Reborn: The Duke's Obsession
Chapter 106 - Hundred And Six

Chapter 106: Chapter Hundred And Six

The journey home from Baston Island to Albion was a world away from the tense, silent carriage rides Delia was used to. The sun was warm, the scenery was beautiful, and the man beside her was no longer a stranger or a contract partner, but her husband who is ready to let the world burn for her.

Eric took her hand, his fingers lacing through hers. He brought her knuckles to his lips, giving it a soft kiss before turning her hand to bring her palm to his lips again and pressed a soft, warm kiss into its center before placing it gently against his cheek. "Are you absolutely sure we should go home?" he asked, his voice a low, playful murmur. "Don’t you think we should have stayed for just one more day?"

Delia smiled, a genuine, relaxed expression. With her free hand, she gently arranged a piece of his dark hair that the wind had blown across his forehead. "You have to go to work, Your Grace," she teased. "You can’t leave everything for poor Aiden to handle all by himself."

Eric drew his cheek closer to her hand, enjoying the feel of her soft skin against his. "I’m sure he would be fine with it," he said, his eyes closing in contentment.

"Remember your own words to me," Delia replied, her tone light and teasing. "’I have to be busy and work hard so that I can buy all of Delia’s needs and wants.’ Do you remember saying that?"

Eric smiled, his cheek still nestled in her hand. "How could I possibly forget? I was the one who said it."

"Exactly," Delia said with a satisfied nod. "And Delia has many needs and wants. That’s why we need to come back to Albion and you need to get back to work."

He sighed, a sound of mock defeat, not wanting to argue with his new wife. "Okay, okay. Whatever you say, my Duchess."

Delia smiled and looked out the window, a comfortable silence settling between them. But while her expression was serene, her mind was already working.

"I hope Owen got the letter I sent him before we left, she thought to herself. I hope he has already started working on it." She thought to herself.

The honeymoon may have been a beautiful distraction, but the war was far from over.

When they arrived home, Mr. Rye was there to welcome them, his face beaming with a respectful smile. He opened the carriage door and helped them down. He then took their trunks, placing Eric’s in the main hall to be taken to his room, and carrying Delia’s himself up the grand staircase. As he came back down, he held out a letter on a small silver tray.

"This came in for you two days ago, my lady," he said, his address a slip of old habit.

Hearing the lesser title, Eric, who had been shrugging off his travelling coat, shot Mr. Rye a sharp, warning look. It wasn’t a glare of true anger, but one of fierce, protective pride.

Rye, realizing his mistake instantly, paled slightly. "A thousand apologies, Your Grace!" he apologized, bowing his head. "I sincerely forgot. My apologies, Your Grace, the Duchess."

Delia waved her hand, dismissing the fuss. "It’s fine, Mr. Rye. Truly. Thank you for the letter. You may go."

Rye bowed again, a look of profound relief on his face, and then left quickly to take Ryan’s trunk to his room.

Delia turned to her husband and, with a swift, playful motion, pinched his arm.

"Ouch!" Eric exclaimed, rubbing the spot. "What was that for?"

"You almost killed that poor man with your stare," Delia scolded him, though there was a smile playing on her own lips. "You could see he clearly forgot. To be honest, I often forget that I am a Duchess now, too. Don’t be so hard on him."

Seeing this as a perfect opening, Eric’s expression turned into a low, seductive smirk. He turned to face her, taking a slow step forward to close the distance between them. "Then should I be hard on you instead, my Duchess?" he asked, his voice a low, teasing purr. "Perhaps... harder than I was last night?"

The memory of the previous night, of their shared bed and the intimacy that had followed, made Delia’s cheeks flush a bright, beautiful red. She dodged him, quickly moving around a large vase of flowers.

"I am going to my grandfather’s place this afternoon," she said, her voice a little breathless as she changed the subject. "And you might as well go to work."

Before he could respond, she stood on her tiptoes and gave him a quick, soft peck on the cheek. She then turned and all but fled up the stairs to her room.

Eric stood alone in the grand hall, his hand touching the cheek her lips had just graced a second ago. A slow, deeply happy smile spread across his face. "This woman," he said to the empty room, "will eventually be the death of me." He paused. "And I won’t mind dying a happy man." He smiled again as he walked to his own room to prepare for his day.

Inside Delia’s room, the afternoon sun streamed through the windows. She sat down at her writing desk, her heart still beating a little faster from her encounter with Eric. She looked at the letter Mr. Rye had given her. It was addressed to her in the elegant script. She broke the seal and opened it.

My Dearest Duchess Delia,

I am so very sorry to bother you, especially on what I hear is your honeymoon, but a matter of some urgency has come up.

Can you please come and see me when you have a free moment? It is rather important.

Yours in friendship/ teacher

Lady Isla.

Delia folded the letter, a thoughtful frown on her face. The brief, happy peace of her island getaway was officially over. It was time to get back to work.