My Bratty Wife
Chapter 38 - Thirty Eight

Chapter 38: Chapter Thirty Eight

Grief and frustration warred within Ryan as he knelt beside Luke’s lifeless body. The moonlight, once hopeful, now seemed to cast an even starker light on the grim scene.

"A clean shot," Thorne muttered, his voice low and solemn as he examined the gunshot wound. "Right to the head. No room for error."

Ryan nodded, his gaze fixed on the vacant eyes that stared sightlessly at the moon. "Too clean," he corrected, his voice laced with a bitter truth. "This wasn’t just any killer, Thorne. This was someone precise, calculated."

"This is bad," Thorne muttered, his voice tight with frustration. "Very bad."

"Indeed, the killer," Ryan said, his voice laced with a steely resolve, "is very smart. They knew Luke could talk, and they couldn’t have that."

He stood up, his gaze sweeping across the moonlit path. "And whoever it is, they have a unique motive. Arsenic isn’t cheap, nor is arranging the perfect target like Viscount Conrad. This points to someone... well-off, someone who can afford such careful planning."

Thorne followed Ryan’s line of sight, his brow furrowed in thought. "So, a wealthy mastermind who plants unsuspecting pawns like Luke in their victims’ households?"

"Exactly," Ryan confirmed, his voice sharp. "Luke was an outsider, easily manipulated. They probably used a similar tactic with the other victims inner circle, someone close enough to gain his trust but expendable enough to eliminate."

Thorne’s eyes narrowed. "Then our investigation takes a new turn. We need to find the source, the one who orchestrated this whole thing."

"Agreed," Ryan said, a glint of determination hardening his features.

"What are your orders, Your Grace?" Thorne asked, his hand instinctively going to the pistol on his waistband.

"First," Ryan said, his voice sharp, "we investigate the tavern owner. The one who recommended Luke to the Viscount’s residence. He might know more about Luke’s background, who he was working for."

Throne nodded curtly. "Consider it done, Your Grace. And Luke...?"

Ryan looked back at the body, a wave of sadness washing over him. "Dispose of him discreetly," he instructed, his voice low. "But ensure it’s done with respect. He may have been a pawn, but he didn’t deserve this."

Thorne grunted in acknowledgment. Despite their gruff exterior, both men understood the weight of taking a life, even a life entangled in a deadly web of deceit.

"And lastly," Ryan said, a wave of tiredness washing his face, "we use this to our advantage. Viscount Conrad’s death, however tragic, has given us some clues. We need to follow those leads, dig deeper. This killer thinks they’re in control, but we’re not done yet."

Thorne nodded curtly. "Of course, Your Grace."

The clatter of hooves echoed through the deserted streets as Ryan and Thorne rode back towards Viscount Conrad’s residence. The weight of the night’s events hung heavy in the air, a grim silence settling between them.

"We’ll need to inform the authorities about Luke’s... demise," Thorne finally said, his voice gruff.

"Of course," Ryan replied, his face etched with a grim determination. "But discreetly. We don’t want to raise any unnecessary alarms, not until we have a clearer picture."

Thorne nodded in agreement. "Understood, Your Grace. I’ll handle it myself."

They rode in silence for a while longer, the weight of the day’s events settling heavily on their shoulders. As they dismounted, Ryan turned to Thorne, his voice laced with a hint of exhaustion. "Keep me updated on your findings with the tavern owner," he instructed. "Anything he reveals, anything suspicious at all, I want to know immediately."

Thorne nodded grimly. "Consider it done, Your Grace."

Ryan clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of gratitude and respect. "Good work this past two days, Thorne. We may not have apprehended our target, but we’ve learned a great deal."

Thorne inclined his head in acknowledgement, a flicker of determination burning in his eyes. "We’ll get them, Your Grace. Of that, I have no doubt."

With a final nod, Ryan turned towards the waiting carriage. Davis, his face etched with concern, stood beside the open door.

"Ready, Your Grace?" Davis inquired, his voice a low rumble.

"Yes I am," Ryan replied, a sigh escaping his lips. He climbed into the carriage, sinking into the plush leather seats with a weary thud.

"Home, Davis," he instructed, his voice heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As the carriage rolled through the deserted streets, Ryan leaned back against the plush cushions, his mind racing. Luke’s death was a setback, but it wasn’t the end. The killer had shown their hand, and in doing so, revealed a crucial detail – their fear. They feared Luke talking, feared the truth being exposed.

