The crowd provided excellent camouflage—pilgrims and merchants, nobles and commoners, all mixing in the democratic chaos of commerce.
Edward approached with the casual air of someone happening upon an acquaintance by chance. “Signorina Sofia,” he said quietly, positioning himself so that Caterina could not easily hear. “How pleasant to encounter you here.”
Sofia turned, and for just an instant, he saw something flicker across her features—guilt, perhaps, or calculation.Then her practiced smile slipped into place, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Signor Edward!” Her voice carried its usual musical quality, but underneath he detected a note of nervous energy. “What a surprise. I thought you were always at your scholarly work at this hour.”
“Even scholars require occasional air,” he replied, studying her face for telltale signs of deception. “I hoped I might encounter you. There are matters we should discuss.”
Matters like framing innocent women for theft.
Her smile faltered. “Matters? I cannot imagine what—”
“Can you not?” Edward’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The events of the masquerade ball, perhaps? The curious circumstance of Miss Playford wearing jewelry provided by you that contained stolen gems? Strange that this doesn’t appear to feature in the current investigation.”
Sofia’s color heightened, but her gaze remained steady. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I lent her my tiara for her costume—such a generous gesture on my part—but certainly not with the emerald earrings. If I’d known they were there, I’d have absconded with Paolo by now.”
Wait. What?
“Your generous gesture was an effort to compromise an innocent woman—though I’m still trying to understand why.”
Sofia’s laugh held a brittle quality that made Edward’s skin crawl. “Signor Edward, surely you cannot be so naive as to believe I would simply lend her a tiara already containing stolen gems—”
I… actually yes. That’s exactly what I believed.
“I believe Miss Playford is guilty of nothing more than trusting someone who betrayed that trust for personal gain.” Edward stepped closer, noting how Caterina had moved to provide a subtle shield from prying eyes. “The question is why. What could you possibly gain from destroying someone who showed you nothing but kindness?”
For a moment, Sofia’s mask slipped, and Edward glimpsed something raw and desperate beneath the calculated charm.
When she spoke again, her voice carried a note of genuine anguish that surprised him.
“You think I planned for things to unfold as they did?”
“Didn’t you?”
Sofia glanced around nervously, then moved closer to the merchant’s stall, using the hanging silks to create a pocket of privacy. “You don’t understand the pressures I face, the impossible choices. My grandfather forges ahead with his ideas of marrying me to Conte Bembo, which could happen any day—”
“And that justifies destroying Miss Playford?”
“It justifies doing whatever is necessary to secure my freedom!” Sophie burst out, glancing around to ensure they hadn’t been overheard. “Paolo and I have so little time before my grandfather’s plans become irreversible. We need money to disappear, to start a new life where his influence cannot reach us.”
“So you decided to steal.”
Sofia’s eyes blazed. “I did what I had to in order to survive. I wasn’t permitted to attend the masquerade but the emeralds had been…secured. I’m watched every second so I made an arrangement with my—”
“Accomplice?” Edward frowned, trying to make sense of her hurried explanation.
Wait. She’s saying shedidn’tput the emeralds in the tiara?
“If you like. Someone who, during an unguarded moment, would assist Signorina Venetia with her dress, hold her tiara while she attended to her hair, and, when she wasn’t looking, place the emeralds inside.” Sofia’s words tumbled out faster now. “Miss Playford was supposed to return the tiara to mewiththe emeralds. I don’t know whose diabolical machinations were behind the exposure and quite frankly, I don’t care. All I know is that I’ve been cheated of the emeralds that were supposed to provide a future for Paolo.”
Edward stared. This was more complicatedthan he’d expected.
“Do you know what my life will be like married to Conte Bembo? An old man whose previous wives died young, worn out by his demands and his temper? I would rather die than submit to such a fate—”
Several wives?
But no sympathetic entreaties could excuse the magnitude of her betrayal—ifshe spoke the truth?
