The Black Moth (36 page)

The blackberry hedges he held back for her entrance swung back after they had passed, completely shutting out all view of the road. There were no berries.

Diana's heart was beating very fast, all her suspicions springing to life again, but she showed no sign of fear as she desired him to hold the brambles back again for her to pass out.

"For there are no berries here, as you can see for yourself."

She swept round and walked calmly towards the bushes.

Then, how she could never quite remember, she was seized from behind, and before she had time to move, a long piece of silk was flung over her head and drawn tight across her mouth, while an arm, as of steel, held and controlled her.

Fighting madly, she managed to get one arm free, and struck out furiously with her slender crop. There was a brief struggle, and it was twisted from her grasp, and her hands tied behind her, despite all her efforts to be free.

Then her captor swung her writhing into his arms, and strode away through the wood without a word.

Diana was passive now, reserving her strength for when it might avail her something, but above the gag her eyes blazed with mingled fright and fury. She noticed that she was being carried not into the wood, but along it, and was not surprised when they emerged on to the road where it had rounded the bend.

With a sick feeling of terror, she saw a coach standing in the road, and guessed, even before she knew, what was her fate. Through a haze she saw a man standing at the door, and then she was thrust into the coach and made to sit down on the softly-cushioned seat. All her energies were concentrated in fighting against the faintness that threatened to overcome her. She won gradually, and strained her ears to catch what was being said outside.

She caught one sentence in a familiar, purring voice:

"Set them loose and tie this to the pummel." Then there was silence.

Presently she heard footsteps returning. An indistinguishable murmur from Harper, and the door opened to allow his Grace of Andover to enter the coach. It gave a lurch and rumbled on.

Tracy looked down with a slight smile into the gold-flecked eyes that blazed so indignantly into his.

"A thousand apologies, Miss Beauleigh! Allow me to remove this scarf."

As he spoke he untied the knot, and the silk fell away from her face.

For a moment she was silent, struggling for words wherewith to give vent to her fury; then the red lips parted and the small, white teeth showed, clenched tightly together.

"You cur!" she flung at him in a panting undertone. "Oh, you cur!–you coward! Undo my hands!"

"With pleasure." He bowed and busied himself with this tighter knot.

"Pray, accept my heartfelt apologies for incommoding you so grievously. I am sure that you will admit the necessity."

"Oh, that there were a
man
here to avenge me!" she raged.

His Grace tugged at the stubborn knot.

"There are three outside," he answered blandly. "But I do not think they are like to oblige you."

He removed her bonds and sat back in the corner, enjoying her. His eyes fell on her bruised wrists, and at once his expression changed, and he frowned, leaning forward.

"Believe me, I did not mean that," he said, and touched her hands.

She flung him off.

"Do not touch me!"

"I beg your pardon, my dear." He leaned back again nonchalantly.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, trying to conceal the fear in her voice.

"Home," replied his Grace.

"Home!" Incredulously she turned to look at him, hope in her eyes.

"Home," he reiterated. "
Our
home."

The hope died out.

"You are ridiculous, sir."

"'Tis an art, my dear, most difficult to acquire."

"Sir–Mr. Everard–whoever you are–if you have any spark of manliness in you, of chivalry, if you care for me at all, you will this instant set me down!"

Never had she seemed more beautiful, more desirable. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, soft and luminous, and the tragic mouth pleaded, even trying to smile.

"It would appear that none of these attributes belongs to me," murmured his Grace, and wondered if she would weep. He had never a taste for a weeping woman.

But Diana was proud. She realised that tears, prayers and all would avail her nothing, and she was determined not to break down, at least in his presence. Tracy was surprised to see her arrange her skirts and settle back against the cushions in the most unconcerned manner possible.

"Then, since you are so ungallant, sir, pray tell me what you purpose doing with me?" The tone was light, even bantering, but with his marvellous, almost uncanny perspicacity, he sensed the breathless terror behind it.

"Why, my dear, I had planned to marry you," he answered, bowing.

The knuckles gleamed white on her clenched hand.

"And if I refuse?"

"I do not
think
you will refuse, my dear."

She could not repress a shiver.

"I do refuse!" she cried sharply.

The smile with which he received this statement drove the blood cold in her veins.

"Wait. I think you will be glad to marry me–in the end," he drawled.

Her great eyes were hunted, desperate, and her face was very white. The dry lips parted.

"I think–you will be–very sorry–when my father–comes."

The indulgent sneer brought the blood racing back to her cheeks.

"And he will come!"

His Grace was politely interested.

"Really? But I do not doubt it, Diana, an he knows where to come."

"He will find a way, never fear!"

She laughed with a confidence she was far from feeling.

"I do not fear–not in the least–I shall be delighted to welcome him," promised his Grace. "I do not anticipate a refusal of your hand from him."

"No?" Diana, too, could sneer.

"No, my dear. Not after a little–persuasion."

"Who are you?" she shot at him.

His shoulders shook in the soundless laugh peculiar to him.

"I am several people, child."

"So I apprehend," she retorted smoothly. "Sir Hugh Grandison amongst them?"

"Ah, you have guessed that?"

"It rather leaps to the eye, sir." She spoke in what was almost an exact imitation of his sarcastic tone.

