Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

The carriage ride to Eric's cabin was quiet, but this time it was a comfortable, peaceful silence. Eric has been anticipating the private meal he is to have with Delia all through the ride.

As they got to the familiar clearing in front of the rustic but elegant cabin, Mr. Rye helped Eric take out the wicker baskets filled with their meal. Together, they spread a thick, soft blanket on a patch of lush green grass under the shade of a tall, fragrant pine tree. The setting was simple, but in that moment, it felt more romantic and beautiful to Delia than the most opulent dining room in all of Albion.

"Please," Delia said, turning to the loyal driver as Eric began to unpack the food. "You have been with us all day, Mr. Rye. You must be hungry. Have a bowl of food with us."

Mr. Rye, who was about to head back to the carriage, stopped and waved his hands in a polite, flustered refusal. "No, no, Your Grace. I couldn't possibly. I must refuse."

"And I must insist, Mr. Rye," Eric replied, a playful but firm tone in his voice. He looked at Delia with a warm, loving smile. "We don't want the Duchess's very generous offer to go to waste now, do we? It would be rude to refuse her."

Mr. Rye, caught between his duty and his master's command, finally relented. He took a small bowl of food, thanked them both profusely with a deep, respectful bow, and then discreetly left them to eat in peace by the carriage.

As they sat down on the blanket and began to eat the delicious food, Eric teased her, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. "So," he began, his voice a low, intimate murmur. "Tell me. How much do you really love me?" He was, of course, referring to the bold declaration she had made to George just a short while ago.

Delia's cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "What are you saying?" she replied, trying to be evasive as she focused intently on a piece of roasted chicken on her plate.

"So it was all just an act, then?" Eric continued, his tone one of mock disappointment. "A clever performance to make that fool George finally flee? It wasn't real?"

Delia didn't say anything. She just smiled, a small, secret smile, and continued eating.

"Ah, you wound me, my Duchess!" Eric said, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "Right here," he pointed to his chest.

He then took her free hand, the one that wasn't holding her fork, and placed it flat against his chest, right over his beating heart. "You can feel it, right?" he asked, his voice now a soft, serious whisper. "It is beating." He paused. "It beats only for you, Delia. And it still waits, very patiently, to hear you say those words to me and truly mean them."

The sudden shift from playful teasing to raw sincerity made Delia's own heart skip a beat. She looked into his eyes and saw the deep, unwavering love he had for her.

"Are you jealous of him?" she asked softly.

He chuckled, a short, humorless sound. "Well I know I am not supposed to be. I know he means nothing to you now. But I cannot help it. That… that George of a man is infuriating." His expression darkened at the memory. "I saw the way he was looking at you, Delia. Like you were still his possession. I just wanted to blind him and…"

Before he could finish his angry thought, Delia leaned across the small space between them and gave him a quick, soft kiss on the lips.

He immediately shut up, his eyes wide with a pleasant surprise. Her lips tasted oily and salty from the chicken she had been eating. He licked them slowly as she pulled back.

"George Pembroke is the last person on this earth that I would ever go back to," Delia said, her voice firm and full of a new, unshakeable confidence. "And why should I, when I would so much rather be with you?"

"Really?" Eric asked, his voice full of a happy, hopeful relief.

Delia nodded. "Now, stop worrying about unimportant things and let us just eat our lunch in peace."

Eric nodded, a wide, happy grin spreading across his face. They ate in a comfortable, peaceful silence after that.

When they had finished their meal, Delia let out a soft, contented sigh. Then, a thought occurred to her, and she looked at him with a guilty expression. "I'm sorry," she said. "For interrupting your work today. I know you were very busy."

Eric reached over and began to play with a loose curl of her hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. "It was not really that important," he lied smoothly. "Aiden is handling everything right now, so you shouldn't be worried at all."

"We have to go to the Carson estate tomorrow," Delia said, her mind already moving on to their social obligations. "We haven't seen our family since the last… unpleasant incident. And you have been away on your business trip. They will be worried."

"Yes, you are right," Eric replied.

"Are you going to be busy tomorrow?" Delia asked. "Because if not, I was thinking that we could go shopping for some gifts first. We cannot visit them empty-handed, after all."

The simple, domestic nature of her planning, the way she said "we" as if it were the most natural thing in the world, filled Eric with a deep, profound happiness. He held her close, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her hair, inhaling her familiar, comforting lavender scent.

"As you wish, Your Grace," he said, his voice a low, contented rumble.

Delia wrapped her own arms around his, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against her cheek. This, she thought to herself, was what it felt like to truly be home.