"That fear," Ryan murmured to himself, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips for the first time since they’d arrived at the Viscount’s residence, "is a weakness. And we will exploit it."

He closed his eyes, the rhythmic rocking of the carriage lulling him into a restless doze. When Ryan finally awoke, the carriage was pulling up to the grand entrance of his own residence. The glow of the morning sun filtering through the trees offered a warm difference to the chilling events of the night.

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Suzy diligently scribbled names onto the guest list, her brow furrowed in concentration. The upcoming ball loomed large, and she needed to ensure every detail was carefully planned.

"Lady Lavinia," she muttered to herself, adding the name to the growing list. "Lord Kensington... and the twins, of course." She paused, tapping the quill against the parchment. "Perhaps we should include a few bards for entertainment..."

However, her thoughts kept drifting away from the mundane task at hand. It had been two days since Ryan had left the castle, and a gnawing unease settled in her stomach. He hadn’t bothered to inform her of his departure, let alone his destination or his expected return date.

"Not that I’m worried or anything," she mumbled to herself, a touch defensively. But the truth was, a flicker of anxiety danced within her. What if something happened to him?

Without Ryan, she’d be left vulnerable, exposed. Back on the streets, or worse, back at that house.

And then the chilling thought of returning to Count Edmund’s manor came to her. The mere memory sent shivers down her spine. Compared to Ryan’s gruff demeanor, life with the Count had been a nightmare of constant belittlement, emotional and physical abuse. At least Ryan, despite his stoicism, provided a roof over her head, treated her with a modicum of respect, ensured her safety, and even tolerated her occasional outbursts (which she was right, of course). Compared to the constant torment she endured under the Count, Ryan was a saint.

Just as she was about to add another name to the list, a loud whinny from outside shattered the afternoon calm. Her head snapped up, her curiosity piqued. Horses? Weren’t they all out with the stable boys?

Suzy, unable to resist her inquisitive nature, tiptoed towards the balcony. Pushing aside the heavy drapes, she peeked out, her heart skipping a beat at the sight that greeted her.

There, in the driveway below, stood Ryan’s familiar carriage, the proud horses snorting and pawing the ground impatiently. The carriage door swung open, revealing a weary-looking Ryan emerging from within.

Suzy’s initial surprise morphed into a wave of relief so intense it almost knocked the wind out of her. He was back! Safe and sound (well, as sound as one could be after a long journey).

Suzy sank back into her chair, a wave of relief washing over her. "Foolish girl," she muttered to herself, a hint of self-deprecation in her voice. "Of course he’d come back. Where else would he go?"

With a nod, she dipped her quill back into the inkwell, muttering to herself, "Just thinking about the betterment of myself, that’s all." As she continued adding names to the guest list.

Downstairs, Ryan emerged from the carriage, a weary sigh escaping his lips. The journey had been long and arduous, filled with frustrating dead ends and chilling revelations. He longed for a hot bath and a good meal, something to soothe his aching body and troubled mind.

"Davis," he called out, his voice hoarse.

Davis appeared at his side in an instant, his face etched with silent concern. "Yes, Your Grace?"

"Have the maids prepare a bath and the kitchen ready some warm food," Ryan instructed, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "And most importantly," he added, a hint of steel returning to his tone, "no disturbances until evening."

Davis nodded curtly. "Consider it done, Your Grace."

As Ryan ascended the stairs, Mr. Bradford, the portly steward, scurried towards him, a flurry of nervous energy.

"Your Grace," he stammered, bowing slightly. "There’s... there’s something you might want to know."

Ryan stopped, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. Interruptions were the last thing he needed right now.

"What is it, Bradford?" he inquired, his voice laced with a hint of impatience.

"Your brother, Lord Byron," Bradford blurted out. "He came to see you yesterday. Said it was urgent."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. Byron, his younger brother, rarely visited unannounced. This did pique his curiosity.

"Did he say what it was about?" Ryan asked, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.

Bradford shook his head vigorously. "No, Your Grace. Just that it couldn’t wait."

Ryan sighed. Family matters, he knew, could rarely be contained. "Send a message to him, tell him I’ll see him this evening," he instructed, his voice firm. "But first," he added with a pointed glare, "I need my rest."

Bradford nodded hastily, relief flooding his features. "Of course, Your Grace. As you wish."

With a final curt nod, Ryan continued towards his quarters, the weight of the day pressing down on him. He needed a respite, a chance to gather his thoughts and strategize his next move.