87Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡONzI1vabOR87Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq2njnna78v
Consciousness returned slowly, reluctantly, bringing pain with it.
Not the searing kind that had tormented him last night when the artificial heat burned him from within. This was different a dull, aching pain spread throughout his body. His muscles protested at the slightest movement. His head throbbed. His mouth was dry.
Elliot slowly opened his eyes.
He lay in an unfamiliar, enormous bed with impossibly soft sheets that smelled of something fresh, expensive, and yet he felt comfortable.
Elliot slowly turned his head, surveying the room. A large bedroom with high ceilings, panoramic windows through which morning light streamed. Minimalist but expensive furniture. Grey and white color scheme.
Darcy's penthouse.
Memories flooded back. The kidnapping. The serum. The rescue. Darcy carrying him in his arms. Darcy holding him all night, fighting his instincts. Darcy who had stopped when any other alpha couldn't have.
A soft knock at the door made him open his eyes wider.
"Elliot?" Darcy's voice was gentle, almost tentative. "Are you awake? May I come in?"
"Yes," Elliot croaked, and his own voice sounded unfamiliarly strained, broken.
The door opened and Darcy entered, carrying a tray.
Elliot closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how he'd begged Darcy not to stop. How his hands had unbuttoned the alpha's shirt. How his lips had pressed against bare chest. How instincts had demanded more, more, more.
And how Darcy had grabbed his wrists, stopping him and pulling away.
*This isn't you. This is the serum. Tomorrow you'll hate me.*
Shame burned his face. God, what had he done? How could he have behaved that way? But through the shame something else broke through something warm and grateful. Darcy could have taken advantage of his condition. Any other alpha would have.
But he'd stopped. For Elliot's sake.
A wave of emotion crashed over him not pain, not weakness. Something deeper and more frightening. A feeling he was afraid to name aloud.
Elliot opened his eyes and saw before him a completely different Darcy. Not the impeccably dressed alpha from the Netherfield ball. Not the rigid, self-controlled man from Rosings Park.
Darcy's hair was disheveled, falling onto his forehead in soft waves he'd probably run his hands through it repeatedly. Instead of a perfectly pressed suit, he wore simple dark trousers and a grey sweater with rolled-up sleeves.
He looked domestic and human. Almost vulnerable.
"Good morning," Darcy smiled, and that smile was so warm and so genuine that Elliot's heart beat faster.
His own scent of bitter chocolate and smoke flared against his will, becoming sweeter. Not as intense as under the serum's influence, but enough for Darcy to notice. His grey eyes darkened for a moment, nostrils flaring, but he collected himself, his smile becoming even more tender.
Elliot's cheeks burned. God, he was reacting to Darcy like a schoolboy. His body responded to the alpha's presence, his scent betraying an attachment he wasn't ready to acknowledge.
"How do you feel?" Darcy approached closer, setting the tray on the bedside table. On the tray were a cup of tea, a plate of toast, fruit, and several bottles of pills.
"Like I was hit by a truck," Elliot answered honestly, trying to sit up.
Pain pierced his back and he gasped, freezing halfway.
Darcy was beside him instantly, his hands carefully supporting Elliot's back, helping him settle against the pillows.
"Easy," his voice was full of concern. "Don't move suddenly."
The touch of his hands, even through the fabric of the pajamas, spread warmth through Elliot's body. Comfort and safety. He didn't remember when Darcy had managed to change him, but right now it didn't matter.
"Thank you," he whispered when Darcy pulled back.
"I spoke with a doctor friend of mine," Darcy sat on the edge of the bed, leaving a small distance between them. "Described the symptoms without naming names. He said you should rest for several days. The serum they injected you with is very aggressive. It forced your body to work at its limit. Now you're feeling the consequences."
He indicated the pill bottles.
"Fever reducer, painkillers, and something to restore pheromone balance. But you need to eat first. Can't take these on an empty stomach."
