“Her dressmaker hinted she would find answers there,” Lady Townsend said helplessly. “Venetia would not be dissuaded from going, though Thornton accompanied her—”
“I cannot believe Miss Playford was so bold as to attend La Serafina’s!” Edward scarcely recognized his own voice. Panic burst in his chest. “But now she’s somewhere in Venice, and no one knows exactly where?”
“I could only assume she’d come straight back here,” Thornton said. “La Serafina said Venetia had left minutes before I returned. I came back by the most direct route, praying she’d arrived safe and sound.” He spread his hands. “She has not.”
“I have to find her,” Edward said, already turning.
“Edward, wait.” Thornton caught his arm. “I understand that Count Morosini will take a dim view of it if you’re seen publicly associated with her again. I was just on my way back—”
“This is Venice,” Edward said, shaking free. “I will go. Half the city is masked after dark. They’ll hardly notice another Englishman on the water.”
And if they do, let Morosini rage.
Venetia’s safety was worth every promisehe shattered.
*
The night wrappedVenice in velvet and shadow. Lanterns bobbed on iron brackets, their reflections shivering in the black water. Laughter and distant music drifted from palazzi; the splash of oars and the occasional shout bounced off stone.
Edward strode down to the casa’s landing. “A gondola,” he barked, his fears for Venetia nearly crippling.
Within moments he was settled in the prow of a narrow black boat, the gondolier balanced at the stern, a dark silhouette against the stars.
“La Serafina’s palazzo,” Edward ordered.
As they cut through the water, Edward’s mind flayed him with images: Venetia’s pale face behind prison bars; Venetia’s mouth beneath his on the balcony.
He had promised Morosini to stay away. Promised to bury himself inIvanhoeas the price for Venetia’s protection.
But Venetia needed protection now like never before.
They reached La Serafina’s palazzo in minutes. Light and laughter spilled from the tall windows and the water-gate lanterns cast pools of gold on the stone steps. Edward bounded up, and was halfway into the vestibule before La Serafina herself appeared, fan in hand.
“Signor Rothbury,” she said. “You English are like weeds here in my establishment—”
Edward interrupted. “I need to know—Miss Playford. Is she here?”
“She left ten, perhaps twelve minutes ago,” La Serafina replied. Her look sharpened. “The man who calls himself Count di Montefiore left shortly after. He did not take the same route.” A pause. “But Venice has only so many paths home by water,caro. If he wishes to intercept a boat, he knows where it must pass.”
Cold slid into Edward’s bones. “He’s following her?”
“I did not say that,” La Serafina replied. “But knowing what I know, I gave you that information for good reason.”
“Thank you,” Edward said tightly. He turned and hurtled backdown to the water-gate.
“Signor Rothbury,” she called after him.
He glanced back.
Her gaze softened, unexpectedly. “Be careful of this Count di Montefiore. Both of you.”
He nodded once and flung himself into the waiting gondola. “We’re going back toward the Rialto,” he told the gondolier. “Fast. Watch for a boat with two women—an English signorina in silver and her maid. And another gondola shadowing them. I need to find them.”
The gondolier grunted, set his shoulders, and drove the oar hard. The boat leapt forward.
They shot down a side canal, under a low bridge that scraped Edward’s hair. Shadows loomed and fell away and Edward craned his head. Every curve of stone, every flicker of light might conceal Venetia’s beautiful silhouette—or Montefiore’s.
“Too many boats,” the gondolier muttered. “Everyone going home.”
