 Prologue of Black Moth by George E. Tyre. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Clad in his customary black and silver, with raven hair unpowdered and elaborately dressed, diamonds on his fingers and in his cravat, Hugh Tracy Claire Belmanois, Duke of Andover, sat at the Esquichois in the library of his townhouse writing. He wore no rouge on his face, the almost unnatural pallor of which seemed designedly enhanced by a patch set beneath his right eye. Brows and lashes were black, the former slanting slightly up at the corners, but his narrow, heavy-lidded eyes were green and strangely piercing. The thin lips curled a little, sneering, as one dead white hand traveled to and fro across the paper. But it seems that the fair lady has a brother, who, finding me enamored, threw down the gauntlet. I soundly whipped the presumptuous child, and so the affair ends. Now, as you, my dear Frank, also took some interest in the lady, I write for the express purpose of informing you that, at my hands, she has received no hurt, nor is not like to. This I impart tell you, that you shall not imagine yourself in honor-bound again to call me out. Which purpose, and I mistake not, I yesterday read in your eyes. I should be exceedingly lulled to meet you a second time, when I should consider it my duty to teach you an even severer lesson than before. This I am not wishful of doing for the liking I bear you. So in all friendship, believe me, Frank, your most obedient, humble devil. His grace of hand over paused, pen held in mid-air. A mocking smile dawned in his eyes, and he wrote again. In the event of any desire on your part to hazard your luck with my late paramour, permit me to warn you against the Bantam brother, who is in very truth a fire-eater, and would wish to make of you as of me one mouthful. I shall hope to see you at the Queensbury Route on Thursday, when you may once more strive to direct my nearing footsteps on to the thorny path of virtue. His grace read the post-grip through with another satisfied, sardonic smile. Then he folded the letter, and, affixing a wafer, peremptorily struck the hand-bell at his side. And the honourable Frank Fortescue, reading the post-grip half an hour later, smiled too, but differently. Also he sighed and put the letter into the fire. And so ends another affair. I wonder if you'll go insolently to the very end, he said softly, watching the paper shrivel and flare up. I would to God you might fall honestly in love, and that the lady might save you from yourself, my poor devil. End of The Prologue, read by Cibela Denton. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibraBox.org.