Once a Duchess(85)

 

“Waiting for me to die to charge her with murder?”

 

“Oh, for God’s sake, Marsh. No one was waiting for you to die. But if you had, then yes, they would have been charged.”

 

“Gerald didn’t do anything. It was all the woman’s scheme. In fact, the trail Mr. Turner followed was the one Gerald left chasing her all over the countryside, trying to stop her tour of vengeance. Have him released at once.” Marshall scratched idly at his cheek. Long stubble dug under his nails. “I need a shave,” he said. “And a bath. And then I’d like to speak with Isabelle.” As eager as he was to see her, he wanted to be decent when he did. He should be presentable when he told her that he loved her.

 

Grant summoned Clayton to see to Marshall’s needs. Before he left him to his bath and shave, Grant clapped Marshall on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re on the mend, Marsh.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and clicked his tongue. “I’m starting to think perhaps I misjudged Isabelle.” His mouth twisted to the side, abashed. “Mother’s beginning to come around, too. She owes the lives of two of her children to your former wife. Hard to be angry after such heroism.”

 

Marshall’s eyebrows rose. “I’m glad hear it.”

 

A little more than an hour later, Marshall was shaved and reasonably clean. He was dressed in a fresh nightshirt and bed jacket, and propped against a small mountain of pillows when a soft knock sounded on the door. In answer, his heart thundered against his ribs.

 

Isabelle stepped into the room and carefully closed the door behind her. Her satin dress was the pinkish gold of perfectly burnished copper, tied with a light green sash. She looked furtively around the room, as though expecting to find another assassin waiting to assail them.

 

Her beauty made his breath catch in his throat. She was a vision of everything that was good in Marshall’s life. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and show her better than he could say just how much he loved her. “Isabelle.” Voicing her name brought a smile to his lips.

 

Her eyes darted to him, then flitted away again.

 

Why was she so skittish? This was not the warm reunion   he’d hoped for. “Come sit with me.” He extended an arm.

 

Isabelle lifted her chin in that pert way of hers. She eyed him warily as she crossed the room to the chair Grant had occupied.

 

“Come here.” Marshall patted the brocade duvet.

 

“This will do.” She smoothed her skirt with her palms. Then she clasped her hands in her lap and looked vacantly around the room as though Marshall was not even there.

 

“I understand I have you to thank for my life,” he said, adopting a business-like tone. “And Naomi’s. There aren’t words to adequately express — ”

 

She cut him off with an irritated wave of her hand. “I didn’t save Naomi’s life. Miss Palmer had already shot you. She’d have had to reload to threaten Naomi. I just kept her from doing so.”

 

What the devil was she irked about? Marshall cleared his throat. “Still, had it not been for your actions, I, at least — ”

 

“Why did you do it?” Isabelle snapped. Her eyes flashed green ire.

 

A heavy uneasiness settled in his middle. “Why did I what?”

 

Her chin trembled. “You’re responsible for the death of the horse all those years ago, not Mr. Gerald.”

 

Marshall jerked away from the accusation in her eyes. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, and that Isabelle was about to push him over. More than anything, he wanted her to look at him with love in her eyes again. He dug his hands into the mattress beside his hips and raised himself further, wincing at the piercing pain the movement elicited.

 

Isabelle’s face was a stone mask.

 

He ran a hand through his damp hair. “I was thirteen,” he said. “She was my father’s favorite brood mare. I confused yew berries for juniper. It was a horrible, terrible accident. You have to believe that.”

 

She crossed her arms under her breasts. “I believe it was an accident. But why did you blame Thomas Gerald? Why was he transported for your mistake?”

 

Marshall shook his head. “He was blamed because he’s the one who fed the medicine to the horse. If you’d seen how devastated and furious my father was, I was horrified by what happened. I — ” he stammered, “I was afraid of disappointing my father, of letting him down. It was a terrible shock.”

 

Isabelle exhaled loudly. “What would he have done?” Her voice rose in pitch. “Docked your allowance?”