Once a Duchess(81)

 

“No plan, no idea what I’m getting into. Perfect.” Suddenly, she was angry. Isabelle’s lips pinched together. It was just like when she’d been blindsided by Alex cutting her off. She’d plowed through that, and come out the other side just fine. She would do the same now.

 

With a lift of her chin, she strolled serenely toward the greenhouse. All the while, her mind was in a whirl, madly running through the few facts she knew about Thomas Gerald and the conclusions to which those facts led her.

 

She knocked on the greenhouse door, then tried the handle. It opened. She lifted her skirt and placed one slippered foot on the stone floor.

 

“Don’t come no farther!” barked a voice.

 

In the center of the greenhouse, a man Isabelle assumed to be Thomas Gerald stood with his left arm hooked around Naomi’s neck. In his right hand, he held a pistol leveled right at Isabelle.

 

He was a short man, of a height with Naomi. He wore rough spun work clothes, and a hat pulled low over his face. A few coppery wisps of hair lay over his ears. Isabelle only made out the shape of the eyes in the shadow of the brim, but the man’s cheeks were surprisingly full and soft. This fact registered with confusion — she’d expected a man exposed to years of hard labor to look more weathered.

 

The dire situation did not allow her to contemplate this mystery; Naomi’s wild gaze was riveted on Isabelle. From what Isabelle could judge by a quick once-over, her friend appeared unharmed.

 

“Mr. Gerald, I presume?” Isabelle said in a clear voice. She raised her hands in front of her chest and slowly took another step into the greenhouse.

 

He thrust the pistol toward her. “I tol’ you don’t come no farther.” His voice had something of an alto pitch about it, not the depth of most adult males. This puzzled Isabelle further, but she kept her attention trained on the task at hand: freeing Naomi.

 

Isabelle stopped and plastered what she hoped was a reassuring smile on her face. “I assure you I mean no harm, sir. I am alone, as you see. And I have no weapon.” She turned her hands over and back again.

 

“Then you made a damned fool mistake coming here,” the gunman snarled.

 

She waved a hand nonchalantly. “La, you may be right.” She laughed lightly. “Naomi, dear, are you quite all right?”

 

“Don’t talk to her,” Gerald snapped. He turned the gun on Naomi, pressing it through her hair to her temple. Naomi’s eyes squeezed shut and a whimper escaped her. Isabelle’s stomach flipped. She had to be very careful.

 

“Who are you?” Gerald demanded.

 

“My name is Isabelle Lockwood,” she answered.

 

Gerald’s grip on the gun slackened slightly as he frowned. “Lockwood? You married to one of the sons, then.”

 

“No, I’m afraid not.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Not anymore.”

 

The shadowed eyes clouded in confusion. “‘Ere, then, what’s that mean?”

 

Finally, an idea took hold. If Isabelle could just keep him talking, an opportunity of some sort would present itself. Or, she argued with herself, he would get tired of talking and kill both her and Naomi. Oh, well, she supposed. In for a penny, in for a pound — and she was already in for a guinea, at least.

 

Isabelle shrugged and exhaled. She strolled down the row of violets and stopped to pick a dead leaf from a plant. Gerald followed her movement with his eyes.

 

“I used to be married to Marshall Lockwood,” she explained. “We wed before he was the duke. He divorced me after his father died.” She met the gaze of Naomi’s captor and spoke carefully. “I’ve been angry at him, too. I understand how you feel. But you need to release Lady Naomi now. She’s no part of your quarrel with His Grace.”

 

The convict shook visibly. His hat came loose and toppled to the floor. Red tresses tumbled to just past the woman’s shoulders. Isabelle gasped. “Like hell she ain’t!” the incensed woman spat. “He took everything from me.”

 

Isabelle shook her head, bewildered. “How can that be? Who are you?”

 

“Sally Palmer,” she said proudly, “the woman who loves Mr. Thomas Gerald.”

 

Naomi met Isabelle’s startled gaze with a bewildered look of her own. Isabelle extended a hand. “I’m afraid I’m a trifle lost. If you’ll just put down the gun, I’m sure we can reach an understanding.”

 

“Oh, no I won’t!” Sally Palmer bellowed. Naomi flinched away from the mouth near her ear. “This here high-falootin’ la-a-ady,” she mocked with a sneer, “is part of the family what ruined my Thomas. I know all about Lockwoods and Monthwaites, and that nothing but bad ever comes of ’em. The old duke sent my Thomas into exile, but all on the fault of the new duke.”