Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

"Your Grace," Aiden said as he entered Eric's sunlit study at the dye establishment. "The Duchess is here."

Eric looked up from the complex formula he was reviewing, his pen pausing mid-air. "The Duchess?" he asked, a look of pure, delighted disbelief on his face. "My wife?"

Aiden nodded, a small, knowing smile on his own lips.

Eric's smile was wide and immediate. He stood up, his work completely forgotten. Then, he looked at Aiden with a sudden, playful annoyance. "Well, why is she standing outside? Why didn't you bring her in, Aiden?"

"She said she does not want to come in, Your Grace," Aiden replied calmly. "She said she wanted me to call you out for lunch."

"Fine," Eric said, already grabbing his coat from the stand by the door.

As he was about to leave, Aiden held the sleeve of his coat, a mischievous glint in his eye, causing his master to halt. Eric looked down at his aide's hand, then back up at his face, his brows raised in a silent question.

"You are not going to ask me to eat lunch alone, are you, Your Grace?" Aiden asked, his face a mask of pitiful loneliness.

Eric gently removed his hand from his sleeve. "You are a grown adult, Aiden," he said, his own voice full of a dramatic seriousness. "I believe you can eat lunch all by yourself. You can do it." He smiled, straightened his coat, and left the study.

"But can I eat with the Duchess, too?" Aiden shouted after him.

Eric's voice replied from afar, echoing down the long hallway. "Tell Lady Eudora or one of the other hundred ladies you swoon over to accompany you for lunch! My wife's company is mine and mine alone!"

He was gone. Aiden just stood there in the empty study. "It is very hard," he sighed to the empty room, "being a bachelor."

Delia was waiting for him in the quiet courtyard, a lovely, peaceful figure standing under the shade of a large oak tree. He came out, a wide, happy smile on his face, and immediately went to her, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on her cheek.

"Why didn't you come in?" he asked, his voice a low, happy murmur.

"I didn't want to disturb your work," she replied, though the real reason was that she still felt a little intimidated by the bustling, serious world of his business. It was his, and she did not yet feel a part of it.

"It is nothing." He said.

He helped her into the waiting carriage, and he got in beside her. They arrived a few minutes later at a high-end dining establishment, a place with large, clean windows and a doorman in a crisp, formal uniform. But as they approached the door, Delia stopped, a hesitant, uncomfortable look on her face. She didn't want to go in.

Eric noticed immediately. "Why?" he asked, his voice soft with concern.

"Can we have lunch at your cabin instead?" she replied, her own voice a quiet plea. "It has been a long time since I went there. I miss it."

The simple, honest answer made his heart ache with love for her. "Okay," he said without a moment's hesitation. "You wait here. I will go inside and have them pack a meal for us."

He went in. Delia stood outside, a small, happy smile on her face as she waited. It was in that moment that she saw George walking down the street, heading in her direction.

"It has been a while, Delia," he said, his tone attempting a casual friendliness that felt entirely out of place.

She replied without looking at him, her gaze fixed on the restaurant door, waiting for Eric to return. "Yes, it has."

"I was actually just heading to the bank," George continued, trying to make conversation. "And I saw you standing here, and I just had to…"

"I don't really care for the details, Lord George," Delia replied, her voice cool and dismissive.

George let out a short, nervous chuckle. "Of course." He looked up at the elegant entrance of the restaurant. "Are you waiting for someone?"

She didn't answer him.

"How have you been?" he asked, his voice now a little desperate.

She finally turned to look at him, her expression one of pure, undisguised annoyance. "What are you doing, George?"

"Let me just ask you one thing," he said, the question he had been burning to ask ever since he found the contract. "Did you marry the Duke because you truly love him?" He was thinking back to the cold, business-like terms he had read in the parchment paper, the words of their contract.

Delia let out an annoyed chuckle at his audacity.

He saw her hesitation and answered the question himself, a smug, knowing look on his face. "That's not it, is it? That is why you can't answer me, right?"

"No," Delia replied, her voice suddenly strong and full of a conviction that surprised them both. "I love him. I love him very much. I love him so much that it warms my heart just to think of him." She looked at him, her blue eyes now blazing with a protective fire. "I just don't want to talk about it with you, because it is absolutely none of your business. Why on earth would I have to tell you, or explain to you, how much I love my own husband?"

Eric's voice, warm and amused, could be heard from behind her. He and Mr. Rye were coming out of the restaurant, their hands full with large wicker baskets filled with food. "I agree completely with my wife," he said as he walked to stand close to Delia. He looked at George, his own expression now dead serious.

"We can talk about that," he said, his voice a low, clear warning, "when it is just the two of us, you and I." He then looked down at Delia, his entire face softening into a loving smile. "Right, my Duchess?"

Delia smiled back at him and nodded.

Eric looked back at George, his expression once again serious and cold. "Lord George, do not approach my wife from now on. If this happens again, I promise you, I will not let it slide."

George was silent, intimidated by the raw, power radiating from the Duke.

"Aren't you going to answer me?" Eric asked, his gaze cold and unwavering.

George looked at Eric, then at Delia, who was now looking at her husband with an expression of pure adoration. He looked back at Eric. "Yes, Your Grace," he said, his voice a defeated mumble.

Eric's expression softened. He let out a wide, triumphant smile and said, "Better." He then leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss into Delia's hair as he wrapped a possessive arm around her waist, leading her back to their waiting carriage.

George just stood there, watching them go. He watched the way Delia was laughing at something Eric had just whispered in her ear. She was definitely, undeniably happy. He had never seen her look so radiant, so alive. For the first time, he truly saw her. He saw how beautiful she was now, how the simple, elegant dress she wore complimented her figure perfectly, how her dark hair was styled in a way that was both sophisticated and soft. She was no longer the sad, plain girl who had followed him around like a shadow. She was a Duchess. And she was beautiful. And she was happy with another man.

After they had gone, he reached into his coat pocket and brought out the stolen contract. He looked at the cold, legal words, then back at the empty street where their carriage had just been.

"If I break them up," he whispered to the empty air, a new, desperate, and obsessive thought taking root in his heart, "if I expose this contract… will she finally come back to me?"