Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 64 - Sixty Four

The heavy silence of the study was a poor comfort to Eric. He stood in front of the large window, looking out at the darkening sky, but his mind was not on the weather. A thought, ugly and persistent, kept flashing into his mind—Anne’s venomous words from the night before: "George Pembroke has been going to your private residence, without your knowledge, ever since Delia moved in."

It was a lie, he knew. A desperate, clumsy lie from a spurned woman. And yet, the image it conjured, of George anywhere near Delia, made a muscle in his jaw clench. He let out a long, weary sigh. Trust was a fragile thing, and Anne had tried her best in an attempt to shatter it.

His gaze fell upon the letter lying on his desk. It had arrived that morning, bearing his family’s seal. It was from Philip. He had been avoiding it all day, but he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. Reluctantly, he went to his desk, broke the seal, and unfolded the heavy parchment. He began to read, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room.

Eric,

Did you make it home alright the last time we met?

Eric paused, a wry smile touching his lips. He asked himself, "Since when do we ask about each other’s welfare?" The question was rhetorical. He knew this was not an expression of brotherly concern. He continued reading.

I must admit, I haven’t seen you that combative in a while. I really felt it at meeting that your marriage to this young lady was quite important to you. At first, I thought your sudden defensiveness was just about your business, but then you even came running over to the same place you have refused to step your feet into in years. You even forced a show of hands in front of everyone. It was quite the performance.

It has made me deeply curious about your fiancée. What kind of person is she, to inspire such a change in my little brother? How would she react, I wonder, if she were to know the true nature of Eric Carson? Will she stay or leave? I find myself wondering what she is like when she is mad. Or, more interestingly, what she is like when she cries. Judging by the fierce protective way you behave around her, I am sure she must be especially beautiful when she cries. Her ...

Eric couldn’t continue reading. He had heard enough. A cold, chilling rage washed over him. The letter wasn’t just a taunt; it was a threat. Philip wasn’t just curious about Delia; he was fantasizing about her pain, about making her cry. He was treating her like a new, interesting toy he wanted to break, just to see what was inside.

He crumpled the letter in his fist, his knuckles turning white. He walked towards the door in quick, hurried steps, his mind racing. Delia was out there somewhere, on her way to meet this man, this monster. He had to get to her.

Aiden, seeing him about to leave, rushed out of an adjoining office. "Your Grace," he called out, holding a stack of papers. "I need your signature on the..."

"Whatever it is, you see to it," Eric spoke immediately, not even breaking his stride. He was already out the door.

"Mr. Rye!" he called out, his voice sharp and loud, echoing in the quiet courtyard.

The older man came out from the carriage house, a look of surprise on his face. "Your Grace?"

"Do you know if Lady Delia is at home?" Eric asked, his voice tight with an urgency that bordered on panic.

"No, Your Grace," Mr. Rye responded. "She left this evening, just before I came here to take you home from your work. She insisted you would be tired and needed the carriage more than she did."

The simple, thoughtful gesture sent another pang through Eric’s heart. Even when she was pushing him away, she was still thinking of him. "Do you know where she went?" he asked, his voice now desperate.

"Yes, Your Grace," Rye replied. "She hired her own carriage. She was very specific about the destination. She told the driver to take her to the Old Post Inn on the east road."

The location Philip had sent her. His worst fears were confirmed. "Take me there," Eric commanded.

Rye looked up at the sky. The clouds were heavy and dark, a sure sign of an impending storm. "Your Grace, it’s about to pour. Maybe we should wait..."

"There is no time for that!" Eric interrupted, his control snapping. "Bring the carriage around now and let’s leave this place."

Rye, seeing the frantic, almost wild look in his master’s eyes, tried to reason with him one last time. "What if it’s a trap, Your Grace?" he said, his own voice full of a genuine, protective concern. "What if Duke Philip is setting you up for something? You know what happens when it rains..."

"RYE. NOW!" Eric’s voice was a roar, a command that could not be disobeyed.

Rye bowed his head, his own worries pushed aside by his duty. "Yes, Your Grace." He did as he was told, quickly preparing the carriage for the urgent journey ahead.

~ ••••• ~

The Old Post Inn was a respectable but quiet establishment, a place where people could meet without drawing too much attention. Delia paid her driver and stepped out of the hired carriage, pulling her cloak tightly around herself. She had arrived.

She went inside, her eyes scanning the dining room. The letter had been vague. "I will be there in the main hall. You will recognize me when you see me," Philip had written. She looked through the sea of faces—merchants sharing a meal, families on their way to the next town, a few quiet travelers reading by the fire. She was looking for someone who screamed ’Duke’, someone with an air of power and authority like Eric’s. But she saw nothing.

She walked around the establishment, her uneasiness growing with every passing minute. She even discreetly asked the people who worked there, the innkeeper and a serving girl, if Duke Philip Carson had arrived. They both shook their heads and said they hadn’t seen any Duke that evening.

"That’s odd," she said to herself, now standing back outside the inn’s entrance. Had he changed his mind? Was this some kind of game to him?

As she stood there, contemplating what to do next, the sky finally broke. The rain began to pour, a sudden, violent downpour that soaked the dusty road in seconds. People scrambled for cover. Delia was about to rush back inside the inn when something caught her eye.

Through the thick, gray curtain of rain, there was someone standing between the main walkway and a large, solitary tree in the courtyard. The figure was completely still, looking hesitant and scared to move, as if their feet were physically rooted to the ground. They were getting soaked by the torrential rain, yet they made no move to find shelter.

Her heart filled with a strange sense of pity for the frozen figure. But as she squinted, trying to get a better look, a shocking wave of recognition washed over her. The way he stood, the set of his shoulders, the shape of his head...

It was Eric.

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