CHAPTER 118: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN

Eric’s voice, a soft and happy murmur, broke Delia from her reverie. "You are eating more than you did before," he said, flashing her a warm, encouraging smile. "I’m happy to see that."

Delia looked down at her plate in surprise. He was right. She had eaten more than half of the generous portion he had served her, and she didn’t feel the familiar, sickening urge to throw it all up. A small, genuine smile touched her own lips. "I think so," she agreed.

They finished their meal in a comfortable silence. As had become his habit, Eric finished the small amount of food she had left on her plate, a simple, domestic gesture that felt more intimate than any grand declaration.

When they were done, they walked up the grand staircase together. He stopped in front of her door and pulled her into a soft, brief hug. "Goodnight, Delia," he whispered into her hair.

Delia found herself holding him close for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his strong arms around her. They broke the hug, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Dream of me," he said, his voice a low, teasing command. "Only me."

Delia smiled and nodded, a pleasant warmth spreading through her chest. She opened her door and entered her room.

Eric stood in the hallway for a long moment, simply watching her closed door, until he saw the soft light from under it extinguish. He then smiled to himself and went to his own room.

Inside, Delia couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in the large, comfortable bed, the soft linen sheets feeling like sandpaper against her suddenly sensitive skin. Her body was burning with a strange, unfamiliar energy, and she ached for his touch in a way that was both terrifying and thrilling. The memory of their time in the carriage, of his hands on her skin and his lips on hers, played over and over in her mind.

Frustrated, she got out of bed and went into her bathing area, hoping to immerse herself in a cold bath to shock the strange heat from her system. But as she sat in the cool water, the remedy seemed to make things worse. The heat rising from her own warm skin seemed to form his shape in the air before her. She closed her eyes and could almost feel his hands on her, his breath on her neck.

She got out of the tub, her plan a complete failure. She dried herself, wore her simple nightgown and robe, and found herself standing in front of her bedroom door. She knew what she wanted. What she needed. And for the first time in her life, she was not going to run away from it.

She walked down the silent, moonlit hallway to Eric’s room. She knocked softly, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Enter," his voice called from within, calm and steady.

Delia opened the door and saw Eric sitting at his large desk, a single lamp casting a golden glow on his work. Stacks of ledgers were piled beside him, and he had a quill in his hand, his expression one of deep concentration.

She stood by the closed door, suddenly feeling shy and uncertain. "You’re awake?" she asked, her voice a little breathless.

He looked up, a hint of surprise in his eyes at seeing her there. He gave her a tired but warm smile. "Mmm," he replied, putting down his quill. "It seems Aiden must have come by when we were at the estate. When I came into my room and saw these stacks of ledgers I have to review, I knew I had a long night of work ahead of me."

"Oh," Delia replied, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice. "Is that so?"

Eric could hear it clearly. The disappointment too clear to be unnoticed. He stood up from his desk and started walking towards her. "And you?" he asked, his voice a low, gentle query. "Why aren’t you asleep, my Duchess?"

"I... I thought," she began, coming up with a plausible excuse, "with what happened at the estate today, and with how Duke Philip opened up all your old wounds... I thought you might have difficulty sleeping tonight. So, I came to make sure you were alright."

Eric walked towards her until he was standing just a few inches away. "So what you are saying is that this is the first time you have come to my room on your own accord," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Simply because you are concerned about me?" He leaned forward until his forehead was gently touching hers.

She moved back instinctively, waving her hands. " No I didn’t mean it that way." She said until her back hit the cool, solid wood of the closed door.

Eric voice became lower. " Then what did you mean, Delia?" He teases.

She stammered. "Well, I... I..."

Eric replied, his voice a low, amused whisper, mimicking her own flustered tone. "Well, you... you what, Delia?"

Delia’s eyes went to the open top button of his night shirt. She could see the smooth, warm expanse of his skin, and she was overcome with a desperate, undeniable urge to touch him, to feel him.

Eric noticed where her gaze had fallen. A slow, seductive smile spread across his face. He began to unbutton the rest of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Delia asked, her voice a shocked whisper.

"Giving my wife a better view," he replied, his voice a low purr as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

Delia tried to look away, her cheeks burning, but Eric held her chin gently, forcing her to look at him, into his dark, passionate eyes. "If you have needs, Delia," he said, his voice now serious and full of a deep, caring intimacy, "you must always let me know." He leaned in, his lips just inches from her ear. "Don’t make me look like a bad husband who cannot even take care of his own wife’s sexual needs."

Before she could say a word, before she could even process his shocking, tender words, he swept her off her feet and into his arms. He carried her across the room and laid her down gently on his large, comfortable bed. He climbed on after her, using his strong hands to support his weight above her. He looked down at her, his eyes full of a love so intense it made her breathe catch in her throat.

"I am all yours, Delia," he said. " Go ahead. Ravish me."

"But... your work?" she whispered.

"I am actually following my list of priorities," Eric replied, a roguish grin on his face. "And you are at the very top of that list. When I am sure that you are completely and utterly satisfied, then I will continue with my work."

He leaned down and slid her robe off her shoulders. She entangled her fingers in his dark, soft hair and brought his head down, her lips searching for his. As he slid the thin silk strap of her nightgown off her shoulder, he whispered against her mouth.

"Tell me you want me," he said, his voice a hoarse command in between kisses.

"I want you," Delia replied, her own voice full of a desperate, honest need.

"Beg me," Eric said, his teeth gently grazing the sensitive skin of her shoulder as he pushed the rest of the nightgown off her body.

"Please, Eric," she breathed, her own control shattering. "I..."

That was all it took. He didn’t even wait for her to complete her words. He just devoured her, his lips and his hands claiming every inch of her, finally, completely, as his own.