Elliot looked at the tray. The toast looked perfectly golden, butter melting. The tea smelled of something floral and soothing. The fruit was cut into neat pieces.
"Did you make all this?" he asked.
Darcy flushed slightly, and it was so unexpected, so charming, that Elliot couldn't look away.
"Toast isn't difficult to make," he mumbled. "Neither is cutting fruit. I'm not much of a cook. I usually have a housekeeper, but I sent her away for the weekend. Thought we needed privacy."
"Thank you," Elliot repeated, his voice warmer. "For everything. For saving me. For taking care of me. For stopping..."
He didn't finish, but Darcy understood. His grey eyes softened.
"Nothing to thank me for. I only did what I should have."
He stood, giving Elliot space.
"Eat and take the pills. I'll be in the living room if you need me. Call if anything."
"Darcy, wait," Elliot extended his hand, stopping him.
Darcy turned, hope mixed with wariness in his gaze.
"I..." Elliot faltered, not knowing what to say. So much he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. "I'd like a shower. After eating. I feel dirty."
"Of course," Darcy agreed. "Bathroom's through that door. Towels in the cabinet. If you need help..."
"No!" Elliot answered faster than he should have, and felt himself blushing again. "I mean, I can manage myself. Thank you."
Darcy's smile was sad but understanding. He left, quietly closing the door behind him.
Elliot exhaled, sinking back onto the pillows. His heart was pounding, his scent still treacherously sweet.
*What's happening to me?*
He forced himself to eat. The toast really was good, the tea soothing, the fruit fresh and sweet. When he finished, he felt somewhat better.
He took the pills according to the instructions Darcy had neatly written on a slip of paper. His handwriting was firm, decisive the same handwriting from the letter.
*The letter.*
Elliot remembered. It had been in the pocket of his jacket, the one he'd arrived in. Where were those clothes now?
He looked around and saw his clothes neatly folded on a chair in the corner. Jacket, shirt, trousers. Darcy had washed and dried them.
Darcy had even taken care of his belongings.
Elliot decided it was time to get ready. He needed a shower, to dress, and then call his family. He couldn't put it off any longer.
***
Elliot tried to stand and immediately regretted it. The world spun, his knees buckled. He grabbed the bedpost, trying to keep his balance, but the weakness was stronger. He gasped as he nearly fell.
The door Darcy had left ajar burst open and the alpha rushed in, his face full of alarm.
"Elliot! What are you doing? I told you not to move suddenly!"
"I wanted a shower," Elliot said stubbornly, still gripping the bed. "And I can walk myself."
"You can barely stand," Darcy approached closer. His scent whiskey, damp earth, and honey enveloped Elliot, simultaneously calming and arousing him. "Let me help."
Before Elliot could object, Darcy leaned down and scooped him up in his arms, one arm under his knees, the other under his back.
"Darcy! What are you doing?!" Elliot instinctively wrapped his arms around his neck, his face flushing.
"Carrying you to the bathroom," Darcy answered calmly, as though this were the most ordinary thing. "You can't walk yet."
He crossed the bedroom to the bathroom door easily, as though Elliot weighed nothing. His arms were firm and confident. His scent was so close, so intense, Elliot could barely breathe.
"I'm not an invalid," he mumbled, but his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.
"You're a recovering omega who's been through hell," Darcy said firmly. "And I won't let you fall and hurt yourself in my bathroom."
He carried Elliot into the enormous bathroom with marble floors, a large tub, and a separate shower. Carefully set him on his feet near the shower, not releasing him until he was sure Elliot stood steadily, holding onto the glass wall.
"Do you need help?" he asked, and there was nothing in his voice but genuine concern.
"No!" Elliot shook his head, feeling his scent flare treacherously again. "No, I can manage. Really."
Darcy studied him for a long time, assessing. Then slowly nodded.
"Alright. But I'll be right outside the door. If anything happens, if you feel weak, call immediately. Promise."
