CHAPTER 195: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND NINETY FIVE

The next morning dawned bright and clear, pouring golden sunlight through the tall windows of the manor. The house was quiet again. The lively energy of Amber and Aiden had departed with them in the early hours, leaving behind a peaceful atmosphere.

Delia followed Eric down the grand, sweeping staircase. He looked sharp and ready for business in a crisp white shirt, cravat and a dark coat, his hair neatly combed. They walked in comfortable silence, their shoulders occasionally brushing, a simple and familiar contact.

"What are you going to do today?" Eric asked as they reached the polished floor of the entrance hall, their footsteps echoing slightly in the vast space.

After I drop Owen off at the printing press," Delia replied, "I am going to come home and look over that long list of advisors that Aiden came up with. I need to start planning my approach."

Eric smiled, a teasing glint in his eyes. He reached out and gently straightened the robe of her nightgown. "You are so busy," he said, his voice soft. "You never take a moment to rest."

Delia playfully hit his shoulder, a light tap that made him grin. "Neither do you," she retorted. A thought then surfaced, a question that had been in her mind since she saw him dressed for work. "I thought you weren’t starting at Carson Textiles until next week?"

Eric’s smile widened. "Nothing gets past you, does it, my Duchess?" He offered her his arm, and they walked the final few steps to the large front doors. "I received a letter this early morning. An urgent matter. So now there is something I have something to take care of before I officially begin."

They stepped out into the crisp morning air of the courtyard. The carriage was already waiting, the horses steaming gently in the cool air. Eric kissed her on the cheek, a quick, affectionate gesture of goodbye. He turned and opened the carriage door.

But then, he stopped. He stood frozen for a second, his hand on the door, as if a sudden, powerful thought had seized him. He turned around slowly, his gaze intense. He walked back to Delia, closing the distance between them in three long strides. Before she could ask what was wrong, his hands were on her, one sliding around her waist to pull her firmly against him, the other cradling the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her soft hair.

He claimed her lips in a fierce, possessive kiss. Delia gasped in surprise for a fraction of a second before melting into him, her own desires ignited by his. Her hands came up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as she returned the kiss with equal fervor.

Just as suddenly as it began, he broke the kiss. He rested his forehead against hers, his breathing heavy. Delia’s own breath came in short, shaky gasps. His thumb came up to brush tenderly across her bottom lip.

"It’s a bit swollen," he murmured, his voice husky.

She looked up at him through her lashes. "Whose fault is it?" she replied, her own voice a little breathless.

A slow, handsome smile spread across his face. "Mine," he admitted. "It seems last night wasn’t quite enough for us."

Delia playfully hit his chest this time. He caught her hand and chuckled, a low, warm sound. He used his other hand to gently raise her chin, his expression softening. He leaned in and kissed her again, but this time it was gentle, slow, and deeply tender.

He broke this second kiss with reluctance and looked into her eyes, his eyes sparkling. "Now I’m in a better mood," he said, a satisfied grin on his face, "And I hope this feeling will last me throughout the entire, difficult day."

Delia just blushed, her heart full of a warm, happy glow.

Eric turned to the driver’s seat. "Mr. Rye," he said, his voice now crisp and serious again.

Mr Rye, who had been staring resolutely at his horses’ ears, tipped his hat. "Your Grace."

"Let’s go," Eric said.

Mr. Rye bowed his head. Eric gave Delia one last, lingering look before he stepped into the carriage and closed the door. Rye flicked the reins, and the horses began to move, their hooves clopping smartly on the cobblestones as the carriage rolled out of the courtyard and onto the main road.

~ ••••• ~

On the other side of Albion, the morning was not so bright. The high, gray stone walls of the Royal Penitentiary cast a long, cold shadow over the street. Today, several inmates who had finally finished serving their long sentences were being released.

The great, iron-studded gate creaked open, and a small group of men in simple, ill-fitting clothes shuffled out into the world, their faces pale from years without sun, their eyes blinking in the unfamiliar brightness.

One of the last to emerge was Fredrick Garrison. He paused just outside the gate, his body half-in, half-out, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. He raised a hand to block the sun that penetrated his sensitive eyes. He looked around, at the noisy, bustling city, at the carriages rattling by, at the people walking with a sense of purpose.

He took a tentative step forward, onto the cobblestone street. The great iron gate slammed shut behind him with a deafening, final thud. The sound made him flinch, but it was the sound of freedom. He was out.

He took a deep, shuddering breath of the fresh, free air, an air that smelled nothing like that prison. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, a wide, strange smile spreading across his thin, pale face.

"I am free," he said, the words a low, triumphant whisper. After twenty-three long years, he was finally, finally free. And he had a great many things he needed to attend to.

"Augusta" he said with a smile as he called out her name. " Your Freddie is out and can’t wait to see you."