Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

Eric's voice, now gaining strength, cut through the heavy, emotional atmosphere of the private tea room.

"Bring him in," he commanded.

The door opened, and Mr. Rye dragged in a man whose face was a swollen, bloody mess of bruises. His clothes were torn, and his eyes were covered by a strip of dark cloth, a blindfold. Mr. Rye, showing no pity, threw the man onto the expensive rug in front of Eric, Delia, and Lyra. The man landed, hitting his head on the floor with a pained groan.

Delia and Lyra looked at Eric in complete and utter shock. Delia's gaze remained on him. This was a side of the calm, sophisticated, gentle husband she had never seen before.

"Thank you, Mr. Rye. You may wait outside," Eric said, his voice still dangerously quiet. Rye bowed and left, closing the door behind him.

"What is going on here, Eric?" Lyra asked, her own voice a mixture of confusion and alarm. "Who is this man?"

Eric reached down and ripped the blindfold from the man's face. The moment the pamphleteer's eyes focused and he saw the furious Duke looming over him, he flinched and became paralyzed with fear. He folded his bound hands in a desperate plea. "Please, spare me, Your Grace," he begged, his voice a pathetic, trembling whine. "Please, I will do anything."

Delia looked at Eric. This cold, merciless man was a stranger to her.

Eric answered his mother's question without taking his eyes off the terrified man on the floor. "This," he said, his voice full of a cold contempt, "is the pamphleteer who printed that garbage about my wife."

He looked down at the pamphleteer. "Tell them what you told me."

"I-I swear, Your Grace, I do not know who they were," the man stammered, his body shaking. "They were covered from head to toe in cloaks. I could not see their faces. But… but they were women. Young ladies. I could tell from their voices. They offered me a generous amount I could not refuse."

Eric called for Mr. Rye, who entered immediately. "Take this man away," Eric commanded. "Make sure he gets the proper judgment for slander against the Duchess." He then turned his full attention back to his mother, the pathetic pamphleteer now forgotten.

"Baroness Augusta," he began, his voice a low, controlled report of the facts, "paid Lady Pembroke, Delia's ex-fiancé's mother, to put on that little act in front of the manor gates. The public humiliation, the begging… it was all a staged performance."

Lyra and Delia looked at Eric, the full, ugly truth of the conspiracy finally being revealed. Delia, remembering that day vividly could only widen her eyes in shock.

"And I am absolutely certain," Eric continued, his eyes now blazing with a cold, hard rage, "that it was Anne Ellington who was behind this disgusting pamphlet."

Delia took the pamphlet from the table, her own hands now trembling slightly as she read the cruel, twisted headline for the first time. "Exposing Duchess Delia's Messy Private Life?" she read aloud, her voice a shocked whisper.

Lyra's face, which had been pale with worry, now flushed with a mother's protective rage. "How could they?" she said, her voice shaking with anger. "How could they do such a disgusting, vile thing to someone who is supposed to be their own family?"

"They are hell-bent on destroying Delia's life by any means necessary," Eric replied, his gaze fixed on his mother. "We cannot let people like that get away with it. We cannot let them win. Right, Mother?"

Lyra let out a long, weary sigh and shook her head, her anger seeming to drain away, replaced by a deep, profound sadness. Her voice softened, full of the hurt of her own recent discovery. "But this does not make what you two did any more forgivable," she said quietly. "The situation is very serious right now, Eric. Your grandmother… after the shock of that day, she may be very hard to win back."

Then, Eric did something that shocked both Lyra and Delia completely. He stood up, moved to where his mother sat, and went down on his knees before her.

"Please, help me, Mother," he said, his head hung low, his voice now soft and full of a desperate, pleading vulnerability.

Lyra looked down at her son, at this proud, powerful man, now kneeling at her feet. "Eric…" she began, her own voice full of a pained confusion.

"This is only the second time in my entire life that I have ever asked you for a favor," he continued, looking up at her now, his eyes full of a raw, honest plea. "The first was when you let me leave the family to build my own life. This time… this time, please just say yes. Please. Be in our side."

Lyra stood up, causing Delia to stand up as well. She reached down and helped her son to his feet, her own expression a complex mixture of love, hurt, and a new, dawning resolve. "This is not the time to just sit here and listen to your pleas," she said, looking at both of them. "I need to see her for myself. I need to talk to her." She looked directly at Delia. "I will meet with the Baroness. Alone. Tomorrow."

And with that, she turned and left the small, tense tea room.

"What is your mother going to do?" Delia asked Eric, her voice a worried whisper.

"I have no idea," he replied, a look of weary uncertainty on his own face. It was only then, as the adrenaline of the confrontation began to fade, that he truly saw her. He saw the angry, red mark on her cheek, the one that Adeline's hand had left behind.

"Who did this to you?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous growl as he gently touched the mark.

"It was nothing," Delia replied. "Someone got into a fight with mother, and I just… I butted in."

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumb gently, lovingly, stroking her bruised cheek. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice now full of a deep, tender concern.

Delia shook her head, her eyes closing for a moment at his gentle touch.

Eric pulled her to his chest, his arms wrapping around her in a tight, protective embrace. Her head fell naturally onto his chest. He held the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her soft hair, and she, in turn, wrapped her own arms around his waist, inside his open coat, hugging him tightly. They just stood there for a long time, in the middle of the now-empty room, finding a moment of quiet, desperate comfort in each other's arms.