Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

The carriage rolled to a smooth stop in front of the familiar courtyard of Eric's private residence. The long day was finally over. Mr Rye helped Delia down, and she stretched her tired body as she stood in the cool night air. She looked up at the grand house, her gaze immediately going to the windows of Eric's bedroom. There was no sign of movement, no warm, welcoming light.

"He isn't home yet?" she asked herself, a small, sharp pang of disappointment in her chest.

Mr. Rye, having just finished uncoupling the horse from carriage and taken it to the stables, came back to her, a single letter held in his gloved hand.

"Your Grace," he said with a respectful bow, "it seems another letter has arrived for you from the main estate."

Delia took it and saw the elegant, familiar script of Duchess Lyra Carson on the front of the envelope. She thanked Mr. Rye, gathered the skirt of her dress in her hand, and went inside, the letter held tightly in her other hand.

She climbed the quiet, sweeping staircase and went straight to Eric's room, a foolish hope in her heart that maybe he had just forgotten to light his lamps. She knocked softly, but there was no response. She pushed the door open a little and saw that the room was dark and empty.

"Maybe he is still busy at work, because of his new position," she murmured to the empty hallway. "I guess I will be sleeping alone tonight." She was surprised by the sadness she felt at the thought. "Why do I feel so sad about it?"

She closed his door softly and went to her own room. She opened the door, her mind already on a warm bath and a quiet evening of reading. But she stopped dead in her tracks. The room was not empty.

Eric was there, sitting on her bed, a stack of ledgers beside him, a single lamp on her bedside table casting a warm, golden glow on his work.

She held her chest with her hand, trying to calm the sudden, frantic beating of her heart. She had been so startled to see someone in her room, and even more so to see him there, on her bed, looking so completely and utterly at home.

He must have heard her sharp intake of breath, because he looked up from his work and saw her standing in the doorway. He immediately dropped the ledger he was holding. "I am so sorry," he said, a look of genuine concern on his face. "I have been waiting for you to come home. Did I startle you?"

Delia could only nod, her voice having temporarily abandoned her.

He got up from the bed and walked towards her, his own expression a mixture of relief and a deep, tender affection. He reached out and gently removed her hat, tossing it without a care onto a nearby armchair. He then enveloped her in a tight, warm hug.

"Thank you," he said, his voice a low, grateful murmur into her hair. "Thank you for what you did today."

Delia wrapped her own arms around his waist, holding him just as tightly as she snuggled deep into his chest, the familiar, comforting scent of him chasing away the last of her shock. He caressed her hair, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles.

"How did you do it?" he asked, his voice full of a genuine, admiring curiosity.

She broke the hug, looking up at him. "Originally," she explained, "I had gone to the justice division to see Evelin Pembroke. I wanted to talk to her, to convince her to expose Anne. But I met George outside instead. He… he seemed broken. He agreed to do everything I asked of him, I think he was trying to redeem himself in some small way. After he had the confession pamphlets printed, I paid an old friend of mine, a paper boy, to help me distribute them quickly. And then I sent you some copies, just in time for your meeting."

Eric patted her head, a soft, proud gesture. "It was really very helpful today," he said, his voice full of a deep sincerity. "I would not have been able to go that far, to put Philip so firmly in his place, without it."

Delia smiled, a wave of pride and happiness washing over her.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, his own voice now full of a gentle concern.

She shook her head. "Not rea. After I was done dealing with George, I went to the small house where my grandfather is staying. I ate a whole lot of food there."

Eric smiled, his gaze turning warm and intimate. He whispered into her ear, his breath a hot caress against her skin. "Should I help you undress, then? That dress looks very difficult, with all its tiny buttons." He smirked.

Delia pinched the bridge of her nose, a familiar, exasperated sigh escaping her lips. "Eric…" she said, her voice a soft, scolding murmur. She walked past him to sit at her vanity, the letter from his mother still in her hand. She dropped it on the table. "I thought you were busy with something important tonight," she said as she began to remove the pins that were holding her hair in its elegant bun. Her long, dark curls tumbled down her back.

Eric smiled " Yes Duchess." He said and went back to the bed to continue his work, watching her in the mirror. Delia, feeling his eyes on her, undressed herself and went to take her bath.

After she had finished, she came back into the room, dressed in a silk nightgown , and picked up the letter she had dropped on the vanity.

"… We are going to your father's residence tomorrow."

She read it, and a small, happy smile touched her lips.

Eric had finally finished with his work. He was now sitting in the middle of her bed, the ledgers all neatly stacked on the floor. He patted the empty space on the mattress beside him, a silent, simple invitation.

Delia smiled and thought to herself, a wave of affection washing over her. "He is just like a child sometimes."

He held the covers as she got into the bed beside him. The moment she was settled, he moved, putting his head on her soft bosom. He wrapped his arms around her waist as he snuggled deeper, a man seeking comfort and refuge after a long, hard battle.

Delia began to pat his hair, her fingers stroking his soft strands like she was patting a child, luring him into a peaceful sleep.

"I love you, Delia," he said, his voice a low, sleepy murmur against her skin.

Delia replied, but only in the safe, quiet space of her own heart. I love you too, Eric.