From Pemberley to Manhattan [COMPLETED]

Chapter 83

2 DAYS KIDNAPPED

SECRET LOCATION

Every eight or nine episodes of Seinfeld, a man walked in with food and beverage, asked her if she was ready to talk, and, as Nat told them exactly where they could shove their talk, he left silently. When, after Nat had lost track of how many episodes she'd watched, they opened the cabin's door and she saw it was nightfall, they turned the volume down on the television, offered her a sleep bag and left again.

It was the weirdest, less effective torture she'd ever heard of, she considered, as she fell sleep that night. She'd heard Darcy's voice now and again during the day, after the rain had stopped, and silence fell around her cabin; but, as she closed her eyes, she noticed things had gone quiet on his side of the woods as well. She only hoped he was in a warm sleep bag and in a cabin just like her.

In the middle of the night, or what she guessed to be the middle of the night, two men walked in, one with a bucket, the other one with a weird type of bottle with transparent liquid in it she thought was water. The TV was turned off and everything was quiet, except for the sound of some crickets outside.

Since she was used to all the noise in New York and Paris, she'd tossed and turned for a long time before catching asleep. Now, awaken again, she feared she'd have trouble to go back to sleep. So, if she were to watch more of Seinfeld, it might have a calming effect on her: being sleepless made her anxious.

"Are you ready to talk?", one of them asked, after placing the bucket on the ground, in the center of the room, while the other guy tried to stabilize the strange bottle on the beam, right above the buckle.

"No, not yet", Nat informed sarcastically. "Maybe you should put on some more episodes of Seinfeld.

"Since we've noticed that did not convince you to speak, we're changing strategies." Then they left her with no further words.

Oh, dear. Is that liquid poisonous? Or is it inflammable? Am I supposed to take it down? Nathalie wondered about all possibilities she could think of, trying to decide what should be her next move. Then, a drop left the bottle and fell into the bucket, making small splash sound. That was it. If the water was poisonous or contaminated, she was gone.

Yet, that situation reminded her of a torture technique she'd read about somewhere. It was a Chinese torture method, a process in which water dropped slowly on a person's forehead. Was this a new version of that? If it was, it just became the most inefficient torture ever, taking the first place from the watching-Seinfeld-method.

She waited for a few more moments and, deciding the liquid in the bottle wouldn't kill her, she went to sleep, the water drops making her relax into a deep slumber.

♥

Darcy was agonizing. He hadn't been physically hurt yet, but he was desperate to hear Miss Nathalie's velvet voice again. He knew she was alive, but was she well? How were these malicious people treating her? Did they give her something more comfortable to sleep in than that awful and strange rug? Had they fed her with more than flavorless sandwiches and water? Had they too make her bath in that tiny – and completely inappropriate for his height and position – tub?

He sincerely hoped they didn't make her do her necessities in a bucket, like him. He was used to living without the toilet device, but she was not. Oh, how he wished to be able to hold her in his arms once more, feel her silky hair in his hands, caress her perfect lips with his own, touch every millimeter of her soft skin, make trails of kisses on her curves, have her tongue all over his–

Never mind. What mattered was that he now realized how foolish he'd been, not allowing any romantic entanglements while they were not wed! They should have enjoyed each other for the time they had, which wasn't much! Now, he didn't even know if he would have a new chance with her!

"Are you ready to speak yet?" The brute had returned. He brought with him another sandwich, which Darcy foresaw that tasted like nothing, and an apple. The barbarians had been asking him the same question since the day before: who had helped hide him in New York, and if Miss Nathalie had known when he really was from.

How dare they ask Mr. Darcy to tell on his friends and his... Nathalie! He would never do anything to wound the Estevez Browns, even if it meant taking the blow himself! And they did everything they could do to make him talk.

They had humiliated him the worst possible way, forcing him to spend the last day reading those vulgarities out loud. The book they'd given him was almost as horrifying as the one Miss Nathalie had once tricked him into reading once in Central Park, but, that time, he'd read only a few pages. The day before, they'd made him read for hours straight! Out loud, too! Thankfully, no ladies were in that dark, smelly hole they called a cabin, otherwise they would have been ruined.

"No, sir, I am not ready to talk. Should I go back to reading?", he dreaded reading the infamous book, but he would never allow the bandits to learn about his weakness.

"No, you shouldn't." The man then moved aside from the door, letting someone else walk in. Even with the dark bag covering her head, there was no mistaking to the person's identity.

"Nathalie!", he exclaimed, racing desperately in her direction. He took her in his arms and held her in an intimate embrace. He didn't care about the company: if they had heard all those vulgarities with not a word, they could witness this moment as well. Darcy, however, wished for some privacy so they could talk.

He gingerly removed the bag from her head, while the guard left them alone. "Oh, Nathalie! Are you all right? Are you hurt?" He examined her.

"Are you calling me Nathalie? Are you alright? Are you hurt?", she asked him back, also surveying him for injuries.

After he was satisfied she was unhurt, he took her in his arms again, "I was so worried; I feared they might... Oh, my Nathalie!"

She didn't fight his arms. Quite the contrary: she felt she belonged there, in his warm embrace. If only he was always this passionate about her, always losing control of his emotions like that... "I'm really fine, Darcy. They were okay, actually, which was weird."

"I am very relieved, Nathalie." Darcy hesitated for a moment, but then said, "I must make you a promise. If we get out of here, we may share all intimacies, Nathalie."

"What?!" Had she heard it right? "All intimacies? With no wedding?" Maybe there was a catch.

"I would still wish you to become my wife. But no. No wedding needed."

"And that's a promise?" This abduction was getting better and better.

"Yes. As soon as we leave this place. As soon as we are let go." He was resolute in his decision.

At that moment, they heard a click and the door opened again. The Professor was outside.

"Were you responsible for this?!" Nathalie turned from romantically horny to pissed off in an instant.

"No. Your brother was responsible for this, Nathalie", he said calmly.

"Where are we, Professor?", Darcy asked respectfully, making Nat even angrier; how could have he forgiven the old jerk so quickly?

"You are on my property, in England", he explained before Nat could accuse him further and unleash her weird cussing against him. "We are going to London now. And, tomorrow, Darcy will return home."

"Home?!", Nat felt as if her blood had frozen over.

"Yes", the Professor said. "Mr. Darcy is going back to the nineteenth century."

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