The Black Moth by Georgette Heyer Read Free Book Online

knew I was imploring him to save me. He understood all that I was trying to convey to him. For an instant he stared at me. I thought–I thought–God forgive me, I prayed that he might take the blame on himself. Then he smiled. Coward though I was, when I saw that hurt, wistful little smile on his lips, I nearly blurted out the whole truth. Not quite. . . . I suppose I was too mean-spirited for that.
    "Jack bowed to the room and again to Dare. He said: 'I owe you an apology, sir.'
    "Dare sprang forward, catching him by the shoulder–crying out that it could not be true! When Jack laughed–he fell away from him as from–the plague. And all of them! My God, to see them drawing away–not looking at Jack! And Jack's face–growing paler and harder . . . every moment. . . . All his friends. . . turning their backs to him. Davenant–even Jim Davenant walked away to the fireplace with Evans.
    "I could not look at Jack. I dared not. I could not go to him–stand by him! I had not the right. I had to leave him there–in the middle of the room–alone. The awful hurt in his eyes made me writhe. The room was whirling round–I felt sick–I know I fell back into my chair, hiding my face. I hardly cared whether they suspected me or not. But they did not. They knew how great was the love between us, and they were not surprised that I broke down.
    "I heard Andover's soft voice. . . he was telling some tale to Dare. Oh, they were well-bred those men! They skimmed over the unpleasant little episode–ignored Jack!
    "Jack spoke again. I could guess how bravely he was keeping a proud front. I know word for word what he said: 'Mr. Dare, your Grace, Gentlemen— my apologies for being the cause of so unpleasant an incident. Pray give me leave.'
    "They paid no heed. I heard him walk to the door–heard him open it. I could not look at him. He–he paused. . . and said just one word: 'Dick!' quite softly. Heaven knows how I got to him! I know I overturned my chair. That drew Dare's attention. He said: 'You are not going, Dick?' I shouted 'Yes,' at him, and then Jack took my arm, leading me out.
    "And–and all he said was: 'Poor old Dick!'. . . He–he had no word of blame for me. He would not allow me to go back and tell the truth–as I would have done. Ay, Warburton, when Jack called me to him, I could have cried it aloud–but–he would not have it. . . . He said: 'For Lavinia's sake.' . . . "
    Warburton blew his nose violently. His fingers were trembling.
    "You know what happened afterwards. You know how my father turned Jack out penniless–you know how his friends shunned him–you know my poor mother's grief. And you know that he went away–that we could not find him when–my mother died. . . . His last words to me–were: 'Make Lavinia–happy–and try to forget–all this.' Forget it! Heavens! Try as I might, I could hear nothing further of him until two months ago, when he–waylaid me. Then I was half-dazed at the suddenness of it. He–he grasped my hand–and–laughed! It was so dark, I could scarce see him. I only had time to demand his address, and then–he was off–galloping away over the heath. I think–even then–he bore no malice."
    "He does not now!" said Warburton sharply. "But, Master Dick, if all this is true, why do you not even now clear him? Surely—"
    Richard turned his head slowly.
    "Now I may not drag my wife's name through the mud. By clearing him–I ruin her."
    Warburton could find nothing to say. Only after some time did he clear his throat and say that he was honoured by Carstares' confidence.
    "You–ah–you dwell on the part played by his Grace on that evening. Surely your–shall we say–overwrought imagination magnified that?"
    Richard was disinterested.
    "I suppose so. Mayhap 'twas his extraordinary personality dominating me. He cannot have pulled the wires as I thought he did. Not even Belmanoir could make me act as I did. But–but at the time I felt that he was