My Bratty Wife
Chapter 196 - Hundred And Ninety Six

Chapter 196: Chapter Hundred And Ninety Six

Evan erupted in a furious outburst, his face contorted with rage. He swept his arm across his desk, sending inkwells, quills, and stacks of papers flying across the room. "How is he still alive?" he roared at Brook, his voice raw with disbelief and fury.

Brook stood impassively, unflinching despite the storm of Evan’s anger. A thin trickle of blood ran down his cheek where a hurled object had grazed him. "I don’t know, my lord," he replied, his voice even and lacked emotion.

Evan grabbed a heavy crystal decanter and hurled it at Brook, the glass shattering against the wall behind him, sending shards scattering across the floor. "Where is that good-for-nothing bastard?" he bellowed, his eyes blazing with uncontrolled fury. "How dare he fail, I want his head on my table before dusk."

Brook remained still, his gaze steady. "He’s dead, my lord," he stated calmly. "The Duke shot him before he could do anything further."

"Blast!!!" Evan cursed, his voice a guttural cry of frustration. He paced the room like a caged animal, his fists clenched, his breathing ragged. He kicked over a small table, sending it crashing to the floor. He ran his hands through his hair, disheveling it further.

"This is impossible!" he exclaimed, his voice rising again. "James sent me a letter that night. He was poisoned! He should be dead! How could he survive?" He stopped pacing and glared at Brook, his eyes filled with suspicion. "Are you sure the assailant is dead? Did you see the body?"

"Yes, my lord, I’m sure," Brook replied, his voice unwavering. "I had someone investigate to make sure everything was going according to plan. The Duke’s shot was precise and James was found dead days later, he was caught."

Evan let out a frustrated groan, slamming his fist against a nearby bookshelf. The impact rattled the books, sending a few tumbling to the floor. He turned away, his back to Brook, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Everything was supposed to be perfect," he muttered, his voice low and filled with self-pity. "Ryan was supposed to be out of the way. Cassandra would have been vulnerable. Everything would have been mine. My duchy would have come back to me." He turned back, his eyes hardening with a renewed sense of anger. "Someone must have interfered. Someone must have had a hand in this." His gaze narrowed, his suspicion returning. "Did anyone else interfere with my plan?"

"I don’t know, my lord," Brook replied truthfully. "I was only certain of the Duke and the dead assailant but my spy informed me that the fatal blow was from another assailant."

Evan remained silent for a long moment, his mind racing, trying to understand how his carefully laid plans had gone awry. He picked up a shattered piece of the decanter, the sharp edges digging into his palm. He stared at it, his expression a mask of cold fury. "This isn’t over," he finally said, his voice low and menacing. "Not by a long shot. Ryan Blackwood will pay for this."

He dropped the shard, his blood dripping on the carpet. "Find out who that person is. Find out everything."

Brook bowed his head. "As you command, my lord," he replied, his face impassive despite the cut on his cheek and the wreckage surrounding them. He knew better than to comment on Evan’s volatile state.

Evan drew out a thin stick of cigar and a flint, his movements jerky and impatient. He lit the end of the cigar with a hurried scratch, the small flame illuminating his still-furious face. He took a deep, frantic drag, the smoke filling his lungs, a desperate attempt to quell the tempest raging within him. He exhaled a thick cloud, watching it dissipate into the air, a fleeting symbol of his fleeting attempts at calm.

He took several more rapid puffs, the cherry of the cigar glowing fiercely, until a semblance of control returned to his features. He asked, his voice now dangerously low and even, "How about the others, where were they? Couldn’t they do anything to make sure he stayed dead or unconscious?"

Brook replied, his voice steady despite the earlier onslaught. "Her Grace was keeping a watchful eye on him, my lord. They couldn’t get close without being detected."

Evan slammed his fist onto the sturdy oak desk, the sudden impact making Brook flinch almost imperceptibly. "All this is bullshit," Evan spat, taking another harsh drag from his cigar. He held the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before exhaling slowly, a thin stream escaping his lips. He then waved a dismissive hand towards Brook. "Be gone."

Brook bowed his head silently and turned to leave the study, closing the heavy door quietly behind him. As the latch clicked shut, Evan was left alone with his swirling thoughts and the lingering scent of cigar smoke. One question, sharp and insistent, pierced through his fury and frustration: "Who else is after Ryan’s life?" The realization that there might be another player in this deadly game sent a fresh wave of unease through him. He took another long drag from his cigar, his eyes narrowed in contemplation, the question hanging heavy in the air.

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The moon bathed the castle grounds in a silvery glow, illuminating Suzy’s slender figure as she stood on the balcony. A cool night breeze gently ruffled her silk nightgown and stirred the strands of her unbound hair. She turned her back to the garden, her gaze softening as she looked at Ryan, who lay sleeping peacefully in their bed, his breathing a slow, steady rhythm that filled the quiet room with a sense of calm. A small, grateful smile touched her lips; the relief over his improving health was a constant, comforting presence.

Turning back to the balcony railing, she looked out at the darkened garden below, feeling the cool air against her skin. Suddenly, a fleeting shape caught her eye, a dark figure lurking in the shadows near the treeline. It was the same indistinct form she had glimpsed before, the one she had seen in this same garden, same position on a rainy night.

Immediately, a hazy, disjointed flashback flickered through her mind, unbidden and unsettling. "My lord," a voice, cold and calculating, echoed in her memory. "What do I do with Duke Charles?" Another voice, smooth and chillingly familiar, answered, "I’ll take care of it myself. I have a bone to pick with him." A gasp escaped Suzy’s lips, though no sound left her throat in the present moment. In her memory, Cassandra was running, a sense of terror propelling her forward. As she fled, she heard the first lord’s voice again, laced with concern, "Were you seen?" The other voice replied, a hint of uncertainty in its tone, "I think so, my lord."

A soft knock on the bedchamber door pulled Suzy back to the present, the unsettling images of the past dissolving into the cool night air. She glanced back at the garden, her eyes searching the shadows, but all she saw was the dark silhouette of a large oak tree where she thought she had seen a person. "What was that all about?" she murmured to herself, a shiver tracing its way down her spine.

The soft knock came again, more insistent this time. Ryan let out a soft moan in his sleep, shifting his position slightly as he remained deeply unconscious. "Enter," Suzy replied, her voice quiet.

The door opened, and Davis stepped into the room, bowing respectfully. "Your Grace," he said, his voice low. "I apologize for disturbing your sleep." He looked towards the bed and saw Ryan still sleeping.

"It’s fine, Davis," Suzy replied, her gaze still lingering on the garden for a moment before turning to him. "I was already awake." She looked at him, her expression questioning. "What brings you here at this late hour?"

Davis stepped further into the room, holding out two sealed letters. "These arrived a bit late, Your Grace," he explained.

Suzy took the envelopes from Davis’s outstretched hand, her brow furrowing slightly. "Who are they from?" she asked.

"Lord Byron and Lord Evan, Your Grace," Davis replied, his voice neutral.