"True. It was neatly done, I flatter myself."

"Quite marvellous, indeed."

He was enjoying her as he had rarely enjoyed a woman before. Others had sobbed and implored, railed and raved; he had never till now met one who returned him word for word, using his own weapons against him.

"Who else have you the honour to be?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"I am Mr. Everard, child, and Duke of Andover."

Then she turned her head and looked at him with glittering eyes.

"I have heard of you, sir," she said, evenly.

"You are like to hear more, my dear."

"That is as may be, your Grace."

Now she understood the elaborate hilt of the mysterious sword with the coronet on it, wrought in jewels. She wondered whether Jack had it still, wherever he was. If only some wonderful providence would bring him to her now in her dire need! There was no one to strike a blow for her; she was entirely at the mercy of a ruthless libertine, whose reputation she knew well, and whose presence filled her with dread and a speechless loathing. She felt very doubtful that her father would succeed in finding her. If only Jack were in England! He would come to her, she knew.

His Grace leaned towards her, laying a thin, white hand on her knee.

"My dear, be reasonable. I am not such a bad bargain after all."

The tenderness in his voice filled her with horror. He felt her shrink away.

"Take your hand away!" she commanded throbbingly. "Do not touch me!" He laughed softly and at the sound of it she controlled her terrors and dropped again to the mocking tone she had adopted. "What? Ungallant still, your Grace? Pray keep your distance!"

The pistol holster on the wall at her side caught her attention. Instantly she looked away, hoping he had not observed her. Very little escaped his Grace

"I am desolated to have to disappoint you, my dear. It is empty."

She laid a careless hand on the holster, verifying his statement.

"This? Oh, I guessed it, your Grace!"

He admired her spirit more and more. Was there ever such a girl?

"My name is Tracy," he remarked.

She considered it with her head tilted to one side.

"I do not like your name, sir," she answered.

"'There was no thought of pleasing you when I was christened.'" he quoted lazily.

"Hardly, sir," she said. "You might be my father."

It was a master stroke, and for an instant his brows drew together. Then he laughed.

"
Merci du compliment, mademoiselle!
I admire your wit."

"I protest I am overwhelmed. May I ask when we are like to arrive at our destination?"

"We should reach Andover soon after eight, my dear."

So it was some distance he was taking her?

"I suppose you had the wit to provide food for the journey?" she yawned. "You will not wish to exhibit me at an inn, I take it?"

He marvelled at her indomitable courage

"We shall halt at an inn certainly, and my servant will bring you refreshment. That will be in about an hour."

"So long?" she frowned. "Then, pray excuse me an I compose myself to sleep a little. I am like to find the journey somewhat tedious, I fear."

She shifted farther into the corner, leaned her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes.

Thus outwitting his Grace. For it is impossible to be passionate with a girl who feigns sleep when she should be struggling to escape from you. So Tracy, who, whatever else he might lack, possessed a keen sense of humour, settled himself in his corner and followed her example. So they jogged on. . . .

Arrived at length at the inn, the coach pulled up slowly. Diana opened her eyes with a great assumption of sleepiness.

"Already?" she marvelled.

"I trust you have slept well," said his Grace suavely.

"Excellently well, I thank you, sir," was the unblushing reply.

"I am relieved to hear you say so, my dear. I had thought you unable to–your mouth kept shut so admirably. Doubtless you have schooled your jaw not to drop when you sleep sitting up? I wish I might do the same."

The triumph in his voice was thinly veiled. She found nothing to say.

He rose.

"With your leave, I will go to procure you some refreshment, child. Do not think me uncivil if I remind you that a servant stands without either door."

"I thank you for the kind thought," she smiled, but her heart was sick within her.

He disappeared, returning a few moments later with a glass of wine and some little cakes.

"I deplore the scanty nature of your repast," he said. "But I do not wish to waste time. You shall be more fittingly entertained when we reach Andover."

Diana drank the wine gratefully, and it seemed to put new life into her. The food almost choked her, but rather than let him see it, she broke a cake in half and started to eat it, playing to gain time: time in which to allow her father a chance of overtaking them before it was too late. She affected to dislike the cake, and rather petulantly demanded a 'maid of honour.'

Tracy's eyes gleamed.

"I fear I cannot oblige you, my dear. When we are married you can go to Richmond, and you shall have maids of honour in plenty."

He relieved her of her glass, taking it from hands that trembled pitifully.

The rest of the journey was as some terrible nightmare. She felt that she dared no longer feign sleep. She was terrified at what his Grace might do, and kept him at arm's length by means of her tongue and all her woman's wit. As a matter of fact, Andover had himself well in hand, and had no intention of letting his passion run away with him. But as the time went on and the light went, some of Diana's control seemed to slip from her, and she became a little less the self-possessed woman, and a little more the trapped and frightened child. When they at last reached Andover Court, and his Grace assisted her to alight her legs would barely carry her up the steps to the great iron-clamped door. She trembled anew as he took her hand.

On the threshold he paused and bowed very low. "Welcome to your future home, my queen," he murmured, and led her in, past wooden-faced footmen who stared over her head, to his private room, where a table was set for two. He would have taken her in his arms then, but she evaded him and slipped wearily into a chair.

"I protest," she managed to say, "I protest, I am faint through want of food."