"I promise," Elliot confirmed.
"I'll bring you a fresh towel and clothes," Darcy left the sentence unfinished, his cheeks slightly pink. "I bought you some things. Your suitcase was taken by those people. I'll bring everything you need and leave it on the shelf for when you get out of the shower. Okay?"
"Darcy," Elliot couldn't hold back. "Why are you doing all this?"
Grey eyes met his gaze, and in them was such sincerity, such openness, it took his breath away.
"Because I care about you," Darcy answered. "Because I want you to recover. Because you're important to me. Because..."
He didn't finish. Shook his head and smiled weakly.
"Take your shower. I'll be nearby."
He left, discreetly closing the door, leaving it slightly ajar in case Elliot needed help.
Elliot stood holding onto the shower wall, breathing. His heart pounded, his scent so sweet even he could smell it.
*God, what's wrong with me?*
He forced himself to undress slowly, each movement sending pain through his muscles. Turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, stepped under the streams.
Hot water scalded his skin and he made a quiet sound, but it was good pain. Cleansing, washing away the remnants of that nightmare in the car.
He stood under the shower for a long time, letting water pour over his head, shoulders, back. Washed his hair with shampoo he found on the shelf it smelled of something woody and fresh. Darcy's scent.
*This is his shampoo. Now I'll smell like him.*
That thought shouldn't have caused such a warm feeling. But it did.
When he finally emerged from the shower, wrapped in the towel that had indeed been waiting on the shelf, he felt more human. Still weak, but cleaner. Clearer.
On the shelf lay a neat stack of new clothes. Even new underwear.
Darcy had thought of everything.
Elliot dressed slowly, muscles aching with every movement. By the time he finished, his strength had nearly left him.
He opened the bathroom door and found Darcy standing a few steps away, his face full of concern.
"Are you alright? I heard the water running for so long, I started to worry."
"I'm fine," Elliot answered tiredly. "Just very exhausted."
"Of course," Darcy immediately approached, offering his shoulder. "Lean on me. I'll take you back to bed."
This time Elliot didn't object. He wrapped his arm around Darcy's waist, allowing the alpha to support him, and they slowly returned to the bed.
Darcy helped him lie down, tucked the blanket around him, adjusted the pillows.
"Rest," he said softly. "You need sleep. Your body is recovering."
"Stay," escaped from Elliot before he could think. "Please. Sit for a while."
Darcy stopped, surprise flickering in his eyes. Then he slowly nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, maintaining a safe distance.
"I'll be here as long as you need."
Elliot closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion wash over him in a wave. But before falling asleep, he whispered:
"Thank you. For everything."
"Always," Darcy answered quietly.
And that was the last thing Elliot heard before sleep claimed him.
***
Elliot woke to soft light filtering through the windows. Outside darkness was already falling. The sky was painted grey and pearl, the sun setting below the horizon.
He'd slept nearly the entire day.
Elliot sat up, bracing for pain, but there was almost none. Only a slight ache in his muscles, nothing more. His head was clearer. His body was weak but no longer as depleted.
He looked around. The room was empty, but on the bedside table stood a glass of water and a note. Darcy's handwriting, firm and even:
*If you wake hungry, call me. I'll bring food. D.*
Elliot smiled, folding the note. His heart squeezed with tenderness.
As though hearing his thoughts, the door quietly opened and Darcy peered through the gap.
"You're awake," his face lit with relief. "How do you feel?"
"Better," Elliot confirmed. "Much better."
"I'm glad," Darcy entered fully. "You haven't eaten all day. Want dinner?"
As soon as he said it, Elliot's stomach growled traitorously. They both laughed.
"I suppose that's an answer," Darcy smiled. "I'll bring dinner."
He left and returned several minutes later with a tray. This time it wasn't light fare soup that someone had cooked professionally, fresh bread, salad, even a small dessert.
