From Pemberley to Manhattan [COMPLETED]

Chapter 59

Nat

Ethan. His handwriting. His signature. His letter. His wording was a little off, but I guessed that, after a year and a half in the nineteenth century, it was only natural he became a little formal. I mean, Darcy was here for a lot less than a semester and he was already adding new words and expressions to his vocabulary. I guess he could be saying dude in a few months.

Or not.

Besides, knowing Ethan like I did, he was probably writing in a way people wouldn't guess he was a guy from the future, in case his letters ended up in the wrong hands. Clever boy.

Anyhow, what made my hairs go up all over my body was the realization that, unlike Darcy here, Ethan had been in the wrong century for over a year. Why was that? What did it mean?

I should have freaked out with that information alone, but that letter had had the opposite effect. If there was someone who could clean this aristocratic mess up was Ethan, and, if he was guaranteeing me he had it all figured out, I believed him.

I couldn't stop myself from reading the letter again and again, only taking my eyes from the yellowed paper as Darcy arose. A line between his dark brows told me he was confused, not recognizing his surroundings. Until his gaze met mine.

His expression softened perceptively, while he stretched and turned his upper body in my direction, a tiny smile of relief playing on his lips, making my legs want to break apart. I kept them safely crossed, naturally. Right before his paw of a hand reached my arm, his eyes drifted to one of the windows – which Merlin's twin brother had requested the flight attendant to open, soon after he politely threatened to throw me out of the plane. The relaxation on Darcy's face was instantly replaced by terror.

"Oh, Lord! Where is the ground?" He demanded to no one in particular. "Are we dead? Yes, we are dead!" He asked and answered himself, standing up. Before I could clarify our situation, he held my wrists, pulling me up against his body, holding me tight in his arms. I was supposed to be mad at him, and I should have punched him or something, but his body was so strong... And warm... And hard in all right places...

NATHALIE ESTEVEZ BROWN! Stop it!

"Mr. Darcy", I heard the I-am-Merlin's-brother guy say, after Darcy had ignored his presence, "You haven't been hurt, you're simply in my–"

"Oh, my Nat!" If Darcy had heard the old man, he was doing a great job pretending he hadn't. "I am quite sad to be dead. Yet, there is great consolation to know I will spend eternity in your company!" He finished passionately.

Then, just like that, before I could slap him back to reality, or yell at him, or even roll my eyes at his stupidity, the gorgeous blue-eyed bastard kissed me. And there was nothing stupid about his kiss.

We both sat back on his seat, me on his lap, his hands grasping my waist as if he feared I would vanish, my hands mixed with strands of his thick hair. I forgot where we were and who we were with, and opened my mouth to invite his tongue in. He soon compelled to my wishes, as the good gentleman he was.

Our kisses became deeper and deeper, and soon my legs were on each side of his body, cradling him, and his hands moved to my back, to pull me even closer. I buried my hands deeper in his hair, and pulled it lightly, but enough to make him moan in my mouth. My hands moved to his arms, while his moved all over the place, and we were so lost in each other I almost missed the sound of a throat clearing.

A giggle followed.

Fighting against every cell in my body, I pushed Darcy away from me, only to see his swollen lips and wish to kiss him again. His eyes slowly opened, burning with desire and longing. He wanted me to keep kissing him, too. I wished we were alone so we could have some Adam and Eve time. Maybe later. After I threw Merlin here out of the plane.

Then I recalled I should be pissed at Darcy, since he had lied to my face and all, moved away from his lap and sat in the seat next to his, leaving him with a desolated expression.

Awwwwww! He was so cute when he looked like a sad puppy!

Stop it, Nathalie!

"We're not dead, Darcy", I was able to say after a few moments. "We are in an aircraft. His aircraft", I indicated the owner with my head.

"Oh", Darcy exclaimed, while the deteriorate version of Gandalf offered him a tight smile. He tried to stand up, realized he still wasn't well enough to do it (my knees also felt like jelly) and said, "Forgive my lack of propriety, sir. I had not noticed your presence. Fitzwilliam Darcy, at your disposal."

"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Darcy. You may call me..." That was when I noticed the old man hadn't told me his name. His gaze shifted to me, he winked and said, "Professor Dumbledore."

What the shell? He was actually smiling at me. His first real smile.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance, Professor." Of course, Darcy was oblivious to the joke-slash-lie. The old man was laughing at us. Why had Ethan chosen such a smartash? "Are you the one in charge of our... flight?"

The old guy nodded once in response, offering his fellow Brit a cup of tea. "Pardon my forwardness, sir", Darcy mentioned after taking a sip, "But are you a wizard?"

Hadn't it been such a weird situation, I'd have laughed with Darcy's innocent remark. Instead, I felt my heart beat a hundred times faster in my chest in anticipation of the old man's response. I was pretty sure he wasn't the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but still: who the shell was he? What did he do for a living? How could he afford his own private jet? How could Ethan afford a guy like him?

"I am not a wizard, Mr. Darcy." Oh, really? "Even though some have stated I can perform miracles." I couldn't help rolling my eyes at his snug reply. Darcy stared at the man, impressed. "I work for Mr. Ethan Estevez Brown." He finished, as if it were enough.

His statement made Darcy gasp; he was horrified for some reason. "How can you work for him, sir? Mr. Ethan is... He is..." Now I realized Darcy's logic. One that had completely escaped me. The drugs this old idiot gave me must have affected my brain. How did I not suspect him when he claimed he worked for Ethan? How could it be possible?

"Yes, Ethan is still in the nineteenth century, I'm afraid."

"Then..." Darcy wouldn't give up. "Are you immortal, sir?"

Was Darcy going nuts? There was no way this guy could be an immortal. Those didn't exist. Right? Well, I used to believe time travelling was impossible too, and here I was, making out with a guy from the nineteenth century.

Could this old man be hundreds of years old? Let's see. White beard. Check. Thousands of expression lines on his face. Check. Wise persona. Check. Looked like he could read my mind, double check. I was in the middle of my checklist when the so-called Professor laughed. Out loud.

"I'm afraid I'm nothing but a mortal old man, Mr. Darcy."

Wow, wasn't that a relief.

"Then..." Darcy repeated, the question implied in his tone.

"I received my orders from Ethan's letters." I comprehended, yet Darcy was still lost. "Not to worry, Mr Darcy. You'll get your own letter soon enough."

Darcy got a letter from Ethan too? What was it about, I wondered. Perhaps, it was Ethan's way to apologize to him.

"Where are you taking us, anyhow?", I asked, more curious about our destination than my brother's plans.

"Paris."

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