Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

Delia stirred in her sleep, a soft, incoherent noise escaping her lips as the bright morning sun streamed through the large bedroom window, disturbing the peaceful darkness of her eyelids. A large, warm hand shot out from beside her, blocking the intrusive sunlight. She turned away from the light, snuggling deeper into the warmth of the bed, and fluttered her eyes open a little to see Eric. He was already awake, propped up on one elbow, staring intently down at her.

"Eric," she said, her voice still thick with sleep as her eyes fully opened.

He brushed the stray strands of her dark hair that had fallen across her face while she slept. "Good morning, my Duchess," he said, but his voice was unusually quiet, his usual morning cheerfulness absent. " Did you sleep well?" He asked, his voice soft.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her own expression turning to one of concern. "Something seems to be troubling you. What is it?"

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on her. Then, he smiled, a small, sad expression. "I have been thinking about your questions from that other night for a while now," he said. "Actually, it has been days."

Delia turned to face him fully, propping herself up on her own elbows. She reached out and traced the line of his strong jaw with her fingers, and he immediately held her hand there, pressing it against his skin. "What question was that?" she asked, her voice soft.

"The questions you asked when you were so upset," he replied, his other hand now coming up to touch her own face. "The ones you asked after you found out the truth about Fredrick Garrison." He looked into her eyes, his own dark eyes full of a deep, profound empathy. "I was up all night, Delia, thinking of an answer. But I could not come up with a single good one. Do you know why?" He asked.

Delia shook her head slowly.

" That's because there is no good reason why you should have had to go through any of it." He answered his question.

He sat up fully on the bed, pulling her up with him. "The Delia that experienced all of this…," he continued, his voice a low, pained murmur, "she was just a small, innocent child then. All of those terrible things happened to you at a time when you should have been receiving nothing but overwhelming love and protection. They are bad, cruel people, Delia. You did not do anything wrong at all. None of it was your fault."

He pulled her closer to himself, into a tight, comforting hug, and began to pat her head gently. "So please," he whispered into her hair, "do not think about those terrible things anymore. It breaks my heart to see your beautiful eyes covered in tears, to see you so broken."

Delia nodded, her face buried in the warm, safe space of his bare chest, her arms wrapped around his waist.

"I am here for you," he said, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the top of her head.

After a long, silent moment, Delia spoke, her voice slightly muffled. "I have to go to the manor today," she said. "The doctor, the one who told me about the arsenic… he gave me some effective tablets to switch with the ones that Augusta gives to my father. I am already seeing improvement with the ones I changed last week. By now she should have procured another bottle so it's best to switch it by this time to avoid suspensions."

Eric's arms tightened around her for a second. "Okay," he murmured into her hair. "Just… be careful."

Delia nodded. " I will ."

Later that afternoon, Eric poured a glass of deep red wine for Mr. Prescott, who sat opposite him in the quiet, sunlit study.

"The information you sent me the other day," Eric began, "the anonymous letter about the pamphleteer. I did not get the chance to say thank you properly. You were a very big help to my family." He dropped the bottle on the table and looked at Prescott, a small, knowing smile on his face. "You do not need to look so shocked, Mr. Prescott. Delia told me that it was you who has been helping her."

Prescott, who had been looking surprised, took a slow drink of his wine, his composure returning. "I knew what the Baroness and her daughter were up to," he said, his voice a low, professional monotone. "That is why I had a trusted pamphleteer of my own at the scene of the public performance of the Pembrokes. As a witness, for when the time came to prove the truth."

"But why are you helping us?" Eric asked, the question direct and to the point. "You work for Baroness Augusta. Do you have some kind of a bad history with her?"

"Is that why you called me here today, Your Grace?" Prescott asked, his own gaze unwavering.

Eric was silent.

"It is not any less than what you two have against her," Prescott continued, a flicker of some deep, old anger in his own eyes. "And yes, you could say that it is family related."

"Then you and I must be on the same page," Eric replied, a sense of a new, powerful alliance forming between them. He leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting, his voice dropping low, taking on a new, cruel edge.

"I could maim her to death for what she has done to Delia," he said, the words a simple, chilling statement of fact. "And even that would not be enough to satisfy me." He chuckled, a short, sharp, and humorless sound that seemed to dispel the dark, violent thought for a moment.

"But," he continued, his expression turning serious and calculating again, "I cannot do that. So, I was thinking… how can I truly torture Augusta? What could possibly be her worst fear?" he asked Prescott, his voice gaining a new, dangerous strength.