further on, the other. Her fan. Each item, a small, discarded piece of her, was a beacon, a confirmation that he was on the right path, a testament to her courage even in the face of terror. He found one of her heeled shoes, then its mate, a stocking, a delicate hair ornament, the pastel colored bow from her dress. His confidence grew with each discovery, a grim certainty replacing the earlier fear. He was gaining on them.

The trail of her belongings, so painfully personal, continued for some miles. But then, abruptly, it ended. Ryan searched the verges, his gaze sweeping back and forth, but there was nothing more. He rode on a few more paces, his unease returning, and then the road ahead split, branching into two distinct paths at a lonely, windswept crossroads. One veered left, towards a denser, darker woodland. The other curved right, towards rolling, open heath.

He pulled Thunder to a halt, his chest tight. Which way? There were no more signs, no clues. His choice here, he knew with a chilling certainty, could determine everything. One path might lead to Suzy; the other, to an agonizing delay, perhaps to losing her forever. The kidnappers would be moving fast, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and any pursuit. Time was his enemy.

He took a deep, steadying breath, trying to quell the rising panic. He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Suzy, her strength, her intelligence. He had to trust something beyond logic now. His instincts. It screamed at him, a clear, insistent voice in the turmoil of his mind: "Take the left road."

He opened his eyes, his decision made. He gathered Thunder’s reins firmly. "I hope to God I’m right," he said to himself, his voice a low growl. He glanced up at the sky. The sun was already beginning its descent towards the horizon, painting the clouds in hues of orange and purple. Evening was approaching. He thought of Suzy, alone, frightened.

"Hold on a little longer, my love," he whispered, his voice filled with a desperate plea. "I’m on my way."

With a new sense of purpose, he spurred Thunder down the left-hand path, into the deepening shadows of the woods, praying his choice was true.

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