Reborn: The Duke's Obsession
Chapter 93 - Ninety Three

Chapter 93: Chapter Ninety Three

The wedding had been a long and exhausting affair. By the time the Duke and his new Duchess returned to their private residence, the sun had long since set, and the moon was a high, bright circle in the night sky.

As they stepped inside, Eric’s took off his formal coat. Delia, her body aching from standing for hours in the heavy gown, was preparing to leave for the solitude of her own room. The wedding was over; now she just wanted to be alone.

But Eric stopped her, his voice soft in the quiet hall. "Should we have a drink to celebrate?" he asked.

Delia turned to him. She saw the hope in his eyes, the desire to mark this moment as something special, something real. But she was too tired, too emotionally drained to continue the act of happiness. "No," she replied, her own voice gentle but firm. "I’m not in the mood. I didn’t sleep well last night, so I am very tired."

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "It’s fine," he said.

She gave him a small, grateful smile and turned to leave, her hand already on the banister of the grand staircase.

"Delia?" he asked. She stopped and looked back at him. "Do you need any help with those buttons?"

Delia immediately remembered the back of her wedding dress. It was fastened with a long, intricate row of at least fifty tiny, pearl buttons, a beautiful but impossible design. "Ummm... I..." she stammered, the reality of her situation dawning on her.

Eric’s expression was carefully neutral, but a hint of a smile played on his lips. "I can help you," he offered. "I am surprisingly good with tiny buttons."

Delia thought for a moment, a wave of weariness washing over her. My hands can’t possibly get to the back, she thought to herself. The maids Amber sent have all gone home. He’s the only one here who can help me. She sighed, a sound of pure, resigned exhaustion. It seemed the performance was not quite over yet.

They went to her bedroom. She walked in and stood in front of the large, ornate mirror, her back to him. Eric stood behind her, his presence filling the quiet, lavender-scented room.

He began by gently removing her veil, his fingers careful not to snag the delicate net. He set it aside on her vanity table. He then removed the pins and the pearl ornaments from her hair. Her long, dark curls, freed from their elegant bun, cascaded down her back in a soft, shining wave.

He gently pushed her hair over one shoulder, revealing the long row of pearl buttons that ran from the nape of her neck all the way down to her waist. He started at the top, his fingers, which she knew to be strong and capable, now surprisingly nimble and gentle.

He undid the first button, then the second, his knuckles brushing lightly against the skin of her back with each small movement.

Delia held her breath. She watched his reflection in the mirror, his face a mask of intense concentration, his gaze fixed on his task. With each undone button, the dress loosened, and she could feel the cool air of the room on her skin, a different sensation to the warmth of his occasional, accidental touch. After what felt like an eternity, he undid the last button.

"There," he said, his voice a low murmur.

He turned to leave.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Delia said, her own voice quiet. "For everything."

He smiled at her reflection in the mirror. "It is my duty as your husband," he said. He then left, closing the door softly behind him.

He leaned against the cool wood of her door for a long moment, his eyes closed. He could still feel the silk of her dress, the warmth of her skin under his fingers. He thought of the kiss at the altar, the brief, chaste moment when he had claimed her lips. He touched his own lips now, remembering how soft hers had been, how the simple touch had made him feel a hunger so profound it had shaken him to his core. He smiled to himself in the empty hallway and then, with a deep, contented sigh, he went to his own room.

~ ••••• ~

It was morning. The bright sun streamed into the kitchen, a cheerful start to a new day. Eric came downstairs, his hair a complete mess, his face still sleepy. He yawned, a wide, jaw-cracking yawn of a man who had slept deeply and well.

He poured himself a glass of cold water, hoping it would wake him up from the pleasant, lingering haze of the dreams he had been having all night long. Dreams of Delia.

He took a long sip of the water and saw a piece of paper on the kitchen table. It was a single sheet, folded neatly, with no envelope. He picked it up, recognizing her elegant handwriting immediately. He read the note:

I am going on a trip to Baston Island. I will be back in two or three days.

That was it. No greeting, no farewell. Just a simple statement of fact.

Eric quickly went upstairs, his heart pounding with a sudden, confusing mixture of alarm and amusement. He opened the door to Delia’s room and found it empty. Her bed was neatly made. He checked her wardrobe and saw that a few of the simple day dresses he had bought for her were missing, along with a traveling cloak.

He looked at the note again, still clutched in his hand. He read the simple, direct sentence one more time. Then, a slow, amused chuckle escaped his lips. The sound grew until he was laughing, a warm, genuine sound that filled the empty house.

"A trip, she says," he said to himself, shaking his head in fond disbelief. "It seems my wife has decided to go on a honeymoon all by herself."