Yes, the people who took you did it under my specific instruction. Everything will be explained in time, Nat. You will just have to trust me on this, and you’ll have to trust the people who gave you this letter. For everything to work out, I will need you to follow my plan (which is brilliant and flawless, by the way) and you will have to have faith in Fitzwilliam Darcy, too.
The people who work for me will take you both to a safe place, where you and our traveler friend will hide until Travis finds a way to bring Darcy back. Just make sure you two do not kill each other until then.
Do not worry about our parents, Bobby or Grandma. They have received a similar letter, informing them you are safe. Please, do not try to reach out to them or contact them (nor Fanny) in any way while you are hiding, otherwise you might be found.
Do not worry about school either; yes, I might be far away, still I thought of every angle. The people who work for me have already made the necessary arrangements in that regard as well.
Please, please do as I bid you, Nat. You can have my entire swords collections when you are allowed to return home.
I miss you all very much, sis.
All my love,
Ethan
♥
THE ESTEVEZ BROWN BROWNSTONE, NEW YORK
GRANDMA: Let me see if I have understood it correctly. Ethan is stuck in the nineteenth century.
DAD: Correct.
GRANDMA: And Travis and Ethan’s team are figuring out how to bring my grandson back home.
BOBBY: You don’t have to worry, Grandma. I’m sure they’ll find a way very soon.
GRANDMA: And, from Ethan’s letter to us, we can conclude he’s very well in this Pemberley place.
MOM: Exactly!
GRANDMA: And Fitz is from 1811.
MOM: Yes, but he’ll be returning home as well, as soon as Travis brings Ethan back. So everything will be fine. There’s no need to panic.
GRANDMA: Who says I’m panicking? You’ve just told me my grandson invented the first time travel machine in history, became the first person to ever travel through time, he’s very well, thank you very much, and will be returning soon. Not only that, he sent back for a while that temptation of a British and you just told me the guy is over two hundred years old.
MOM: Sure, but I don’t quite understand where you’re going with this.
GRANDMA: You see, Fitz is not too old for me! Quite the contrary: I am the one too young for him! Isn’t that wonderful?
MOM: Mother!
DAD: Wow.
BOBBY: I’m not sure I got that… Oh. Oh! That was gross, Grandma!
GRANDMA: Gross is hiding your marijuana in your boxers when your mothers cleans your room and putting the joint in your mouth afterwards!
MOM: WHAT?!
BOBBY: Not cool, Grandma!
DAD: Cough, Cough, Cough
MOM: I know you’re holding back your laugh, Carlos. How dare you? This is serious! How could you joke in a moment like that, Mother?
GRANDMA: I am being serious, darling! I believe we should make the most of this mess.
BOBBY: Sorry to disappoint you, Grandma, but I’m guessing the only one who’s going to make something with Fitz is Nat…
GRANDMA: Well, at least someone is enjoying that pretty piece of British ass.
MOM: Mother!!!
BOBBY: I’m gonna puke.
[Carlos laughs]
GRANDMA: Christ, could you be less prudish? It seems as if you two were the ones from the nineteenth century! I’m telling you: we should try to make the most of it.
MOM: Well, when you say it like that… I wonder if there was a way we could communicate with Ethan…
DAD: You wish to tell him we are all right as well, darling?
MOM: Actually, I really wished he could buy me a first edition of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s St. Irvyne. Why are you looking at me like that? It was published that year.
♥
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.”
♥
Chapter 20
1 HOUR IN PARIS
September was just around the corner; still, the breeze that welcomed them as they left the private jet and touched French ground at the Paris Le Bourget airport was cooler than expected. Sunrise had yet to welcome them with its warmth. The night was chilly; Nat pulled the Oxford sweatshirt the Professor had lent her tightly around her body, hoping it would be enough to stop her trembling.
It wasn’t only the cold that made Nat tremble head to toe, however. There was a lot of anxiety in the mix, along with some excitement as well: she’d never been in Paris, and couldn’t help being curious about seeing the City of Light for the first time in her life.
Of course, the circumstances were nothing like what she’d had imagined for her first visit. On the other hand, it was far better than being questioned by the Feds in a cold, gray room.
There was a black Mercedes parked a few feet away from the jet, with an elegant driver holding the door open for them. Nathalie took a deep breath in the vehicle, already feeling a lot more comfortable with the warmer temperature and the smell of new leather. Since it was too dark to enjoy the view, she sagged against the seat, placed her head against the window, and closed her eyes.
A light touch on her hand, which sent goosebumps way up her arm, woke her up. “We are here”, Darcy said in a whisper, but couldn’t keep the baritone from his voice anyway. She had no idea what time it was, but she could see morning was just a few moments away. She saw on a street sign they were on an avenue called La Bourdonnais, a name that sounded familiar, but Nat couldn’t recall why.