"I ordered delivery," Darcy admitted, helping Elliot sit up and arranging a portable table before him. "I'm not much of a cook after all."
He set down the tray and Elliot breathed in the soup's aroma. It smelled divine.
"This looks wonderful," he said, then looked at Darcy. "Won't you have dinner with me?"
Darcy froze, not expecting the invitation.
"I... if you don't mind," he said carefully. "I'd be happy to."
"Then bring your food," Elliot nodded toward the armchair by the window. "Keep me company."
Darcy agreed and left. Returned with his own tray, settled in the armchair, placing his food on a small table nearby.
They ate in silence for several minutes. Darcy periodically raised his eyes, studying Elliot's face quickly, assessingly, with obvious concern. Finally Darcy set down his spoon and looked at Elliot.
"May I ask something?"
Elliot hummed agreement, continuing to eat.
"Yesterday you said Wickham injected you with the serum. That means he was there, at the station."
Elliot froze mid-motion, spoon suspended halfway to his mouth. He slowly lowered it back to the plate.
"Yes," he said. "He was there."
"Tell me," Darcy spoke evenly, but Elliot couldn't miss how tense his shoulders were. "Please. I need to know what happened."
Elliot took a deep breath and began recounting everything. About the suspicious car moving slowly down the road, the grey-haired alpha looking at him strangely. About the walk in the park where he'd heard voices and seen Wickham with that same grey-haired alpha. About realizing Wickham worked with the de Bourgh Foundation. About fleeing in panic back to the estate.
Then about the station. How Wickham had appeared there, smiling and charming. About the trap with Lloyd. The refusal. The syringe.
Darcy listened silently, his face becoming more stone-like with every word. When Elliot finished, silence hung in the room.
"Wickham," Darcy finally said, and his voice became ice, full of such fury that Elliot flinched. "Of course. I should have guessed from the start."
Darcy's fingers gripped the armrests so hard his knuckles turned white.
"I'll kill him. I swear to god, I'll find him and everyone involved. They'll answer for what they did to you."
"Darcy..."
"No," Darcy shook his head sharply, jaw hardening. "Kidnapping. Using chemical substances. This isn't just revenge or intrigue this is serious crime. And they'll pay for it."
He paused, then looked at Elliot, and in his eyes was a question he was afraid to ask.
"Why didn't you go with him?" he asked, and Elliot heard him holding his breath, awaiting the answer. "At the station, when he mentioned Lloyd. Why didn't you believe him?"
Elliot met his gaze.
"Your letter," he answered. "It opened my eyes. You warned me what Wickham was capable of. About his lies, manipulations. When he appeared at the station with that story about Lloyd, I knew immediately it was a trap."
Something flickered in Darcy's eyes hope, relief, or gratitude.
"So you believed me," he whispered. "After everything I did. After my arrogance, after separating James from Charles... you still believed me."
"Yes," Elliot confirmed. "I believe you."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.
"Elliot, I think we need to talk about us."
"I'm not ready yet."
Finally Darcy stood.
"You need rest," he said, taking the trays. "I'll leave you."
"Darcy," Elliot stopped him. "Thank you. For listening. For... for everything."
Darcy smiled gently but with longing.
"Goodnight, Elliot."
And left, quietly closing the door.
***
The following day passed in a strange, almost surreal haze.
Elliot slept most of the time, waking only to eat, take pills, and fall back asleep. Darcy was nearby, bringing food, monitoring medication intake, changing bedding when Elliot sweated from fever remnants.
He was never intrusive. Never crossed boundaries. Simply stayed close.
Sometimes Elliot woke to find Darcy in the armchair by the window, working on his laptop. Sometimes reading a book. And once, simply watching him, and in those grey eyes was such tenderness that Elliot couldn't breathe.
They barely spoke. Elliot was still weak. But the silence between them wasn't awkward. It was comfortable. Safe.
