Mollie bobbed and crept to the hearth, white faced, twisting her hands. Venetia longed to go with her, to hide in the shadow of the great marble chimneypiece like a scolded child and pretend none of this was happening.
Instead, she stood in the middle of the room with Edward’s arm a firm, steadying line against hers.
She clung to that as Captain Rizzi marched past to plant himself on the far side of the central table, boots squeaking on polished boards. Behind him, Count di Montefiore sauntered in with slightly less than his usual grace, one hand dabbing theatrically at the bloodied handkerchief held to his nose.
Well. That was at least one pleasing sight.
“Signori,” Rizzi said, bowing with perfunctory politeness to the assembled company. “We are here on account of adisturbanceon the canal. A formal complaint has been made.”
His gaze slid to Montefiore, who let the handkerchief fall for a moment to display his swollen, reddened nose like a trophy.
“Signor Rothbury assaulted me without provocation,” the count announced, every syllable dripping injured dignity. “In an attempt, I suspect, to conceal his own misconduct with the signorina.”
“Misconduct?” Venetia burst out. “He—”
“Miss Playford,” Edward murmured, a quiet warning.
Venetia bit the inside of her cheek.
Rizzi lifted a hand for silence. “Please. I will hear all sides in duecourse. For now, understand that I have a complaint from a respected member of Venetian society alleging a violent attack.”
Respected. She almost snorted.
“I shall naturally be speaking to Count Morosini,” Rizzi went on. “Signor Rothbury is in his employ. The count may wish to recommend a course of action.”
At that, she felt Edward go very still beside her, like a man bracing for a blow he saw coming.
Shame rose in her throat like bile.
Lady Townsend stepped forward, color high. “Captain Rizzi, you must understand—”
“Lady Townsend,” he said, and though his tone remained courteous, there was steel underneath, “my duty is to the law. Not to English sensibilities.” He shifted his gaze back to Venetia, and she felt as if someone had turned a lantern directly on her.
“As for you, Signorina Playford,” he said, “I remind you that you remain under active investigation for the matter of the missing emeralds.”
The words landed like cold drops down her spine. Under active investigation. Of course she was. Freedom had never been more than a thin shell.
“You have been released on the personal recognizance of Count Morosini,” Rizzi continued. “This is a privilege, not an acquittal. In such circumstances, your conduct must be beyond reproach.”
His eyes flicked briefly to Edward, then back to her. “Tonight, it was not.”
Her skin burned. She had the sudden, absurd desire to fan herself with Catherine’s ostrich plume, simply to have something to do with her hands.
“I saw you,” Rizzi went on. “Alone at midnight in a gondola, in the arms of the very man my investigation has already flaggedas…interesting.”
Interesting. That was one way of saying “possibly involved in a jewel theft and definitely punching counts on the Grand Canal.”
“You were returning from the establishment of La Serafina,” he added. “A place of… varied reputation. Without a proper chaperone and in the company of an Englishman who had just engaged in a brawl upon the water.”
Venetia’s cheeks flamed. “Captain Rizzi, Count di Montefiore tried to drag—”
“I did not see it,” he said sharply, cutting across her. “The law sees facts. Your feeble explanations hold no weight.”
Her tongue went dry.
Rizzi folded his hands behind his back. “Therefore, until this matter is concluded, the following conditions will apply.”
Conditions. Her stomach knotted.