It was clearly a very chic neighborhood, with Haussmann style buildings lined on each side of the street. She was proud of herself for remembering accurately the description of that style, having learned it from a documentary about the renovation of Paris commissioned by Emperor Napoleon III. The street blocks were designed homogeneously, as pieces of one architectural whole.
“It’s lovely”, she meant to remark to Darcy alone, but the Professor heard it, and a smile spread on his lips.
“This is one of my favorite places in Paris. I hoped you’d approve of it”, he said as if he really meant it, even though Nat couldn’t comprehend why the man would care if they liked it or not. “François will take you upstairs. I wish I could accompany you to the apartment, but my knees can no longer climb stairs. Especially Parisian ones.”
“You’re not staying in Paris?” Nat really didn’t care either way, but she had nothing else to say to him.
“No, I have some business back in New York”, he stated matter-of-factly. Then, in a more soothing tone, the Professor continued, “Remember what your brother wrote, Nathalie. Be patient with him”, he didn’t mention Darcy’s name, but it was obvious who he was talking about.
Before Nat could accuse him of invading her privacy by reading a letter addressed to her (despite the fact it was written centuries ago), the Professor winked at her and returned to the car, leaving Darcy and Nat to follow the driver. The building might have been old – Nat preferred to call it historical – yet it was very well kept. Their destination was the third floor, François informed, and Nat was thankful for the exercise; she’d been sitting for way too long.
She expected a simple, tiny apartment, but the Professor was – yet again – able to surprise her. Facing the front door, there was a stylish kitchen with modern, light wood cabinetry and terracotta tiles on one of the walls. A small island separated the kitchen from the living area.
On her left, there was a spacious bathroom decorated with lighter tiles and a bathtub, big enough even for the tall British. As if it weren’t enough, there was a separate walk-in shower and a skylight above the room, so they could admire the Parisian sky while having a nice, long bath.
How can Ethan be paying for this?, Nat wondered yet again. She soon forgot her brother as she marched to the tiny – yet lovely – living room and discovered why the name of the street had sounded familiar. They were just a street away from Champ de Mars, so close that the Eiffel Tower was staring just at her.
Nathalie barely heard François explaining about the clean towels and sheets in the bedroom closet, or about the sofa that converted into a double bed. She only had eyes, ears, and mind for the one of the most famous tourist spots of the world welcoming her to Paris.
“I believe that will suit Miss Nathalie”, Darcy thanked the driver. “May you show me to my rooms now?”
“Thank you very much, François”, Nat told him, already giggling. Darcy began to say a “but” and was interrupted by her hands on his chest. Her eyes were burning into his, her lips forming a devilish smile he’d offered her many times before. Now, however, it was her time to tempt him. “It is just perfect for us.”
Darcy forgot about all improprieties that arrangement involved as he looked into her eyes.
Oh, wasn’t he in trouble…
♥
SIX HOURS IN PARIS
Nat
I hadn’t been able to rest that morning, even though I’d told Darcy I needed to sleep for a few hours before we could begin the day. It wasn’t for sharing that small-yet-amazing space with the man who’d lied through his teeth to me since I’d met him. It was the overbearing sexual tension between us. It was so thick I could almost touch it, smell it, freaking hear it screaming Come get me! If I could eat it, it would taste bitter and sweet, I was sure. It was tempting and frustrating at the same time, driving me crazy.
After a sleepless night on the plane and a restless morning in my new bed in Paris, one might think I wouldn’t have any energy left in my body to feel anything other than exhaustion as I saw his I-didn’t-sleep-either adorable face once I decided to get off the bed and go to the kitchen. Well, apparently I was back in my teens, with my hormones blasting all over the place, because I did feel a lot, alright. His flushed cheeks and enthusiastic eyes made me want to jump on him. There was an alarming amount of blood traveling to my lower parts, by the way.
HOTNESS ALERT!
“I went for a walk earlier and found a lovely bakery a few blocks away”, he offered as explanation for the amazing smell of fresh bread and croissants in the apartment. I looked out the balcony and understood his excitement. Yes, it wasn’t enough to have an amazing view of the Eiffel Tower; we had two small balconies, too. One was accessed through the tiny living room and the other through the bedroom.
He’d bought breakfast for us, and had arranged it on the table of the living room balcony. I hadn’t even heard him leaving, meaning I had probably slept a little that morning. My stomach rumbled angrily, reminding me I hadn’t eaten in over twelve hours, not since the late dinner on the plane. I glanced at the vintage wall clock on the living room wall, and saw it was a little past noon.
From Pemberley to Manhattan Page 15