***
On the third morning Elliot woke and felt he could breathe more freely.
The muscle pain had almost disappeared, only a slight ache remained. His head no longer spun when he sat up.
He carefully stood and walked to the window. Beyond the glass London sprawled noisy, alive, continuing its life despite everything.
The door opened and Darcy entered with a breakfast tray. He stopped, seeing Elliot at the window.
"You're up," relief and concern mixed in his voice.
"I feel better," Elliot turned to him, smiling. "Much better. I think the worst is over."
Darcy set the tray on the table and approached closer, studying his face.
"You look better," he agreed. "Color's returned to your face, and your eyes are clearer."
Darcy's voice softened:
"I'm very glad."
They stood like that, looking at each other, separated by a couple steps but it felt as though a vast chasm divided them.
So much needed to be said. So much to discuss. About the kidnapping. About Wickham. About the de Bourghs. About the future.
About feelings growing between them despite everything.
But Elliot wasn't ready. Not now. He still felt vulnerable and confused.
"I need a phone," Elliot finally said. "My family's probably going crazy. Need to call, tell them I'm alright."
He paused, then added more quietly:
"And that I'll be coming home soon."
Darcy froze. Something flickered in his eyes, too fast to understand.
"Elliot," he began carefully. "Are you sure you want to return to Longbourn right now?"
"Why not?" Elliot frowned. "I feel better. I can..."
"Your scent has changed," Darcy interrupted quietly.
Elliot fell silent.
"The serum left a trace," Darcy continued, approaching closer. "Something artificial. Chemical. I can smell it. And your family will too."
He stopped a step away from Elliot, his voice softening:
"Your family they'll notice the change and start asking questions. What will you tell them?"
Elliot opened his mouth but no words came.
Darcy was right. Of course he was right.
Mother would notice instantly. She knew each of her children's scents better than her own. The slightest change and she'd raise the alarm. Would demand explanations. Panic.
And James... James wouldn't rest until he knew the whole truth.
"Give yourself a few days," Darcy said gently. "A week, maybe. The scent will return to normal. You'll be able to think about what to tell them. Prepare."
"But they're worried," Elliot whispered. "Father must have already called Rosings Park. They don't know where I am, what happened to me..."
"Then call," Darcy turned and approached the nightstand. Took a phone from it. "Those... people took yours. I ordered a new one, had all your data restored. Same number, contacts transferred."
He extended the phone to Elliot.
"Call your family. Reassure them. But don't go back yet. Please."
Elliot took the phone. Their fingers touched for a moment Darcy's warm, firm fingers and his own, still slightly trembling.
"Alright," he exhaled. "You're right. I can't go back like this. Not now."
Relief flickered in grey eyes.
"But I'll call," Elliot added. "Tell them everything's fine. That I just... need time."
"Be careful," Darcy warned. "The less they know about what happened, the safer. For them and for you."
"I understand."
Darcy lingered, looking at him. He seemed to want to say something, something important. But in the end just nodded and headed for the door.
On the threshold he turned:
"If you need me, I'll be nearby. In the living room."
The door closed quietly behind him.
Elliot held the phone. Stared at the screen for several minutes, gathering his thoughts.
Then dialed James's number.
A ring. Second. Third.
"Ellie?!" James's voice exploded through the receiver, full of relief and panic. "Where are you?! Are you alright?! Sher said you suddenly left! We've called everywhere!"
"James, calm down," Elliot closed his eyes, guilt choking him. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."
"Everything's fine?!" James didn't believe him. "Ellie, you disappeared for three days! Mother's on the verge of hysteria, Father was about to call the police!"
"I didn't disappear. I needed to leave urgently. Something happened."
"What happened? Where are you now?"
"I..." Elliot faltered. How to explain without explaining? "I'm staying with a friend. In London."
Darcy won't mind, he thought, looking at the closed bedroom door, if I call him a friend. I hope.
