Chapter 13 - Thirteen
The drive to the cabin was achingly long and suffocatingly silent. The rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves and the gentle rocking of the carriage were the only sounds, leaving Delia alone with the frantic drumming of her own heart. Each passing minute stretched into an eternity, winding the knot of anxiety in her stomach tighter and tighter. She sat perfectly still, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze fixed on the dark, passing landscape outside the window. What had she done? In a single, bold move, she had secured a private audience with the Duke, but at what cost?
She risked a sideways glance at him. Eric sat opposite her, his posture relaxed, his expression calm as he gazed out his own window. He seemed completely at ease, a man in total control of the situation. This only made her more nervous. She had played a game of wits and won the first round, but now she was heading into unknown territory with no map and no plan, driven by a man whose intentions were a complete mystery.
The carriage finally slowed, turning off the main path onto a smaller, hidden trail before coming to a complete stop. Delia peered out the window. There, nestled in a small clearing and bathed in the soft, silvery light of the moon, was a small, beautiful cabin. It was expertly built from dark, sturdy logs, with a stone chimney and large windows that seemed to watch them silently. It looked peaceful, almost romantic but still unsettling.
The driver, without a word of instruction, expertly unhitched the horse and led it towards a small stable set back amongst the trees.
" He comes here often," Delia thought, a cold realization dawning on her. The driver’s routined movements, the well-maintained path, the very existence of this secluded place—it all pointed to frequent use. A more sinister thought followed immediately, unbidden and unwelcome. "He brings his women here."
The thought sent an involuntary shudder through her body, a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. She pictured a long line of beautiful, willing ladies being escorted into this cabin, disappearing behind its sturdy door. Was she just the latest in his collection of dalliances? The boldness she had felt in the garden evaporated, replaced by a raw, primal fear.
"Ahem!"
Eric cleared his throat, a soft sound that shattered the silence and jolted Delia from her dark thoughts. She looked up to see him standing by the open carriage door, his hand extended not to her, but towards the cabin’s entrance.
"After you, my lady," he said, his voice smooth and low. He gave a slight, formal bow, a gesture of perfect courtesy that felt entirely out of place given the scandalous nature of their situation.
Delia forced a smile onto her face. It felt stiff and unnatural, a poor mask for the sheer panic she was feeling. She took a deep breath and stepped out of the carriage, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her. They walked the few steps to the front door, the crunch of their shoes on the gravel path sounding unnaturally loud.
They entered inside the cabin and stopped at a door, and both of them stood there for a moment, staring at the dark, unpainted wood. Eric turned his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Aren’t you going to open it?" he asked, his gaze flicking down to the key still clutched in her hand.