He lunged.
They crashed against the rail, boots slipping on wet planks. The gondola swayed dangerously; the gondolier swore in rapid Italian, fighting to keep them from tipping.
Montefiore was taller, heavier, and had undoubtedly been in more tavern brawls than Edward ever had. But Edward had rage and desperation on his side. Months of restrained feeling exploded in one blazing purpose.
Montefiore swung; Edward ducked, felt the fist graze his ear, and drove his shoulder into the other man’s chest. They slammed into the side of the gondola, the impact ringing up through Edward’s bones. Another blow; a grunt of pain; spots flared at the edge of his vision. He clungon, tasting blood.
Somewhere, Venetia cried his name.
It spurred him on.
He feinted, then hammered his fist up into Montefiore’s exposed ribs. The count wheezed. Edward followed with a sharp punch to the stomach, then an elbow to the chin when Montefiore bent forward with a curse.
The man’s boot slipped on water; for an instant he tottered, arms windmilling. Edward shoved.
Montefiore toppled backwards into his own gondola, landing heavily. The boat rocked wildly; his gondolier yelped.
“That’s enough,” Edward said through his teeth, chest heaving. “If I see you again anywhere near her, I won’t be so gentle.”
Montefiore lay where he had fallen, teeth bared in a rictus that wasn’t quite a smile. “You think you’ve won something here?” he rasped. “You’ve merely made my work easier.”
“Row,” Edward snapped to his own gondolier. “Now.”
He turned to Venetia and held out his arms. “Come.”
She didn’t hesitate. She flung herself at him, fingers digging into his shoulders as if she’d never let go.
He lifted her—light and trembling—and stepped back into his own gondola, Mollie clambering after them with the agility of the terrified. The oar bit into water, the gap widened. And Montefiore’s curse echoed after them and was swallowed by the dark.
Only then did Edward feel his hands shaking.
“Are you hurt?” he managed, searching Venetia’s face in the dimness. “Did he—”
“No.” Her voice broke. “No, not—not in any way that matters. Edward, you came.”
“As if I could do anything else,” he said hoarsely.
And then she was in his arms again, not clinging in fear but surging up, pressing her mouth to his with a desperation that matched his own.
The world fell away.
For a wild, endless moment there was nothing but the taste of her—salt from tears, the faint ghost of La Serafina’s champagne, the sweetness that was uniquely Venetia. His hands framed her face, slid into her hair, memorizing every line, every silken strand. She made a small sound against his lips that undid him utterly.
This. This was right. This was what every line ofIvanhoehad made him ache for without knowing it—two souls who had circled and denied and tormented themselves finally colliding into this perfection.
He kissed her as if he could pour every unsaid word into her:I love you. I will fight for you. I will burn every bargain I made if it keeps you safe.
She answered with a fervor that banished every doubt: hands in his hair, fingers curling into his coat, mouth moving under his with glorious, unpracticed ardor. There was nothing restrained, nothing decorous about her. She gave herself to the moment with the same wholehearted courage she gave to everything she did.
Finally, they broke apart. Foreheads pressed together, they laughed shakily into the small space between them.
“I thought—” she began, then stopped, swallowing. “I thought you’d decided it was wiser to stay away.”
“I had,” he said honestly. “And then you vanished into Venice. Thornton told me. Do you think I’d leave you to find your own way back?”
She gave a watery laugh. “In the cell to which Captain Rizzi marched me, I believed I’d never see freedom again. I was so frightened that when I was released, I couldn’t just hide in my room. Not for long, anyway. So I marched off to find the truth, and I ended up nearly being manhandled into a villain’s gondola and ruining everything.”
“Youwereso brave,” Edward said fiercely. He kissed the corner of her mouth, the damp track of a tear. “Venetia, I—”
