The first rays of morning sunlight managed to slice through the narrow gaps in the heavy curtains, painting bright, dusty stripes across the wooden floor.
Delia stirred, a low groan escaping her lips as she snuggled deeper into the warmth surrounding her. She turned in her sleep, seeking comfort, but a dull, throbbing pain in her head began to pull her from the depths of her slumber. It was the familiar, unwelco ache of a hangover. The evidence of her act last night.
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the intrusion of light. The room was unfamiliar at first, a warm, woody space filled with the silent company of countless books. Her eyes gradually focused, and she realized she was lying on the long, plush chaise lounge she vaguely rembered from the night before.
Draped over her body like a heavy, comforting blanket was a man’s formal coat. It was dark, exquisitely tailored, and slled faintly of expensive cologne, cigars, and sothing else—sothing that was uniquely him.
"Did I fall asleep?" she murmured to herself, her voice raspy. mories from the previous night ca back in disjointed flashes: the taste of wine, the warmth of the fire, her own unrestrained laughter, and then... a torrent of painful confessions. A hot flush of embarrassnt washed over her.
She pushed herself up into a sitting position, the Duke’s coat pooling in her lap. As she turned her head, her heart leaped into her throat. Eric was sitting on the floor beside the chaise lounge, fast asleep. His head was resting on the cushion near where her feet had been, supported by his folded arms. His usually perfect dark hair was slightly ssy, and in sleep, his stern, handso face looked younger and unguarded. He had stayed there, on the floor, all night.
A wave of panic, cold and sharp, seized her. She imdiately, discreetly, checked herself. Her dress was still properly buttoned, her underthings were undisturbed, and her body felt sore only from sleeping in an awkward position, not from anything more sinister. She was in one piece. Nothing inappropriate had happened.
A long, shaky sigh of relief escaped her lips. She looked at him one last ti, at the powerful Duke sleeping on the floor like a common guard dog to ensure her safety. It was a gesture so unexpected, so contrary to the reputation of powerful n, that it left her feeling confused and oddly touched.
Carefully, so as not to wake him, she slipped off the lounge. The wooden floor was cool beneath her stockinged feet. She took a mont to arrange her hopelessly wrinkled dress as best she could. Finding the blue ribbon he had used on the floor, she quickly gathered her ssy hair and tied it back herself. She had to get out of here before he woke up, before they had to face the awkward morning-after conversation.
As she looked around the quiet, sun-dappled room, a more serious thought took hold, chasing away the last remnants of her hangover. She had made a deal, a bold and desperate pact. But what if it was all just a ga to him? What if he woke up and changed his mind? If she went ho now, back to the Baroness’s fury and Anne’s vengeful tears, she would be walking into a trap. Augusta would never let this insult go unpunished. Delia could vividly imagine the cruelty, the heightened starvation, the potential accusations that could ruin her completely, or worse.
" If I go ho now with no guarantee," she thought, a chill running down her spine,"I am done for. I am going to die a second ti. And I know there won’t be any more chances for after this."
She needed a backup plan. An insurance. Her eyes landed on his desk, on the neat stack of parchnt, the quill, and the inkwell. Acting fast, she went to the desk, took a clean sheet, and began to write.
Her handwriting was a little shaky, but her words were clear. After a mont, she folded the note, then paused, a new thought occurring to her. She reached into the small purse still tied at her waist and took out the few coins she had left. She placed them on the desk beside the letter, then left the cabin as silently as she had entered. The early morning air was crisp and cool as she instructed the now-awake carriage driver to take her ho.
An hour or so later, Eric woke up. The sun was higher now, its light more insistent. He stretched his stiff muscles, the discomfort of sleeping on the hard floor making him groan. His first thought was of her. He looked up at the chaise lounge and saw that it was empty. His coat was folded neatly where she had been lying. She was gone.
He stood up, picking up his coat. He brought it to his face, his original intention to shake the wrinkles out, but he stopped. It slled faintly of lavender. It was her scent. He rembered it from when he had held her, her head resting on his shoulder. It was a clean, simple, and surprisingly comforting sll.
"Seems she loves lavender," he said aloud to the empty room, a small smile touching his lips.
He walked over to the windows to draw the curtains and let the full morning light in. That’s when he saw it. Sitting in the middle of his otherwise organized desk was a folded piece of parchnt. He picked it up and read it.
Thank you for the audience last night, Your Grace. I believe we still have a deal to finalize. If I don’t show up for too long, can you please co and pick up? I also borrowed your carriage to take back ho. Oh, and I dropped sothing off to replace your wine. I’m sorry I finished it all.
Delia.
Eric read the note a second ti. The line "If I don’t show up for too long, can you co and pick up?" was not a simple question. It was a smart, subtle move. She was telling him that she might be in trouble, that her return to her family was risky. She was testing him, seeing if he would honor the protective aspect of their new arrangent.
His eyes then fell upon the small pile of gold coins sitting beside where the letter had been. He picked them up, the tal cool against his skin, and counted them. Ten pieces. Likely the last of her money. She had paid him back for the wine.
At first, he just smiled. Then, a low chuckle escaped him, which quickly grew into a full, hearty laugh that filled the silent cabin. She had negotiated a marriage contract for power and protection, confessed her deepest traumas, and then left him money for a bottle of wine.
"She’s funny," he said to himself, shaking his head in amusent. "And adorable."
He folded the paper carefully, his laughter subsiding into a warm smile. He walked back to his desk, opened a small, locked drawer where he kept his personal items, and placed her letter inside.
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