Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

The last of the laughter had faded, leaving behind a comfortable silence in the grand house. Amber and Aiden had retired to the guest rooms prepared for them, their doors softly shut. The fire in the drawing-room hearth had burned down to a bed of gently glowing embers, casting a soft, warm light that pulsed like a sleeping heart.

In the kitchen, the pleasant sound of water and the soft clink of porcelain filled the air. Eric stood at the large sink, his sleeves rolled up, carefully washing the last of the dinner plates. Delia stood beside him, a soft cotton towel in her hands, carefully drying each dish as he passed it to her.

They worked in a quiet, easy rhythm, moving around each other with the familiar grace of two people who knew each other completely. No words were needed. A shared, tired smile was enough.

When the last plate was dried and stacked, and the last wine glass was polished until it shone, Delia wiped down the clean countertop. Eric rinsed the sink, his work done. They stood together for a moment in the spotless kitchen, a sense of shared satisfaction settling over them.

"All done," Eric said, his voice a low, gentle rumble in the quiet house. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Delia's ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek for a second.

"Let's check on the house one last time before we go up," Delia suggested, leaning into his touch.

They walked from the kitchen, their footsteps soft on the cool stone floors. They checked the lock on the front door and then made their way to the drawing room to make sure the fire screen was secure.

As they stepped into the room, the soft, orange glow of the embers illuminated a small figure curled up on the large sofa. It was Owen. He had clearly intended to be polite, to not overstep his boundaries by assuming he had a room. He had taken one of the decorative velvet cushions for a pillow and was fast asleep, looking small and vulnerable on the piece of furniture that seemed to swallow him whole.

Delia's face softened instantly. A fond, gentle smile touched her lips. "Silly boy," she whispered, her voice a low murmur.

She moved toward him quietly, her steps completely silent on the thick rug. Eric watched from the doorway as she knelt beside the sofa, her expression full of a deep, motherly affection. For a moment, she just watched the slow, even rise and fall of his small chest.

Then, with a grace that was both gentle and strong, she slid one arm under his knees and the other around his back. She lifted him from the sofa in one smooth motion. He was light in her arms, a precious weight.

As she held him close, Owen stirred in his sleep. He made a soft, sighing sound and, without waking, his instincts took over. His arms came up and wrapped securely around her neck. He snuggled his face into the warm crook of her neck, his cheek pressing against her soft skin. His quiet, even breaths were warm against her shoulder. It was an act of pure, unconscious trust, the embrace of a child who feels completely safe.

Delia held him a little tighter, her heart swelling with an emotion so powerful it almost made her dizzy. She stood up, carrying him as if he were her own.

Eric followed her out of the drawing room and into the long, quiet hallway. Moonlight streamed in from the tall windows, painting silver stripes across the floor. They walked side by side, their pace slow and measured so as not to wake the boy.

"So," Eric began, his voice a low whisper that wouldn't carry. "This is the source. The little spy who has been stalking me and giving you all my information." There was no anger in his voice, only a quiet sense of wonder.

Delia nodded her head, a small, careful movement.

Eric let out a soft chuckle. "I'm truly impressed," he admitted. "He's smart for his age. Very smart."

"And knowledgeable, too," Delia added, her own voice a whisper. "He reads everything he can find."

"Yes, that too," Eric agreed. His gaze then fell to the delicate way Delia was holding Owen, how her hand gently supported his head, how her entire posture was one of gentle protection. "So, what are your plans for him?" he asked softly.

Delia didn't hesitate. She looked from the sleeping boy in her arms to her husband, her eyes shining in the moonlight. "I want to adopt him," she said clearly and quietly. "When all of this is over, I want to give him a real home, a real family." She then looked at Eric, a hint of a question in her own eyes. "With your permission, of course."

Eric's expression softened completely. He looked at the boy who was clinging to his wife, and his decision was instant. " That's a great idea," he replied without a moment's pause. "He will be a good big brother and grandmother will surely love him."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered playfully, "Besides, Owen will remind everyone of myself when I was his age. Intelligent and good looking."

Delia let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, the sound barely disturbing the sleeping boy. They reached the end of the hall where the guest rooms were. Eric opened a door for her, revealing a simple but comfortable room, the bed already turned down.

She walked inside and gently lowered Owen onto the mattress. He murmured softly in his sleep but didn't wake. With careful movements, Delia pulled the thick, warm covers up to his chin. She gently slipped his worn shoes off his feet and placed them neatly on the floor beside the bed. She lingered for a moment, her hand coming up to brush a stray lock of brown hair from his forehead. He looked so peaceful, so young.

Eric stood in the doorway, watching them. He saw not just a duchess and a boy she was helping; he saw a mother and her child.

They came out of the room together, and Eric pulled the door almost completely shut, leaving just a small crack to let in the hall light. They stood in the quiet hallway, the weight of their decision settling around them in the most pleasant way.

Eric turned to her, a teasing glint in his eye. "So," he asked. "Which room am I sleeping in today?"

Delia smiled, a slow, lovely smile. She reached up, stood on her tiptoes, cupped his cheek with her hand, and leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss there. "Mine," she said simply. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light. "We certainly have to work hard to give Owen a sibling. Don't you think?"

She let her hand drop and started walking towards the direction of her own room at the far end of the hall. Eric stood frozen for a second, completely captivated. Then, a wide, boyish grin spread across his face. He fell into step behind her, following her like a devoted puppy, completely and utterly smitten.