"What friend?" Disbelief colored every word. "Ellie, you don't have friends in London."
"I do now. James, please, trust me. I'm safe."
A pause. Elliot heard his brother's heavy breathing.
"Is this somehow connected to what happened at Rosings Park?" James finally asked. "Sher said you were very upset the last few days. Did Lady Catherine do something to you? Or Darcy?"
At the mention of Darcy's name, Elliot's heart beat faster.
"It's complicated. I need time to sort it out. That's why I can't come home."
"Can't or won't?" Pain was in James's voice.
"Can't. If I return to Longbourn, Mother will bombard me with questions, and I need quiet. I'll go to Uncle Edward and Aunt Madeline. They won't ask unnecessary questions."
James was silent for a long time.
"Alright," he finally said, softer. "If you need time, I understand. I'll tell the parents you're in London for work. Does that work?"
Relief spread through Elliot's chest.
"Thank you, James. You're the best brother in the world."
"I know," a weak smile entered his voice. "You'll tell me later?"
"I'll tell you. Everything."
"Take care of yourself. And call if you need me."
"Wait," Elliot stopped him. "One more thing. This is important."
"What?"
Elliot gripped the phone so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Don't trust Wickham."
The silence on the other end was deafening.
"What? Ellie, what's going on? Did Wickham do something?"
"I can't explain over the phone. Trust me. He's dangerous. Very dangerous. Warn everyone. Mother, Father, especially the younger ones. Keep them away from him."
"Ellie, you're scaring me. What did he do? Is this why you left?"
"James, please, trust me. And if he shows up in Longbourn, don't listen to him. Whatever he says it's a lie."
A pause.
"Alright," steel entered his voice. "I'll warn everyone. I promise. But you'll tell me everything. When we see each other."
"I will. I promise."
"Take care, little brother. If you need me, I'll come. Anytime."
"I know," Elliot smiled, feeling his eyes moisten. "Thank you, James."
"Love you, Ellie."
"Love you too."
Elliot slowly lowered the phone to the blanket. Gradually his breathing evened, his hands stopped trembling.
He sat like that for several minutes, gazing out the window at morning London. The sky was grey with a pearl sheen. Feeling a strange mixture of relief and anxiety.
Relief because James had believed him. Hadn't asked unnecessary questions. Had agreed to cover for him with their parents.
Anxiety because now it was real. He really wouldn't go home. Would go to the Gardiners. Would stay in London.
Near Darcy.
That thought sent a pleasant shiver through him.
Elliot gathered his courage and dialed the second number.
Aunt Madeline answered after the first ring.
"Ellie, dear! Are you alright? Your father called the day before yesterday, said you vanished from Rosings Park. We were so worried!"
"Aunt Madeline," Elliot felt his throat tighten at her genuine kindness. "That's why I'm calling. I need help."
Her tone instantly changed became serious, concerned, but not panicking.
"What happened, dear?"
"I'm in London," Elliot gripped the phone. "I need a place to stay. For a few days. Maybe a week. I can't go back to Longbourn right now, I need time."
"Of course, dear," the answer was instant, without hesitation. "Of course you can stay with us. As long as you need. Your room is always ready."
Elliot exhaled, feeling tension ease slightly.
"Thank you. I'll come today. If I may."
"Come right now if you want," only care was in Aunt Madeline's voice. "Ellie, are you alright? Are you safe?"
"Yes," Elliot nodded though she couldn't see him. "I'm safe. Something happened. I'll tell you when I arrive."
"Only if you want to, dear," she said gently. "You don't owe us any explanations, sweetheart. Uncle Edward is home, in his study. He'll be glad to see you."
"Give him my thanks," Elliot smiled weakly. "From me. For always being... for being there."
"Oh, dear," Aunt Madeline's voice warmed. "We're family. We're always here for you. Come when you're ready. I'll make your favorite casserole."
"Thank you, Aunt Madeline."
