The Black Widow Read Online Free

Demetrius had suspected that evening, the youngest Miss Prestwich had definitely not been included.
    “They are doing it on a dare, you should realize.”
    A man’s high-pitched voice spoke right behind him, and Demetrius turned to see Lionell Rudd, who was smiling with malicious glee.
    “The young bucks think they are proving their courage by dancing with her. Your brother is pushing his luck even further than most by asking for a second dance. It does raise a question about his intelligence, would you not say, Thorverton?”
    Restraining his impulse to toss the dandy out the nearest window, Demetrius moved a few feet away until he had a clear view of his brother, who was still standing in front of Miss Meribe Prestwich. He was saying something, but whatever it was, she did not appear to be pleased. Her eyes still downcast, she was shaking her head repeatedly.
    “Got to stop your brother before he ends up cold in his grave like her other suitors,” Uncle Humphrey said in a loud whisper.
    While Demetrius watched, Miss Hester Prestwich said something sharply to her sister, who gave a start, then stood up and with obvious reluctance allowed Collier to lead her out to join a set that was forming.
    Having seen enough, Demetrius took his uncle’s arm and began to urge him toward the door. Behind them Rudd snickered nastily.
    “Are you not going to make a push to rescue your brother?” Uncle Humphrey protested. “Are you intending to leave him in that woman’s clutches? Have you no sense of duty? You are the head of the family, after all.”
    “My brother can go to the devil with my blessing,” Demetrius retorted, continuing out of the room and down the stairs. “And while he is starting on his journey, you and I are going to have a long talk.”
    “I am not sure I wish to get involved,” his uncle said. “It is bound to upset my digestion.”
    Pausing briefly to retrieve their hats and Uncle Humphrey’s cane, they soon emerged into the cool night air, which was a welcome relief. It was hard to believe that the same people who complained about the smell of horses and the “stink” of the stables could spend hours in stuffy, overheated rooms that reeked of hot wax, stale sweat, and musky perfumes.
    “Did you bring your carriage?” Demetrius asked.
    “No, I came with Mannlius, and he is going to think it dashed queer of me to take off this way without a word to him.”
    Shrugging, Demetrius began to walk in the direction of Grosvenor Square. His uncle hesitated, then hurried to catch up. “You cannot expect me to converse while galloping along like this.”
    Obediently Demetrius shortened his stride to match his uncle’s slower pace. “Begin,” he said curtly.
    “The question is, precisely what is the beginning?” his uncle tried to hedge, but a sharp look from Demetrius made him clear his throat and start over.
    “Well, I suppose it began three years ago when Miss Meribe became betrothed to Collingwood. He was quite a catch for a young lady of seventeen in her first Season. Son of an earl, and all.”
    “You are referring to Lord Wittingham’s heir?”
    “Not any longer. Less than a week before the wedding, he was thrown from his horse and broke his neck. Fortunately, he has three younger brothers, so there is no problem with the succession.”
    “I am not concerned about the succession, I am interested in Miss Meribe Prestwich.”
    “Well, after that disaster, she retired to the country, of course. I believe they have an estate in Norfolk or Suffolk or some such place. Well, what else could the poor girl do? She could hardly be expected to finish out the Season. Wouldn’t have been proper, don’t you know. Although,” his uncle continued reflectively, “I am not sure how long one is expected to mourn for one’s betrothed. Undoubtedly not as long as for a husband, of course. But you can ask your mother; I am sure she would know.”
    “You are wandering off the subject, uncle.”
    “Hmmm? Oh,