Chapter 259: Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty Nine
The warmth of the now lit fireplace of the cozy study, cast a soft, flickering glow on their faces. Delia looked at Eric, the simple, powerful answer he had given her echoing in her mind. " Because they are the closest thing to having you."
He saw the question still lingering in her eyes, the confusion that warred with the tentative hope. He knew he owed her more than that. He owed her the entire truth.
"I bought the bolt of silk from an auction house in the Northern Isles," he began, his voice a low, steady murmur. "I was there on business, and I saw it listed in the catalog. I remembered you make dyes that are similar to that exact color, that specific shade of a storm cloud. I had never seen anything like it before, so I bought it, along with every other dye of yours I could find."
Delia looked at him, her lips slightly parted as he explained. He was not just the man who had found her life’s work; he was a collector of it which confused her more.
"I have always watched you," he confessed, a shadow of old pain crossing his features. "In secret. In our past life. Whenever I would go to society balls, my eyes would search for you. And when I didn’t see you, when you were shut away in your manor, I would get angry." He looked away from her, towards the fire, as if the memories were too painful to look at directly. "I would see Lord George getting cozy with Lady Anne, laughing and flirting for all the world to see, and it would anger me more at how he repeatedly disrespected you and your feelings. My anger rose every time I saw how you were being treated by your family and your fiancé, but I couldn’t interfere. Not when you kept on making excuses for them, trying to protect them."
He finally turned back to look at her, his own eyes mirroring the sadness that now filled her deep blue ones. "I was angry at myself," he admitted, his voice thick with the memory of his own helplessness. "I was angry for not being able to do anything about it, for just watching as they broke your spirit."
"When I heard about how you were framed," he continued, "it was from a letter. It arrived when I was away on the continent. It was unsigned, except for a single initial. P." He paused, a small, humorless chuckle escaping him. "Now that I think of it, that was Mr. Prescott."
Delia nodded, a sad smile touching her lips. "It seems so."
"The letter explained everything—Augusta’s plan, the false evidence. I came back as fast as I could. I was meant to arrive in the capital a day later, but I pushed my driver, pushed the horses. I wanted to get to you, to save you." He took a deep, shaky breath, the guilt of that day still a fresh wound. "But I was reckless. In my haste, I caused our death. My carriage collided with yours."
"Then you came back in time?" Delia asked softly, understanding dawning in her eyes.
Eric nodded. "I woke up on my way back from a business trip, a year ago. It was as if I had been given another chance, a chance to undo my greatest mistake." He looked at Delia, his gaze filled with a love so profound it was almost tangible. "I intended to win you over this time. After I heard you broke off your engagement, I began making my plans. But you came to me first. You walked into the garden that night, at my homecoming ball, and it felt like the sun had come out after a lifetime of rain. I was so happy that night. I literally had to restrain myself from pulling you into my arms right there and then."
He saw the memory of that night in her eyes, her own surprise, her own curiosity about the handsome Duke who seemed to know her.
"When you told me you wanted revenge against your family, I was glad," he admitted. "Really, truly glad. Because it meant you were finally fighting back. And when you proposed a one-year contract marriage, I saw it as a gift from fate. I made it my mission to make you fall in love with me before the expected time was up."
Tears began to well in Delia’s eyes, tracing silent paths down her cheeks. These were not tears of sorrow, but of overwhelming, heart-shattering understanding.
"No, no. Don’t cry, please," Eric said softly, his voice full of tenderness as he reached out and gently cleaned her tears with his thumb.
Delia looked at him, her voice a choked whisper. "Why... why did you accept my offer back then?"
Eric’s expression was a mixture of love, sadness, and a deep, soul-baring honesty. "Because I was already in love with you," he said simply. "I have loved you for two lifetimes."
Delia was too stunned to speak. She could only stare at him, her heart pounding in her chest.
"I loved you first when we were children," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, sharing the oldest, most precious secret of all. "In our first life. There was an accident on my family’s estate. I fell into the lake. I couldn’t swim. I was drowning. And you, a little girl I had never met before, you jumped in and saved me. And I loved you from that moment on. I kept loving you, even when you grew up and forgot our first meeting. Even when you forgot our first life, I still loved you. And now, I still love you, Delia. I’m so in love with you, and I’ll love you until my last breath. And if I’m given another chance after that, I’ll still love you in another life."
He moved closer to her on the couch, the space between them disappearing. He gently rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the warm air. "I love you, Delia," he whispered. "And I’m so sorry for hiding everything from you, for hurting you, for..."
Delia stopped his words the only way she knew how. She kissed him.
It was a kiss of forgiveness, of understanding, of a love that had finally found its way home. Her hands tangled in his soft hair, pulling him closer, just as she had remembered in her dreams. His hand moved to the small of her back, holding her as if he would never let her go.
They broke the kiss slowly, both catching their breath. Their foreheads remained resting against each other, their eyes closed.
"I love you," Delia said, the words a soft, certain truth in the quiet room.
Eric’s eyes snapped open, his gaze searching hers, full of a wondrous shock. "What did you just say?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Delia smiled, a real, brilliant smile that lit up her entire face. "I love you, Eric. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you in my past life. I’m sorry for loving you late. I’m sorry for..."
He didn’t let her finish her own apology. Eric crashed his lips onto hers again, a second kiss that was nothing like the first. It was not gentle or questioning. It was passionate, hungry, a desperate and joyful celebration of a love that had conquered death itself. He kissed her with all the pent-up longing of two lifetimes, pinning her gently onto the soft cushions of the couch as he stayed on top of her.