Mr. Rothbury’s tone was smooth and unruffled as he addressed them in polite, respectful Italian.
Venetia could scarcely believe his composure. Instinctively, she pressed closer against his side, and it was then she became more conscious of the effort it took him to appear unfazed—she could feel the strong beat of his heart.
At least one of us is maintaining dignity. I’m fairly certain I’ve stopped breathing.
“Please let us pass. This young lady is under the protection of Count Morosini, whose palazzo you see there”—he gestured toward a distant building whose upper windows were just visible above the canal walls—“and she is his honored guest, expected for music lessons within the hour while I bear her escort. Your interference with our passage will not be kindly regarded by the count, whose guards are observing your every move and will arrive at a signal from me.”
That’s… actually quite impressive bluffing.
The leader of the three men hesitated. Venetia could see him reassessing the situation, weighing the potential value of their purses against the risk of offending Venetian nobility. For a moment, she dared to hope that brave Mr. Rothbury’s bold gambit had succeeded.
But then the ruffian’s expression hardened, and she realized with asinking heart that desperation had made him reckless.
“Count or no count,” he snarled, “we see no servants, no guards. Just rich English with full purses and nowhere to run.”
Venetia’s first instinct was to flee, but it was Mr. Rothbury who moved first, pushing her behind him as the three men advanced. “Run, Venetia!” he commanded, but there was nowhere to flee when two of the men moved to block her. The narrow walkway stretched behind them, while ahead lay only the canal and the stone wall of an abandoned palazzo.
What followed happened with the terrible swiftness of a nightmare. Mr. Rothbury, with the reflexes of a man who’d once served His Majesty’s Navy, managed to land a solid blow on the first attacker before the second man’s cudgel caught him across the shoulder with sickening force. Venetia watched in horror as he staggered, his feet slipping on the moss-covered stones, before a third blow sent him sprawling onto the ancient cobblestones with a sound that made her stomach lurch.
No. No, no, no—
“Mr. Rothbury!” The cry tore from her throat as she dropped to her knees beside his motionless form, her skirts pooling around them. The men loomed over them, reaching for Edward’s fallen purse, when the sound of approaching voices echoed from the direction of the main canal.
“Someone comes!” one of the attackers hissed, and with muttered curses they snatched what coins had scattered from Mr. Rothbury’s purse before disappearing into the maze of narrow passages that honeycombed this section of Venice.
Alone with Mr. Rothbury’s motionless form, Venetia’s hands trembled as she touched his face. A thin line of blood trickled from a cut above his left temple, and his coat was ripped at the shoulder beneath the cudgel’s impact.
But his chest rose and fell with reassuring regularity, and when shewhispered his name, his eyelids fluttered in response.
Thank God.
“Edward,” she breathed, cradling his head in her lap with complete disregard for the damage to Sofia’s borrowed finery. “Oh, my dearest Edward, please open your eyes. Please be well.”
His dark lashes lifted slowly, revealing eyes that were unfocused but blessedly conscious. “Venetia?” he murmured, his voice hoarse with pain. “Are you… did they harm you?”
“No,” she assured him, smoothing his hair away from the bleeding cut. “No, they took nothing but a few coins. You saved me… You could have been killed!”
“Venetia,” he said again, seeming to forget he was using her Christian name as he raised his hand to cover hers where it rested against his cheek. “I could not bear it if anything had happened to you. When I saw those men threatening you, I thought… I’ve never been so frightened in my life.”
He’s saying all the right things. Oh yes, just keep saying them…
“Nor I,” she whispered, abandoning all pretense of reserve as the words poured from her heart. “When you fell, when I thought you might be seriously injured, I realized that nothing else in this world matters to me as much as your safety, your happiness. Oh, Edward, I would rather be poor again with a man I love than rich and miserable with someone chosen for his bloodline or bank account.”
“You must not say such things,” he interrupted, though his thumb traced gentle circles across her knuckles in contradiction of his words. “You’re wealthy, titled, sought after by gentlemen of fortune and standing. While I… I’m nothing more than a poor translator with modest prospects and no family name to recommend me.”
“Do you truly believe I care about that?” Venetia demanded. “Have you learned nothing of my character in all these months? The fortune I inherited is nothing compared to finding a companion whose mind and heart call to my own.”
Edward’s eyes closed briefly. “Venetia, youspeak from emotion, from the shock of what just occurred. But think of what you would be sacrificing—”
“The only thing I would sacrifice,” she said with quiet intensity, “is the chance for true happiness, if I allow false pride and social conventions to stand between us.”
He smiled suddenly, and for a moment Venetia glimpsed the depth of longing he’d been struggling to conceal. His hand tightened on hers, and she was certain he was about to speak the words that would change everything between them.
Finally. FINALLY.
“Madonna mia!What has happened here?”
Oh, for the love of—
