The Black Moth, Georgette Heyer [self help books to read .txt] 📗

“Obey,” ordered the Duke.

Each man threw down a pistol, eyeing Jack furtively, while the girl ran to her aunt, who began to soothe and fuss over her.

Jack stifled a yawn.

“It is not my intention to remain here all night. Neither am I a child—or a fool. Dépêchez!”

Belmanoir saw that the coachman had his blunderbuss ready and was only too eager to fire it, and he knew that the game was up. He turned his head towards the reluctant bullies who looked to him for orders.

“Throw down everything!” he advised.

Two more pistols and two daggers joined their comrades.

“A thousand thanks!” bowed my lord, running a quick eye over the men. “M. le Duc, I pray you be still. Now, you with the large nose—yes, mon ami, you—go pick up the pistol our defunct friend dropped.”

The man indicated slouched over to the dead body and flung another pistol on to the heap.

My lord shook his head impatiently.

“Mais non. Have I not said that I am not entirely a fool? The unexploded pistol, please. You will place it here, doucement. Very good.”

His eye travelled to the men on the box. The coachman touched his hat and cried:

“I’m ready, sir!”

“It is very well. Be so good as to keep these gentlemen covered, but do not fire until I give the order. And now, M. le Duc, have I your parole that you will return swiftly from whence you came, leaving this lady unmolested, an I permit you to rise?”

Tracy moved his head impatiently.

“I have no choice.”

“Monsieur, that is not an answer. Have I your parole?”

“Yes, curse you!”

“But certainly,” said Jack politely. “Pray rise.”

He rested his sword-point on the ground, and watched Tracy struggle to his feet.

For an instant the Duke stood staring at him, with face slightly out-thrust.

“I almost think I know you,” he said softly, caressingly.

Jack’s French accent became a shade more pronounced.

“It is possible. I at least have the misfortune to know monsieur by sight.”

Tracy ignored the insult, and continued very, very silkily:

“One thing is certain: I shall know you again—if I meet you!”

Even as the words left his mouth Jack saw the pistol in his hand and sprang quickly to one side, just in time to escape a shot that would have gone straight through his head. As it was, it caught him in his left shoulder

“Do not fire!” he called sharply to the coachman, and bowed to his Grace. “As I was saying, m’sieu—do not let me detain you, I beg.”

The Duke’s green eyes flashed venom for a minute, and then the heavy lids descended over them again, and he returned the bow exaggeratedly.

“Au revoir, monsieur,” he smiled, and bent to pick up his sword.

“It will—not be necessary for—m’sieu to—take his sword,” said Jack. “I have a—desire to keep—it as a—souvenir. Yes.”

“As you will, monsieur,” replied Tracy carelessly, and walked away to his coach, his men following close on his heels.

My lord stood leaning heavily on his sword, watching them go, and not until the coach had swung out of sight did he give way to the weakness that was overwhelming him. Then he reeled and would have fallen, had it not been for two cool hands that caught his, steadying him.

A tremulous, husky voice sounded in his ears:

“You are hurt! Ah, sir, you are hurt for my sake!”

With a great effort Jack controlled the inclination to swoon, and lifted the girl’s hand shakily to his lips.

“It is a—pleasure—mademoiselle,” he managed to gasp. “Now—you may—I think—proceed—in safety.”

Diana slipped an arm under his shoulder and cast an anxious glance at the footman, hurrying towards them.

“Quick!” she commanded. “Sir, you are faint! You must allow my servant to assist you to the coach.”

Jack forced a smile.

“It is—nothing—I assure you—pray do not—I—” and he fainted comfortably away into stout Thomas’s arms.

“Carry him into the coach, Thomas!” ordered the girl. “Mind his arm, and—oh! his poor shoulder. Aunt, have you something to bind his wounds with?”

Miss Betty hurried forward.

“My darling child, what an escape! The dear, brave gentleman! Do have a care, Thomas! Yes, lay him on the seat.”

My lord was lowered gently on to the cushions, and Miss Betty fluttered over to him like a distracted hen. Then Diana told Thomas to take charge of my lord’s horse that they could see, quietly nibbling the grass further down the road, stooped and picked up his Grace of Andover’s sword, with its curiously wrought hilt, and jumped into the coach to help Miss Betty to attend to Jack’s wounds.

The slash on the arm was not serious, but where the pistol had taken him was very ugly-looking. While she saw to that, Miss Betty loosened the cravat and removed my lord’s mask.

“Di, see what a handsome boy ‘tis! The poor, brave gentleman! What a lucky thing he came up! If only this bleeding would stop!” So she ran on, hunting wildly for her salts.

Diana looked up as her aunt finished, and studied the pale face lying against the dark cushions. She noted the firm, beautifully curved mouth, the aristocratic nose and delicately pencilled eyebrows, with a little thrill. The duel had set her every nerve tingling; she was filled with admiration for her preserver, and the sight of his sensitive, handsome countenance did nothing to dispel that admiration.

She held the salts to his nostrils and watched eagerly for some sign of life. But none was forthcoming, and she had to be content with placing cushions beneath his injured shoulder, and guarding him as best she might from the jolts caused by the uneven surface of the road.

Miss Betty bustled about and did all she could to stanch the bleeding, and when they had comfortably settled my lord, she sat down upon the seat opposite and nodded decisively.

“We can do no more, my dear—but, yes—certainly bathe his forehead with your lavender water. Dear me, what an escape! I must say I would never have thought it of Mr. Everard! One would say we were living in the Stone Age! The wretch!”

Diana shuddered.

“I knew he was dreadful, but never how dreadful! How can he have found out when we were to leave Bath—and why did he waylay us so near home? Oh, I shall never be safe again!”

“Nonsense, my dear! Fiddlesticks! You saw how easily he was vanquished. Depend upon it, he will realise that he has made a bad mistake to try to abduct you, and we shall not be worried with him again.”

With this comfortable assurance, she nodded again and leant back against the cushions, watching her niece’s ministrations with a professional and slightly amused air.