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.
