The carriage wheels rumbled over the familiar cobblestones of the city as Delia looked out the window. Beside her on the plush velvet seat were several wooden boxes filled with the precious materials she had spent the entire day sourcing. The sky was a deep, dark blue, and a sliver of a moon was already high among the stars.
"I spent a lot of ti at the marketplace today," she said to herself, a tired but satisfied smile on her face as she began to pull off her gloves, her palms sweaty. "But it was worth it." She had found the rare minerals, so pignts and dried flowers she needed for her next, most ambitious dye formula. "At least I also got to see how Owen has been faring these past few days." She had visited him briefly, bringing him a warm al and the latest paynt for another of his invaluable information, a small mont of friendship in a long day of hard work.
She let out a soft sigh. "Now I will need to start calculating the corresponding ratios for this new dye." Her mind was already at work, thinking of formulas and chemical reactions.
Before she knew it, the carriage was pulling into the quiet, familiar courtyard of Eric’s private residence. Their ho.
As the carriage stopped in front of the entrance door, Mr. Rye helped her down, his movents as respectful and gentle as always. "Thank you, Mr. Rye, for your ti today," Delia said, giving him a warm, grateful smile. " I truly appreciate it."
The old man bowed deeply. "It is always an honor to serve you, Your Grace."
Just as he spoke, a light was ignited in the window of Eric’s bedroom on the second floor. A warm, golden glow suddenly appeared in the darkness. Delia’s face lit up with a pure contagious joy. He was back.
Mr. Rye, noticing the light and the imdiate change in her expression, smiled himself. "It seems His Grace is back from his trip, Your Grace."
"Yes," Delia said, her own smile widening. " it seems so."
She turned to him, her voice full of a new, happy energy. "Mr. Rye, could you please be so kind as to take these materials to the small laboratory at the back of the house?"
Mr. Rye, who now knew exactly where to keep them, nodded and bowed. "Of course, Your Grace." He began the process of carefully bringing the boxes out of the carriage.
"I will leave you to it, then," Delia said. " Have a wonderful night, Mr Rye."
"Of course, Your Grace," he replied. " Thank you and you too."
She gathered her skirts and, with a lightness in her step she hadn’t felt all day, she went into the house. The mont she stepped inside, a delicious, savory sll wafted from the direction of the kitchen, and she already knew who was there.
Eric smiled when he saw her appear in the kitchen doorway. He was standing by the stove, a simple apron tied around his waist,his sleeves rolled up to his arms, a wooden spoon in his hand.
"You’re back," Delia said, her voice full of a simple, profound happiness.
"You, too," Eric replied, his own voice warm and full of relief. "I have been waiting for you for a while now. Dinner is almost ready." He smiled, a deep, loving expression that made her heart skip a beat. " Go wash up then co down for dinner."
Delia nodded, her own smile matching his.
A few minutes later, she ca back down, having quickly washed up from her long day. But instead of one of her own simple nightgowns, she had pulled on one of Eric’s own white cotton shirts. It was far too big for her, the sleeves rolled up multiple tis, the hem reaching her mid-thigh. He didn’t notice at first. He was too busy setting the table.
She sat down at the small dining table in the kitchen, but instead of a plate, she had brought a book, a quill, and a small inkwell with her. She imdiately began to work, her brow furrowed in concentration as she started calculating the difficult ratios she would need for her new dye formula.
Eric looked up from placing a platter of roasted chicken on the table and saw her. He saw her, completely engrossed in her work, wearing his shirt. A slow, deeply amused and aroused smile spread across his face.
"You’re wearing my shirt," he said, his voice a low, intimate murmur.
Delia, her mind completely focused on her calculations, just nodded distractedly. "Mmmm," she said, not looking up. "I think Mrs. Agnes must have mistakenly put one of your shirts in my wardrobe. I was so hungry, I just picked whatever my hands touched since we are the only ones here. Nobody would say it’s inappropriate or not."
"Really?" Eric replied, his voice full of a teasing disbelief that she was too preoccupied to notice.
He ca up behind her chair. She didn’t notice when he was there, not until he leaned down and nestled his head on her neck, his warm breath against her skin.
"How many of my shirts did you wear while I was away?" he asked, his voice a slow, seductive whisper in her ear.
She didn’t answer, her hand frozen over the page, the quill hovering in mid-air. Her body on high alert waiting for his touch.
He asked another question, his voice even softer, more intimate. "Did you miss , Delia?"
He inhaled deeply, taking in the mixture of his own familiar scent from the shirt and her own unique, intoxicating scent of lavender. The combination was dizzying. He traced the nape of her neck and was about to press a soft kiss to her neck, right below her ear.
But just as his lips were about to touch her skin, her stomach let out a loud, long, and completely undignified growl.
GRRRRWWWWLLL...
The sound echoed in the quiet, intimate kitchen. They both froze for a mont. Then, Eric pulled back, and a deep, hearty laugh erupted from him, a sound of pure amusent and affection.
Reviews
All reviews (0)