Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

George came to the Ellington manor, his heart a heavy stone of dread in his chest. He was stopped at the main gate by two stern-faced guards.

"State your business," one of them asked, his hand resting on the hilt of the short sword at his belt.

"I… I came to see Anne… Lady Anne." George replied, his own voice sounding weak and unfamiliar to his ears. "Please, just tell her that it is Lord George Pembroke, and that it is extremely urgent."

The guard in charge gave the other man a slight signal with his head. That person disappeared inside the manor gates. George was left to wait in the dusty road, feeling like a common beggar. He looked up and saw the sun beginning the dip as he let out an exhausted sigh. Moments later, the guard came back.

"Lady Anne will see you," he said, his tone still cold and formal. "She wants you to join her in the garden pavilion."

George nodded his thanks and was finally allowed to pass. He saw her sitting there, in the small, elegant pavilion where she and her mother used to hold their tea parties. She was a vision in a beautiful afternoon gown, a glass of dark red wine held loosely in her hand.

George sat in the wrought-iron chair across from her. He was too distraught for pleasantries. He went straight to the reason for his desperate visit. "Evelin is in Inspector Wimbly's custody," he said, the words a simple, terrible statement of fact.

Anne's expression did not change. She continued to swirl the wine in her glass, watching the liquid coat the sides in a deep, crimson stain. "She is being interrogated, then?" she asked, her voice calm and completely devoid of any concern.

"Yes," George replied, his own frustration growing at her cold detachment. "The Carson family is on her neck. They are threatening her with complete and utter ruin. And Duke Eric… he told me that I am to be charged with trespassing and burglary for taking the contract."

Anne finally looked at him, a flicker of something that looked like mild annoyance in her eyes. She feigned a look of concern.

"You should have been more careful, George," she said, her voice a soft, chiding murmur. "How did things get that far?"

"Anne," he replied, his own voice finally rising with a desperate anger. "This is all because of you."

She raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "What did you say?"

"The marriage contract," George said, leaning forward. "You were the one who shoved the whole thing in Eric's and his family's faces. I only gave it to you because I thought you would do things with caution, with some kind of a plan. I did not expect you to be so… so reckless."

Anne set her glass of wine down on the table with a soft, deliberate click. "So?" she asked, her voice now as cold as ice. "What is it that you want me to do about it, George?"

"Your father," he pleaded. "Your father is on good terms with the Carsons now. Please, Anne, just ask him for a favor. If the Ellington family makes a move to calm the situation on our…"

Anne cut him off with a short, sharp, humorless laugh. "Ask my father for that? Are you insane? Are you mad? If he were to find out that I was involved in any of this, I would be dealt with severely. I would be locked in my room until I grew old and grey while he deliberate on my punishment."

"Then what do we do?" George asked, his last shred of hope beginning to crumble.

She let out a small, almost bored-sounding sigh. "You will handle it on your own."

George, not ready to believe what he had just heard, could only stare at her. "What?" he said, his voice a choked whisper.

"You and your sister, Evelin, should sort this mess out yourselves," Anne continued, her tone now completely detached, as if she were discussing the weather. "You two volunteered to do this work for me. I did not force anyone. Why are you trying to drag me into your problems now?"

"Anne, you can't do this," George said, his own voice now a desperate plea.

She stood up, her beautiful face a mask of cold, hard indifference. "Watch me," she said.

She started to leave, but George, in his desperation, reached out and held her wrist, his grip tight. "You know we did all of this because of you," he said, his voice breaking. "I did all this because I love you."

Anne looked down at his hand on her wrist, then back up at his face, and she flashed him a set of perfect, white teeth in a smile that was all sharp, cruel edges.

"No, you didn't," she said, her voice now a low, slow, and devastatingly honest whisper. "That is not the truth, George." She leaned in closer, so he could hear every single word. "People always do things for themselves, George. You did this because you thought it would get you closer to me, closer to my family's money, closer to a life you thought you deserved. So, good luck with everything."

His grip tightened on her wrist. "You can't do this to me, Anne," he said, his voice now a low, desperate growl. "What about us? We had something, and now you just want to discard me like I am nothing?"

"George, let go of me," Anne said, trying to remove his grip.

"You cannot just leave me to bear all of the consequences alone," he said, his own control now slipping. "Not after everything I have done, everything I have sacrificed, just to please you."

"George, let go!" Anne said, her voice now rising with real fear as his grip became painfully tight. "George!" She struggled, but he was much stronger than she was. "Someone, please help me!" she shouted.

Two guards, who had been standing at a discreet distance, came running into the pavilion. They immediately restrained George, pulling his hands behind his back.

Anne rubbed the angry, red mark on her wrist that his grip had left behind. She walked up to where the guards held the struggling George and, with a cold, deliberate motion, she gave him a stinging slap across the face.

She then turned to the guards, her voice now calm and full of authority. "Throw him out of here," she instructed.

The guards bowed and began to drag the now-silent and defeated George out of the pavilion.

"What a stupid, stupid fool," Anne said as they left, her gaze fixed on their retreating forms with a look of pure anger and contempt.