From Pemberley to Manhattan [COMPLETED]

Chapter 39

Mr. Darcy's conscience did not tolerate leaving without making sure Miss Nathalie was free from harm. Even though she had safely entered an edifice about half an hour away from the Brown's residence, his intuition insisted he should remain where he was.

The little – and insistent – voice in his mind proved to be accurate when she left the building a few minutes later in tears. Oh, dear.

He crossed 106th Street without checking out the traffic first (luckily, no car was passing by at that precise moment), and came near her without being noticed by the lady. "Miss Nathalie?"

She turned abruptly to face him, tears rolling freely down her handsome face. The sight of her in that state broke his heart. Why was she weeping? Had it been in any way related to his unforgiving behavior the night before? He dearly wished to apologize, but instead he said, "Oh, my Nat!"

She held him then, her fingernails so deep in his back they almost cut his skin. She gripped his waist hard, using his strong body for support, her face buried in his chest, her tears wetting the Harry Potter T-shirt he borrowed from Ethan's closet.

Who is this Mr. Potter, anyhow?, he wished to know, but the question was lost in his mind the moment he saw her weeping.

The shock of being touched in such intimate way by a lady came and vanished quickly, and he hugged her back. His arms encircled her shoulders, and his cheek was touching the top of her head.

Neither of them said anything for a while, her sobs being the only sounds exchanged between them. Then she began, "Hecheatedonme! He'shorrible! Ihatehim!"

Darcy couldn't make out a single word. However, he knew how to respond under such circumstances. His mother hadn't only raised a gentleman, after all. She'd raised a considerate gentleman. "I understand."

"Noyoudon't! HecheatedonmewithPatty!" Darcy might have misunderstood, since his shirt muffled her words, and she was mumbling instead of speaking, because of the weeping. Still, he was under the impression the trouble involved Miss Patricia somehow. Perhaps the other lady had been hurt?

"I understand", he replied softly, deciding not to ask about it for now. Miss Nathalie was too shaken up.

"Shewasmyfriend! Itrustedher! Itrustedthatjerktoo! Ihatethem!", her complaints turned into tears and sobs again.

A light rain came down on them. He sweetly took her to a nearby, mediocre-but-good-enough establishment with a green and black sign that said Starbucks, helped her sit in a wooden chair, and went to the counter to buy them some breakfast.

When it was his turn to order, he remembered he had no modern money. Actually, he had no money at all. He had, however, a smooth, gray and rectangular object Mr. Carlos Estevez had instructed him to use in case of an emergency. He looked back at Miss Nathalie; eyes swollen, red nose, sad look.

That definitely qualified as an emergency.

He selected what he wanted (he ended up choosing black coffee to drink, since they were too many choices and he got lost) and offered the woman taking his order the object.

"So you'll be paying with a credit card?", a non-smiling attended asked him. He nodded, not sure if she was correct, but left with no other option. "Please sign here." She told him, not bothering to look into his eyes. "Thank you. Next!"

He waited for a while in the line and picked their breakfast when they called his name, his eyes not leaving Nathalie for even a second. The crying was over, and now he observed her pulling herself together. She was a strong woman, probably as strong as his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

He placed a cup of coffee and a doughnut in front of her. He sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair that matched hers. "Thank you", she told him, taking a sip of her hot beverage. His response was a that-was-nothing nod and a sympathetic smile. She didn't need his consoling words now, just his silent support. "They don't deserve my tears. Those cheaters."

He still had not fully comprehended the reason for her distress, so he carefully calculated his words as he said, "Maybe those tears were for you, not them."

She agreed with him with a headshake. "I should kiss you." She blurted out.

"I beg your pardon?" Had he taken a nip of his coffee at that moment, he would surely have spat it out. Had he heard her correctly?

"Don't you I-beg-your-pardon me! If Doug can sleep with Patricia, then I can kiss you!", she stated it as if it were obvious, yet Darcy failed to come to that same conclusion from the facts she had just shared with him.

He hoped he had been misinterpreting the meaning of what she had just revealed, but it was not his priority to clarify that. Far from it. Instead of asking her about what had happened or complying with her request, he held both her hands and looked into her mesmerizing, green eyes.

"I shall not deny I have desired to kiss you since I beheld you as we danced. No, that is a lie." He took a deep breath before continuing. If he was doing it, he was doing it right. "I have desired to kiss you since the moment I first saw you. And, as I became more acquainted with you and learned that, not only you are the handsomest woman I have ever met, but also the brightest and one of the kindest, that desire became so strong to the point of physically hurting me. Still, I refuse to do the dishonor of kissing you when you are in such a vulnerable state. If I am to kiss you – and I believe that moment is becoming inevitable – it will be in the way a lady such as yourself deserve: after a marriage proposal is dutifully accepted."

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