"See you soon, dear. Take care."
When the call ended, Elliot felt something warm spreading inside.
The Gardiners. They'd always been like this. Understanding, kind, not asking unnecessary questions.
Now he had a place to go.
Twenty minutes later Elliot, dressed in the new clothes Darcy had bought, emerged into the living room. He needed to tell Darcy he was leaving. Thank him. Say goodbye.
His gaze immediately fell on the enormous sofa by the panoramic windows.
That sofa.
Memories flooded back: kisses, desperate and passionate. Darcy's hands on his body. His own fingers unbuttoning buttons. Fire blazing in his veins. And Darcy's voice, full of pain: We can't.
Heat washed over him so suddenly—not from the serum this time, but from something else. From memory. From desire he was afraid to acknowledge. His scent exploded in the living room space, sweet, almost cloying.
Elliot tried to get himself under control, breathe deeper, calm down.
At that moment Darcy entered the living room.
He stopped in the doorway. His nostrils flared, catching the change in the air. His eyes widened. His entire body tensed.
Elliot turned to him. Their gazes met across the room.
For several seconds they simply looked at each other. The air between them was electrified, thick with the unspoken.
Darcy clearly didn't understand the reason for this sudden scent flare.
His face was a mixture of confusion and restrained desire.
Elliot forced himself to calm down. Focused until the scent returned under control. Then said, trying to keep his voice steady:
"I'm not going to Longbourn."
Darcy blinked as though surfacing from a trance.
"What?"
"I'm going to the Gardiners," Elliot continued as though nothing had happened. "My uncle and aunt live in London. They'll understand, won't ask unnecessary questions."
Relief reflected on Darcy's face.
"The Gardiners?" he repeated. "Edward Gardiner?"
Elliot raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"You know him?"
"I've heard of him," Darcy approached closer, his posture becoming less tense. "Publisher, if I'm not mistaken? Good reputation in business circles. Honorable man."
"Yes, he's my uncle. My mother's brother."
"An alpha?"
"Yes," Elliot confirmed. "But calm. Not the type who pressures with authority."
Darcy nodded thoughtfully.
"That's good. Very good. You'll be safe with him."
He paused, then added:
"I'll drive you. Meet your uncle personally, explain the situation."
"Darcy, you don't have to..."
"I do," he interrupted firmly. "Elliot, listen. Wickham knows where you were. Rosings Park. Longbourn. He might try to find you again. Your uncle should know there's a threat. Should be on guard."
Elliot opened his mouth to object but stopped. Darcy was right. Right again.
"Besides," Darcy's voice softened, "I want to make sure you arrived safely. That you're comfortable there. It's... important to me."
Something clenched in Elliot's chest at those words.
"Alright," he agreed quietly. "Thank you."
Darcy exhaled, apparently expecting more resistance.
"Then get ready. I'll prepare the car." He headed for the door but turned on the threshold. "And Elliot? Better stay with your uncle for a while."
"How long?" Elliot frowned.
"I don't know exactly," Darcy admitted honestly. "I need to sort out several things. First, talk to Lady Catherine. She's a de Bourgh, my aunt, and the foundation bears her family name. I have to find out how deeply she's involved with OGA. Whether she knew about the kidnappings or if she's just being used."
He ran his hand through his hair, a rare gesture of weariness.
"Second I've hired investigators and lawyers. They're searching for everyone involved in your kidnapping. The men in the car. Whoever was running the operation. Connections between OGA and the foundation. We need evidence for the police. Names. Documents. That will take time."
He looked into Elliot's eyes.
"I don't want you returning to Longbourn while these people are free. Not until I'm certain Wickham isn't a threat."
"Alright," Elliot agreed. "I'll stay with the Gardiners. As long as it takes."
Tension left Darcy's shoulders.
"Thank you," he lingered at the door. "Get ready. I'll be waiting downstairs."
The door closed quietly behind him.
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