From Pemberley to Manhattan [COMPLETED]

Chapter 14

The night had come before it was expected, or desired. Mr. Darcy and his companion had been conversing animatedly when she got a call from home; her mother wished them to be back for dinner.

He felt somehow embarrassed for taking Miss Nathalie for a walk without a chaperone, but he had noticed many ladies in the twenty-first century did the same. Some of them were even walking all by themselves, which made him wish he could watch over them.

He kept his thoughts to himself, though; he had the strongest feeling Miss Nathalie would not appreciate his inclination to protect those women, especially if the lady in question was herself. She was indeed remarkable; even though her manners seemed sometimes strange to him, he considered her highly intelligent and with a strength of character he much admired.

She spoke her mind, and had a very good notion of justice, never affirming anything just to pleasure a male companion, as most ladies did in his time. As he did the previous night, Mr. Darcy admired her beauty, but now his admiration had also been extended to her fierce personality and her authenticity.

At first, he had considered her laughs vulgar, but now, after observing other citizens from that century, he had learned not only to accept her laugh as natural, but to admire its spontaneity.

Had she been a lady from his own century, many gentlemen might fear to marry her for her fierceness, which most would confuse with stubbornness and even arrogance. Not Mr. Darcy, though. He would have recognized her for what she was: his perfect match.

Yet, Miss Nathalie Estevez Brown could never be his perfect match, for they were over two hundred years apart. Truly, she was standing right beside him at that moment, but that would not – it could not – last. He would soon return to 1811, and Mr. Ethan Estevez Brown would be back to his own time.

And that would be the end of that.

Still, as they entered the garden of her house, he could not stop himself from thanking her for the day. Not only that; he was bold enough to bent slightly, take her ungloved hand, and kiss it.

Perhaps she had not realized, since ladies from this time didn't seem to bother much about covering their skin, but that was the second time their skins had touched. As he led her to the tiny dancing space at the party, he'd taken her hand, and it had felt like fire had traveled in his veins. During the dance, however, he'd been careful enough never to touch her skin, and had done the same thing that entire Sunday.

Nevertheless, the more he watched Miss Nathalie, the more he desired to touch her silky, olive skin again. As he observed touching had become a much more common habit amongst people in that time, he had unconsciously come to the conclusion she wouldn't be offended by another touch, as long as it remained civil.

As he removed his lips from her hand, he moved his head up to observe her reaction to his forwardness. She looked surprised, but otherwise calm. A hint of smile played her lips as she said, "Are you always acting, Darcy?"

"Not always, Nathalie", he answered seriously.

That time, she didn't laugh, and his lips remembered her skin for the rest of the night.

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