My Bratty Wife
Chapter 213 - Two Hundred And Thirteen

Chapter 213: Chapter Two Hundred And Thirteen

Byron stared into the amber liquid swirling in the heavy crystal tumbler, the flickering candlelight reflecting in its depths but his focus was inward, troubled. He took a slow sip, the warmth doing little to ease the chill of anxiety.

"Anything to report?" Byron asked quietly, setting the tumbler down on the small table beside his leather armchair. His voice was low, weary.

His aide stood respectfully near the door. He looked uncomfortable. "No, my Lord," he replied, his voice hushed. "I’ve followed every lead, used every contact you suggested. But there is still no trace of her. It’s as if she vanished completely."

Byron’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He didn’t specify who ’she’ was but the lack of news was a constant, gnawing worry underneath everything else. He picked up the glass again, raising it to his lips.

He paused mid-sip as his aide spoke again, his tone shifting to one of urgent concern. "My Lord, there is other news. Grave news concerning His Grace, Duke Ryan."

Byron lowered the glass slowly, his gaze sharpening on his aide. "What is it?"

"The King’s messenger arrived at the Duke’s residence not long ago, my Lord. He delivered... the red letter." His aide swallowed, understanding the significance. "Word is, His Grace is preparing his carriage. He rides for the palace tonight."

The news struck Byron like a physical blow. The red letter. Summons under suspicion of treason. Ryan, his brother accused of betraying the Crown? It was unthinkable, ludicrous. Yet, the summons was real. "Why?" Byron demanded, the single word sharp with disbelief for his brother. "On what grounds?"

His aide shook his head helplessly. "I couldn’t ascertain the specifics, my Lord. The messenger was tight-lipped, only relaying the summons and the twenty-four-hour deadline. But the nature of the envelope... it speaks for itself."

Byron took a large swallow from his glass, the strong spirit burning his throat. Ryan walking into the palace tonight, under the shadow of that scarlet envelope... it was incredibly dangerous. He was confused. Should I be happy about such news or not? He asked himself. Just as he was processing this alarming development, his aide added, his voice even lower, more hesitant.

"There is one more thing, my Lord. It may be unrelated, but... my sources report that Lord Evan has been making inquiries. About you."

Byron froze completely this time. He set the tumbler down on the table again, but harshly, the crystal making a sharp clack against the wood. His head snapped up, his eyes, usually mild, now flashing with cold anger. "Evan? Investigating me?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "Why?"

His aide lowered his head, unable to meet his master’s glare. "Again, my Lord, I do not know his reasons. Only that his agents have been discreetly asking questions about your affairs, your history, your associates."

Byron stared past his aide, his mind racing, connecting the dots with terrifying speed. Ryan summoned under suspicion. Evan, who had conveniently implicated Ryan, now digging into his background. This was no coincidence. A cold dread began to coalesce. He brought a hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed.

"I have a very bad feeling about this," he said slowly, the anger replaced by a chilling certainty. "A coordinated attack. Evan is behind Ryan’s summons, I’d wager my title on it. And now he’s looking for leverage against me." He looked directly at his aide, his expression grim but resolute. "Forget searching for her for now. Shift your resources. I want eyes on Lord Evan. Constant surveillance. I want to know who he meets, where he goes, who carries his messages. Tail him. Discreetly, but don’t lose him."

"Yes, my Lord," His aide replied, understanding the shift in priority. The situation had just become personal, and far more dangerous.

"Go now," Byron ordered. His aide bowed and quickly left the room, leaving Byron alone with his troubling thoughts and the half-empty glass. He stood up and walked towards the fireplace, staring into the low-burning embers. Evan wasn’t just content with framing Ryan; he was moving to eliminate potential allies, potential threats.

——————————

Lord Evan was enjoying the spoils of his recent successes in his lavishly appointed chamber. He lounged lazily on a wide, velvet couch, his chest bare, smooth skin gleaming in the soft lamplight. A young woman with artfully tousled hair knelt before him, her own clothing barely covering her, diligently attending to his pleasure. He gripped a fist full of her hair guiding her movements, making her go down on him faster. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and wine.

Suddenly, the heavy, carved door to the chamber burst open without warning. Brook stumbled into the room, his face flushed, eyes wide with excitement, completely oblivious to the intimate scene he was interrupting.

"My Lord! My Lord, I have it!" Brook exclaimed breathlessly. He stopped dead just inside the room as his eyes registered the scene. His face paled, then flushed a deep red. He immediately spun around, turning his back rigidly to the couch, staring intently at the closed door he had just burst through. "Forgive me, My Lord!" he stammered, mortified. "My deepest apologies! I... I was overly eager... I did not realize you were... occupied!"

Evan let out a long, exaggerated groan of pure frustration, the pleasurable haze instantly evaporating. He let go of her hair and slapped the woman lightly on her shoulder, a gesture of dismissal rather than affection. "Get out," he commanded curtly, his voice tight with annoyance.

The woman scrambled to her feet, hastily adjusting her dishevelled clothing. She gathered a small silk wrap from the floor, her eyes downcast, avoiding looking at either Evan or Brook’s turned back, and practically fled the room, closing the door silently behind her.

Evan swung his legs off the couch and rose, stretching languidly like a large cat, completely unconcerned by his state of undress. He padded over to a small, inlaid table where a box of expensive cigars lay open. He selected one, clipped the end with practiced ease, and reached for a taper burning nearby.

"This news had better be worth the considerable inconvenience, Brook," Evan said coolly, his back still to his servant as he lit the cigar, drawing the flame in slowly. Smoke curled around his head as he turned, fixing Brook’s rigid back with a calculating gaze. "My patience is wearing thin tonight. If this is trivial, your eagerness will earn you a punishment designed to remind you of the importance of timing... and knocking."

Brook bowed deeply, still facing the door. "My profound apologies again, My Lord! It is not trivial! I assure you, it is significant! It concerns Lord Byron!"

Evan paused, the cigar halfway to his lips. He lowered it slowly, a flicker of sharp interest cutting through his languid annoyance. "Byron?" he repeated, turning fully now, a thin trail of smoke escaping his lips. "You found something on the ever-so-loyal, ever-so-dull Byron?"

Finally sensing permission, Brook turned around, his earlier embarrassment replaced by triumphant excitement. His eyes gleamed. "Yes, My Lord! After digging deep, following dead ends, I pursued the angle you suggested...." Brook could barely contain himself. "I have found something, My Lord. Something concrete. Something... incriminating."

Evan raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a slow, predatory smile beginning to dawn on his lips. "Incriminating?" he echoed softly, savoring the word. He took another slow puff of his cigar, watching Brook intently. "Go on, Brook. Tell me everything."