Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

In a private, sun-drenched parlor far from prying eyes, Baroness Augusta and Duke Philip were having tea. The atmosphere was one of quiet, confident conspiracy.

"The Royal Bank is not going to process the Ellington's loan?" Augusta repeated, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face as she processed the information Philip had just given her.

"That is correct," Philip said. "They said the official news of the rejection will break in about a week. I had one of my men look into it. It seems my dear brother, Eric, was the one who personally intervened to stop the loan process."

Augusta's smirk widened. "Perfect. So, they took the bait," she said, her voice a low purr of triumph. The failed loan had been her idea, a trap designed to be sure where the mole is coming from and it's just a matter of time before they get caught. "Now," she continued, her expression turning more serious, "we just need to find that mole."

Philip leaned forward, a thoughtful look in his cold eyes. "If this news of a rejected loan gets into the public, the value of the Ellington Textile Establishment will plummet. Won't that cause significant problems to your own family's finances?"

"The old man, Baron Edgar, is in charge of the majority of the shares anyway," Augusta replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "It is of no real concern to me. I just need to deal with Delia and everything will be alright. Once she's gone, Ellington textile will grow with her dyes. I can always find someone to make something similar to hers and still make huge profits."

"And I have observed," Philip added, his voice a low murmur, "that Baron Edgar is now in cahoots with Delia, even while he is in hiding. I am sure they are using this time to plot their next move against us."

Augusta smiled as she poured herself another cup of tea. She gently blew on the hot liquid before she took a delicate, ladylike sip. "Well," she said, her eyes glittering with a malicious light, "we are not just sitting idle and doing nothing, either. Are we?"

Philip smirked in agreement. Their own plans were already in motion.

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The great house was dark and silent. Delia, unable to sleep, adjusted the soft, warm shawl she had used to cover her simple nightgown. She quietly knocked on Eric's bedroom door, but there was no response. She slowly opened the door and peaked in, her long, dark hair falling forward and blocking her view as she scanned the moonlit room.

" I should have just put this in a bun." She mumbled.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and murmured to herself in a soft, worried whisper, "Where did he go to in the middle of the night? Shouldn't he be sleeping? I hope he isn't burying himself with work?"

A deep, amused voice answered from right behind her. His own head peaked above hers on the side of the doorframe. "I also have the same question," Eric said. "Where do you think he might be?"

Delia looked up at him as he looked down at her and she let out a high-pitched shriek of deep surprise. "Oh my God!" she said, and in her clumsy, startled haste to open the door wider and step back, she lost her footing and her balance.

"Delia!" Eric said, his own playful mood vanishing in a rush of panicked concern. He lunged forward to protect her.

They fell to the floor in a tangled heap, with Eric taking the full brunt of the impact. He had managed to break her fall, his arms wrapping around her, his hands protectively cradling her head and neck. She had landed safely on top of him. He let out a low, painful groan as his back met the hard, marble floor.

Delia, her heart still pounding from the shock, immediately pushed herself up. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Are you alright?" she asked, her voice full of a frantic worry. "Are you hurt?"

Eric nodded, though a pained expression was still on his face. "It is okay. I am fine," he managed to get out.

"Are you sure?" she said, her hands immediately moving to untie the belt of his robe. "Let me see. Did you hit your back?"

He held her hand, stopping her. "Delia," he said, his voice now a low, hoarse sound that had nothing to do with pain. "I suggest you do not touch me right now."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

He looked at her, at the way the moonlight was streaming in from the hallway, illuminating her soft shoulders and the delicate line of her clavicle where her shawl had fallen away. "Your touch," he said, his voice a low growl of barely contained desire, "it makes me needy. And I am afraid that if you untie this robe, and your beautiful hands start to assess my body, that I will completely lose my control, Delia. And I would not want to take you right here, on the cold, hard floor."

Delia's face flushed a deep, beautiful red. She hit his chest with her small, soft fist. "How can you say something so vulgar? So blunt?" she whispered, though there was no real anger in her voice.

"I am no longer a bachelor," he replied, a slow, seductive smile spreading across his face. "So why can't I say such things to my own beautiful wife?"

" You are unbelievable." She said as she got up from him and picked up her fallen shawl from the other side of the room. She went to the vanity mirror in his room to adjust it, her hands not quite steady. In a flash, Eric was behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his warm, strong chest. They both stared at their reflection in the mirror.

Then, he whispered in her ear, his voice a low, teasing purr, "Where is my reward for saving you?"