The comfortable silence that had settled over the breakfast table felt fragile, like thin ice over deep water. Delia could feel Eric’s eyes on her, a gaze so intense it was almost like a physical touch. She finally looked up from her plate and t his gaze. His playful, happy expression was gone, replaced by sothing more serious, more questioning.
"What is it, Your Grace?" she asked, her own voice carefully neutral.
Eric set down the piece of bread he had been about to eat. He shifted in his chair, leaning forward slightly, his posture now serious. "I feel like you are drawing a boundary between us," he said, his voice quiet but direct. "Especially today."
Delia didn’t flinch. She didn’t deny it. "I am," she answered honestly.
Eric was visibly shocked by how quickly and coldly she admitted it. "What?" he said, his voice a mixture of surprise and hurt.
"We don’t need to put on the show of being a couple in love when we are alone together," Delia explained, her tone flat. "This is a contract marriage, after all. The performance is for the outside world, not for when it is just the two of us."
The words hung in the air, cold and sharp. The warmth from the kitchen seed to vanish. Eric stared at her, his expression unreadable. "And what happens," he asked slowly, "if it wasn’t a contract marriage?"
This ti, it was Delia’s turn to be caught off guard. "What?"
"What if I wanted a real marriage?" he continued, his gaze intense, searching her face for a reaction. "Without the contract, without the one-year limit. What would you do then, Delia?"
"A real marriage?" she repeated, her mind struggling to comprehend his aning. "What do you an?"
"You know what it ans when a man talks like this to a woman," he replied softly.
Her mind instantly flashed back to George’s warning, his desperate words echoing in her mory. "He just t you. In a matter of days, he proposed to you, t with your family, and now he’s having you move into his house... The few people who know the Duke, who know how private and serious he is, would never believe this. It just doesn’t sit right." And then the other part, the part that had bothered her the most: "What kind of man who is in love doesn’t care about his woman’s past?"
The mory faded, " he might not be like George but I’m not risking it. After all, I’m here for revenge not love. I have limited ti so i have to use it wisely." Delia thought to herself. She looked at the man sitting across from her, a man who was becoming more of a puzzle every day.
"That can’t be," she said, her voice firm, pushing his insinuation away.
"Why not?" Eric asked, his voice still quiet, still probing.
"Because I don’t have much ti," she replied, the words slipping out before she could stop them, a raw and honest admission of her deepest fear.
Eric’s expression sharpened. He leaned forward even more, his focus entirely on her. "How much ti do you have?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "For Delia... how much ti is left?"
His question sent a jolt of panic through her. Her gaze dropped down to her lap, to the hand resting there. She instinctively looked at her left wrist, hidden by the sleeve of her dress. In her mind’s eye, she saw the rosebud tattoo, and she saw another delicate petal shrivel and disappear into her skin.
She had to recover. She couldn’t let him see her fear. She looked back up, her expression once again cool and composed, and locked his gaze. "Soon," she said clearly. "What I an is, we signed a year-long contract. You are a businessman, Your Grace. You know how sacred a signed and sealed contract is."
Her voice beca stricter, deliberately creating distance. "So please, respect the boundary between us."
She picked up her fork and continued eating, as if the intense, personal conversation had never happened. She ate until she was reasonably full, then set her fork down. "Thank you for the breakfast," she said politely, standing up from the table. "It was delicious. I will go and draw you a bath now, so you can rest."
She turned and left , leaving Eric sitting alone at the table. He was just silent, his own appetite gone. He stared at her plate. It still had food on it. He murmured to himself, his voice full of a quiet, deep hurt, "She didn’t eat much again."
A short while later, Eric, now dressed in a fresh coat, stood at the front door. "Mr. Rye," he called out, his voice lacking its usual warmth. "Prepare the carriage for ."
In a few minutes, the carriage stood waiting in the courtyard. Eric got in, and they took off, heading back towards the city and his dye business. As the carriage pulled away, he looked back at the house. He saw Delia standing by the entrance door, a small, solitary figure watching him leave. Her silhouette beca smaller and smaller the further the carriage went, until she was gone.
Delia watched until the carriage was out of sight. As she was about to close the heavy iron gate, her eyes caught sight of sothing tucked into the bars. It was an envelope, sealed with the familiar, wax seal of the Carson family.
She picked it up, her brow furrowed in confusion. Who is this from? she thought to herself. It couldn’t be from Lyra; they had just spoken yesterday. And Eric had just left.
She took the letter inside, her curiosity piqued. She went to the drawing room and sat down on the large sofa, the sa one where Eric had made his shocking "confession" just two nights ago. She looked at the front of the letter. Her na, Delia, was written in a strong, unfamiliar hand. Who in the Carson family would want to send her a secret letter?
With a sense of anxiety, she carefully broke the seal and opened the letter.
Lady Delia,
This is Duke Philip Carson, Eric’s older brother. I am sincerely sorry that the family introduction. I’ve heard so much about you and would like to et you. Would you be free to with tomorrow? If this is possible, please send a reply with a courier and I will send you the location for our eting.
I would prefer you keep this a secret from Eric.
Delia read the letter twice, her mind racing. Philip. The brother Eric supposedly injured. Why did he want to et with her? And why, most importantly, did he want to keep it a secret from his own brother?
She folded the letter, her expression thoughtful and calculating. She tucked it away safely and went about her day.
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