Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 27 - Twenty Seven

The carriage slowed to a stop before a high, elegant stone wall, passing through a set of wrought iron gates that opened as they approached. The courtyard beyond was not vast and sprawling like the one at the Carson family mansion, but it was perfectly manicured, with a central fountain and beds of vibrant flowers. The house itself was a beautiful two-story manor built from pale, honey-colored stone, with large windows and dark green ivy climbing one wall.

"It’s so beautiful," Delia whispered to herself as she glanced outside. It was smaller, more intimate than his family’s grand, imposing estate, but every line and detail spoke of quiet, understated luxury. This was not a house meant to impress visitors; it was a home meant to be lived in. freewēbnoveℓ.com

She came down from the carriage, and Aiden followed suit, his earlier fluster completely gone, replaced by his usual professional calm demeanor.

"Welcome to the private residence of His Grace, Milady," he said with a formal bow.

Delia took one more look around, at the peaceful courtyard and the elegant facade of the house. She wouldn’t lie to herself. Boy, was she impressed.

Aiden spoke again, interrupting her sightseeing. "I have several other businesses to attend to, Milady. His Grace is expecting you inside." With that, he gave another crisp bow, entered the carriage he had arrived in, and Mr. Rye drove him out of the courtyard, leaving Delia standing alone.

A strange mix of nervousness and anticipation fluttered in her stomach. She climbed the few stone stairs leading to the heavy, dark wood front door. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the brass knob, before finally turning it and stepping inside.

The interior was just as beautiful as the exterior. The floors were dark, polished wood, the furniture was elegant but comfortable, and the art on the walls was tasteful and modern. But something seemed off. The house was utterly silent. There were no servants bustling about, no maids dusting, no butler waiting to greet her. The grand house was completely, unnervingly empty.

Then, she smelled it. A sweet, savory scent was drifting from a hallway to her left. It smelled of onions, herbs, and something rich and delicious. Her curiosity piqued, she followed the smell down the hall and through an open doorway, which led into a surprisingly large and beautiful kitchen.

And there, she saw him.

The Duke of Elinburgh was standing in the middle of the kitchen, cooking a meal. His back was to her as he stood before a large stove top, stirring something in a pan that sizzled softly. He wasn’t dressed in his usual formal, impeccable attire. Instead, he wore simple dark trousers and a plain, light-colored shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. His hair, usually perfectly styled, was rugged and slightly messy, as if he had been running his hands through it. He looked... attractive. Dangerously so. He looked less like a Duke and more like a man, real and tangible and completely at ease in this unexpected setting.

She was so confused she had to look around again, half-expecting to find she had wandered into the wrong house by mistake. How many things can this man do? she asked herself, a sense of awe mixing with her bewilderment.

He turned from the stove to grab some freshly chopped onions from a cutting board on the central island. As he did, he saw her standing silently in the doorway, and he was so startled he nearly dropped the knife.

"Holy shit!" he cursed, jumping back a step.

The curse, so common and so completely out of place coming from his lips, shocked Delia into stillness.

He immediately winced, his eyes widening as he realized what he’d said. "I apologize," he said quickly, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. "I should not have cursed in front of a lady. You surprised me."

Delia didn’t know what to say. She just stared at him. He continued, regaining his composure and turning back to his cooking. "When did you arrive?"

"Just now," Delia replied, her voice quiet.

"I’m sure you haven’t had breakfast," he said, scraping the onions into the pan. They hit the hot oil with a loud sizzle. "I’ll be done in just a minute. Please, have a seat." He gestured with his head towards a small dining table in a cozy nook of the kitchen.

Delia took a seat, her mind buzzing with questions. She watched him move around the kitchen with confidence, his movements efficient and sure. "What is a high-born nobleman, a Duke no less, doing in the kitchen, cooking his own meal?" She asked herself.

He made a simple but fragrant dish of what looked like stir-fried meat and vegetables, serving it over rice. He placed one plate in front of her and the other for himself at the opposite end of the table.

He sat down and took a large bite, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"So delicious," he said, praising himself with a charming, unselfconscious smile.

Delia didn’t touch her food. Her head was swirling with too many questions, too many contradictions. Eric paused his meal when he noticed she wasn’t eating, his smile fading into a look of concern. "Aren’t you hungry?"

Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, the questions spilled out of her. "Who is Aiden Caldwell to you?"

Eric didn’t seem surprised by the interrogation. He answered as he chewed. "He’s my aide, my right-hand man, my business associate, my eyes and ears in the kingdom, and my second-in-command. He handles nearly everything for me when I am away."

She asked her next question. "And why is your residence so... empty? There are no staff."

Eric answered as if he had been waiting for this question. "I’m a man who loves his privacy and personal space," he explained. "I don’t stay here very often. When I come back from my travels, I usually stay here or at the cabin. I only go to the main family house when my mother insists on it." He took another bite. "I do have someone who comes to clean, but she doesn’t live here. Aiden takes care of everything for her, from her well-being to her payments."

This made a strange kind of sense. He was a man who valued his solitude. "Did you learn how to cook?" she asked, the question sounding almost childish to her own ears.

Eric smiled. "When you are always away from home, traveling for business in places where the local food might not agree with you, you have to learn some survival skills, right?" He looked at her untouched plate. "Eat up. It’s getting cold," he said, his tone gentle as he continued eating.

Delia picked up her spoon, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat. There was one last, crucial question she had to ask. "Why are you doing all of this?"

Eric paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Doing what?"

"This," she said, gesturing vaguely around the kitchen. "Going out of your way for me. Taking me from my house, bringing me here, cooking for me. It wasn’t part of what we discussed in our deal."

Eric slowly lowered his spoon, letting it clatter softly against his plate. The playful, casual air he had worn since she arrived disappeared, replaced by that same intense seriousness he had shown her at the cabin. He rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, his chin resting on his hands as he looked at her, his gaze direct and unwavering.

He replied, his voice quiet but firm, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

"Because I want to."

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