“Lord Thornton, you don’t understand the position we’re in—”
“I understand perfectly,” Thornton interrupted. “You love Miss Playford. You feel responsible for her predicament. You’re desperate to help her, regardless of the cost to yourself. These are admirable sentiments, Rothbury. They are also a wretched basis for strategy.”
“But time is working against us,” Edward protested. “Every moment Venetia spends under suspicion, her reputation deteriorates further, which further imperils her fortune. It only takes a letter from Captain Rizzi—” He broke off. “And I can’t approach Count Morosini for help without—”
“Without revealing truths that would make everything worse,” Lady Townsend finished. “Yes, we understand.”
“Then you see why confession might be the only option?” Edward pressed.
“We see whyyouthink it is the only option,” Thornton corrected. “We do not agree.”
Edward sank into a chair, his energy draining away. “Then what would you have me do? Stand by helplessly while the woman I love is destroyed by enemies who used my own feelings as weapons against her?”
Because that’s worked so well thus far.
“I would have you use the rational, analytical mind that has served you so well,” Thornton replied with patient firmness. “Channel your passion into investigation. Discover the true extent of this conspiracy, identify all participants, and gather evidence that will not merely clearMiss Playford but expose the real criminals.”
“Investigation takes time,” Edward said dully.
“Yes,” Lady Townsend agreed. “But confession takes only moments and, once made, cannot be undone. If you confess falsely now, you eliminate any chance of uncovering the truth later.”
Edward stared at his feet. “So you’re advising me to wait. While Venetia suffers.”
“We’re advising you to think,” Thornton said. “To use your intellect rather than your guilt, your strategic abilities rather than your despair.”
“There is more to this than Sofia’s individual malice,” Edward said slowly, his mind, despite himself, beginning to work again. “Tonight’s scheme required planning and resources beyond what a young woman might accomplish alone.”
“Precisely,” Thornton said. “Someone with knowledge of English society, access to valuable information about Miss Playford’s circumstances, and the ability to position multiple elements exactly where they needed to be.”
“Someone like Count di Montefiore,” Lady Townsend added quietly. “A man who appeared at precisely the right moment, with exactly the right credentials, showing exactly the right interest in Venetia’s affairs. And who seems to have manipulated Miss Bentley into providing damaging testimony.”
Count di Montefiore. Another piece of this nightmare puzzle.
“Then we have multiple conspirators,” Edward said, rubbing at his temples. “Sofia, possibly the count, perhaps others. A web of deception rather than a single villain.”
“Which makes your confession even more foolish,” Thornton pointed out. “If you take the blame for a crime committed by multiple conspirators, you do not save Venetia. You simply give the real criminals freedom to continue their schemes while eliminating the one person whomight expose them.”
“So, what do we do?” Edward asked, hearing the defeat in his own voice.
“We investigate,” Lady Townsend said firmly. “We gather evidence. We expose the truth. And we do it together, using our combined resources and intelligence rather than relying on grand romantic gestures that accomplish nothing.”
“Even if that means Venetia suffers in the interim?” Edward asked quietly.
“Even then,” Thornton said gently. “Because the alternative—your false confession—would make her suffer even more, for even longer, with no hope of eventual vindication.”
Edward nodded slowly. “Very well. Investigation. Evidence. Truth. Though every instinct I possess is screaming to act immediately.”
“Those instincts do you credit as a lover,” Lady Townsend said with a sad smile. “But they would disqualify you as Venetia’s savior. She needs your mind, Edward. Not your martyrdom.”
Back in his chambers later, Edward stared at the Foreign Office letter still tucked in his desk drawer. Constantinople beckoned—a prestigious posting, financial security, an escape from this nightmare.
Run away to Constantinople? Let someone else save Venetia?
Dear Lord, regardless of how tempting Constantinople once seemed, it was now out of reach. While Venetia remained in danger, he would remain in Venice.
He could almost hear Thornton’s voice:Use your rational mind.
The trouble was, his rational mind kept circling back to the same conclusion: Venetia was in danger, he’d helped put her there, and confession might be the fastest way to extract her.
