Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 61 - Sixty One

The day had been long and draining. After his conversation with Delia that morning, Eric had thrown himself into his work, but his mind was not on the logistics of dye shipments or the price of rare pigments. It was fixed on Delia. Her words from that morning echoed in his head, a constant, painful refrain: "This is a contract marriage, after all... I won’t be here for long, anyway."

He had felt something shift between them in his kitchen, a warmth and intimacy that went far beyond their agreement. But she had pushed it away, retreating behind the cold, logical walls of their contract. The rejection hurt more than he cared to admit.

As dusk settled over the city, he found himself at a high-end dining establishment he often frequented, a quiet place that respected the privacy of its patrons. He was shown to a private area, a small, secluded room closed off by a heavy velvet curtain. He didn’t order any food.

He was thinking about Delia. He poured a glass of deep red wine and drank it down in two long swallows, the liquid doing little to dull the ache in his chest. He carefully selected a cigar, the routined motions grounding him slightly. He struck a match, the small flame illuminating his face as he held it to the end of the cigar.

The first puff was a release, the smoke curling upwards towards the high ceiling as he leaned back in the chair. He watched the smoke dissipate, his thoughts drifting back to Delia’s words, each exhale carrying a bit of his frustration.

Just as he was beginning to feel the familiar, lonely peace of his solitude, the velvet curtain was pulled aside. A young woman in an elegant evening gown sat down beside him, a bright smile on her face.

"Oh my," she said, her voice a little too loud in the quiet room. "I didn’t think I would run into you here, Your Grace."

It was Anne.

Eric didn’t even bother to feign surprise. He took another slow drag from his cigar and looked continued looking at the ceiling, his expression cold and uninterested. "Is this really a coincidence, Lady Anne," he asked, his voice flat, "or have you been following me?"

Anne’s smile didn’t falter. "No, Your Grace. It must be destiny."

Eric’s gaze drifted towards the entrance of the private area. He saw the maître d’ quickly avert his eyes, a guilty expression on his face. Eric had no doubt that a few gold coins had changed hands to allow this "destiny" to happen. He let out a short, harsh chuckle. "Of course," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He looked back at Anne, then stared straight ahead again, making it clear he had no interest in conversation.

Anne, undeterred, moved a little closer. "You always come here when you want to smoke and drink alone," she said, trying to show off her knowledge of him. "It’s not far from your residence, so even if you get drunk, it will be an easy journey back home."

Eric spoke without looking at her, his voice a low, bored monotone. "It seems Lady Anne knows a lot about me." He picked up the wine bottle and poured himself another glass.

"At least more than my sister does, right?" Anne said, her voice taking on a husky, suggestive tone. She slowly began to pull off her long, silk gloves, finger by finger. Once they were off, she touched her own neck, her fingers tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. "I also know a lot more about men than she does."

The attempt at seduction was so obvious, so clumsy, it was almost pathetic. Eric ignored it completely. He drank the last glass of wine in a single gulp and stood up, reaching for his coat. "I have to go."

Anne’s face fell. She quickly reached out and held his wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "Am I that repulsive to you?" she asked, her voice now filled with a desperate, wounded pride. "That you can’t even bear to spend a single night with me?"

Eric looked down at her hand on his wrist, then back at her face, his own expression one of complete indifference. "It’s more like I simply don’t have any feelings for you, Lady Anne."

"But Delia doesn’t have any feelings for you either!" she retorted, her voice rising. "She only has eyes for George! She always has!" She let go of his wrist and reached into her pouch, pulling out a folded piece of paper—a freshly printed gossip pamphlet. She dropped it on the table in front of him.

Eric looked down. He saw the headline, printed in bold, dramatic letters. He saw the crude drawing of a man and a woman in a passionate embrace. And he saw his own name, and Delia’s. He slowly picked it up and asked, his voice dangerously quiet, "Did you arrange this yourself?"

Anne smiled, a triumphant, malicious expression. "Does it really matter who arranged it? What matters is that it’s true. What matters is that George Pembroke has been going to your private residence, without your knowledge, ever since Delia moved in."

It was clear from the tightening of Eric’s jaw and the cold fire that entered his eyes that he was not cheerful about what she had just said.

"Now you know, Your Grace," Anne continued, sensing she had finally gotten through to him. "Now you know what kind of woman my sister really is."

Eric stood there for a long moment, the pamphlet clutched in his hand. Then, to Anne’s complete surprise, he smiled. It was not a happy smile. It was a cold, sharp, and terrifyingly intelligent smile.

"Yes," he said softly. "I see it now. I see why you are so completely obsessed with me."

Anne looked at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor.

He turned to face her fully, taking a step closer until he loomed over her. "This has nothing to do with you wanting me," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. "This is about the fact that you just don’t want to lose to Delia. She’s just an illegitimate child with nothing, in your eyes. She must not be better than you. She must not have something you cannot."

He bent towards her, placing his hands on the armrests of her chair, trapping her. She could feel his breath on her skin, but it wasn’t the warm, romantic caress she had dreamed of. It was cold and menacing. He stared down at her with a dead-serious expression.

"But you know the truth, don’t you, Lady Anne?" he whispered. "You know that she shines brighter than you ever could, and you simply can’t handle it. That’s why you’re so desperate to step all over her, to ruin her, to drag her down into the mud with you. Isn’t that how you truly feel?" ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

Anne couldn’t say anything. She was frozen, trapped by his words and his intimidating presence.

"Let me make something clear," Eric continued, his voice now a low growl of controlled rage. "If I see this gossip pamphlet you so kindly provided me this evening, or if I hear even a whisper of this story on the streets tomorrow, I will make sure to burn the Ellington manor, and everyone and everything related to it, to the ground. And I will enjoy doing it."

He released the armchair and straightened himself up. As he was about to leave, Anne found her voice, a last, desperate plea.

"Your Grace... I love you," was all she could say, her voice choked with tears.

Eric turned back, his face a mask of cold contempt. "And I am warning you for the last time, Lady Anne. Cease this charade. Stop here, before I lose whatever patience I still possess. I have no intention of playing these disgusting, childish games with you."

Tears began to roll down Anne’s cheeks, tears of humiliation and utter defeat. But Eric didn’t care. He didn’t even glance at her again as he walked out of the room, leaving her alone with the scandalous pamphlet and the ruins of her pathetic plan.

Read 𝓁at𝙚st chapters at (f)re𝒆we(b)novel.com Only