Eugenia cut her off. “Do you not find it odd that a mysterious Continental nobleman appears from nowhere with letters of introduction no one has verified. He cultivates your company. He asks detailed questions about a wealthy young woman’s legal vulnerabilities. He encourages your resentment. And then, conveniently, that young woman is accused of theft using evidence planted by someone with intimate knowledge of her movements.”
Catherine’s face worked through several emotions. “The count is a gentleman of honor—”
“Is he?” Eugenia asked softly. “Or is he precisely what he appears to be—someone with specific interest in destroying Miss Playford’s reputation and claim to her fortune?”
Someone who knew exactly which vulnerable woman to target with flattery.
The silence stretched. Catherine’s triumph had curdled into something approaching panic.
“I am sure that if I spoke to him, he’d be able to prove himself entirely above your slurs,” Catherine declared. “Miss Playford stole those gems. They were found in her tiara. She nearly got away with it, but she is guilty. And if she is not guilty, she will be exonerated.”
“And what motive might Miss Playford have for stealing two emeralds, supposedly around the very night she arrived in Venice?” Eugenia asked. “Do you not think that odd, Catherine? That a young heiress who has all the wealth in the world would commit a crime that would put that wealth in jeopardy?” She paused. “I do not think you have told us everything about the count’s interest in our Miss Playford. And I don’t think you have even begun to consider the horrors that she is now undergoing as she is being questioned by Captain Rizzi, whose information was supplied, in large part, by you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Edward, who hadjust left Venetia in the company of Captain Rizzi—who’d been adamant she needed no chaperone other than Mollie while he interviewed the supposed jewel thief—found Lord Thornton and Lady Townsend in the marble corridor, their faces reflecting the same shock and outrage churning in his chest.
He’d passed Miss Bentley’s retreating figure moments earlier, disappearing around a corner ramrod straight with self-righteous indignation.
The ghastly woman had all but delivered his beloved Venetia into the hands of the authorities.
“Lord Thornton,” Edward said, “surely you understand this is nothing but a plot to discredit Miss Playford.” He closed his eyes briefly, pressing his fingers to his still-bruised temple. “A very elaborate, very calculated plot—for reasons as yet unknown.”
“Of course it is,” Thornton acknowledged. “Though the evidence appears damaging, I naturally share Lady Townsend’s conviction that Miss Playford is entirely innocent—”
“Miss Playford is the most virtuous person I’ve ever known!” Edward burst out.
Lady Townsend made a sympathetic sound. “Indeed, she is. She wore a tiara loaned to her by Signorina Sofia. That is, of course, where Captain Rizzi should begin his investigations.”
“And I’ve no doubt Miss Playford will be released within the hour when this is made clear,” Thornton added. “I tried to intervene on her behalf, but Captain Rizzi was adamant that any interference was unnecessary.”
Lady Townsend shook her head. “The captain is a very decided gentleman, but I am sure it will soon be made clear to him that she is but a hapless victim.”
“Of whom?” Edward demanded. “And for what reason? Why would Signorina Sofia wish to harm Miss Playford? There can be no other explanation for this… travesty of justice.”
“Justice is the outcome of Captain Rizzi’s investigations,” Thornton said, in that maddeningly reasonable tone of his. “And I’ve no doubt that justice will be delivered appropriately. We can do nothing but wait patiently for Italian justice to take its course.”
Lady Townsend looked enquiringly at Edward. “Do you have any suspicions? Miss Bentley appears a dupe, but claims not to know—or will not say—who planted the emeralds.”
Edward steadied himself on the back of a velvet sofa. “Signorina Sofia isn’t the romantic innocent she appears. It was she who wished Miss Playford to wear the family tiara—though I counseled against it.”
Thornton’s expression tightened. “It was I who insisted Venetia accept Signorina Sofia’s loan.”
“Which she eventually agreed to because the signorina’s plight so echoed her own situation until a year ago,” Edward muttered. “Do you truly think the signorina did not know the gold tiara contained stolen gems?”
Of course she knew, thought Edward. She probably loaded the compartment herself while humming a cheerful tune.
“You really think Sofia Morosini is the only one involved in orchestrating this?” Thornton shook his head. “She did not even attend tonight’s masquerade. Besides, the jewels were stolen weeks ago. Surely a young woman who enjoys the trappings of wealth would not need—”
“It’s not about need,” Edward cut in, the words spilling out with bitter self-recrimination. “And I’ve been a spectacular fool. I should have been more alert to inconsistencies in her story, seen through the calculated nature of her appeals to my sympathy. Instead, I allowed myself to be manipulated because…” He stopped, the admission sticking in his throat.
Because I’m an idiot. A lovesick idiot.
“Because?” Lady Townsend prompted gently.
“Because she offered me exactly what I most desired,” Edward said, the truth scraping out of him. “An excuse to spend time with Miss Playford. A reason to be alone with her, to speak with her, to…” His voice broke. “God help me, I love her. And that love has made me a fool—and a danger to the very person I most wish to protect.”
“My dear boy,” Lady Townsend said softly, “love is hardly a crime, nor does it make you responsible for others’ machinations.”
