Chapter Nineteen
“Captain Rizzi.” Venetia’s hands shook as she looked at the captain, a dozen gawping guests behind him. “Of what do I stand accused?”
“Signorina Playford,” he began, emphasizing her maiden state as he glanced accusingly between her and Mr. Rothbury. “Your description matches that of the… thief seen making off with a pair of emerald earrings.”
Theft?
“I’ve done nothing other than seek solitude after the dancing.”
“Solitude?” The captain raised an eyebrow, then said with sarcasm, “You were far from seeking solitude when I found you.”
Edward stepped closer. “Captain, I protest any suggestion about Miss Playford’s character—” Against her ear, he murmured, his horror palpable, “Sofia’s tiara. I never intended you to accept her offer. How did you—?”
“Mr. Rothbury.” Count Morosini appeared from behind the captain. His voice was cold. “You’ve said enough.”
Oh God. Count Morosini? What does he have to do with this?
“Captain Rizzi, if you’d let me explain—”
“Explain? I do not need you to explain what was reported by several of my guests. Miss Bentley!”
Venetia turned, surprised to see Miss Bentley emerge from the crowd.
“Count di Montefiore asked you to keep an eye on several of Count Morosini’s guests. Firstly, what explanation could excuse such behavior?” Captain Rizzi’s arm encompassed the balcony.
Miss Bentley shook her head sorrowfully. “I should have known a man of modest means would compromise dear Venetia to force an advantageous marriage.”
Compromise? We had ONE kiss and suddenly I’m a fallen woman?
The accusation hit Venetia like a slap. In Miss Bentley’s version, Edward was a calculating fortune hunter rather than the honorable man she knew. The suggestion was so vile she could barely process it.
“That’s not—”
Captain Rizzi raised a hand. “Miss Playford, perhaps you’ll explain how you came to wear Signorina Morosini’s family tiara tonight?”
The question made her stomach drop as her hand flew to the elaborate piece Sofia had insisted she borrow—the crowning touch of her costume that now felt like a crown of thorns.
Mr. Rothbury stepped forward. “Signorina Sofia offered it. She said it would complement Miss Playford’s costume.”
“Perhaps she did. But it’s not the tiara itself that’s of interest. Not its outward appearance, at any rate.” Captain Rizzi took a step forward and indicated that Venetia was to hand it over.
With trembling hands, she gave it to him.
“You didn’t notice anything unusual about your tiara’s construction?”
She whipped her head up to face him. He was talking about the tiara? “Construction? I don’t understand.”
But within seconds of the captain inserting a tiny pin into what was suddenly revealed as a hinge, a section of the tiara sprang open, revealing two emerald earrings set off with tiny diamonds.
A secret compartment. The tiara had a secret compartment?
“These gems,” Captain Rizzi announced with the theatrical flourish of a man who’d been waiting all evening for this moment, “which you had hidden in the tiara you wore tonight, match the Contessa di Barbarigo’s missing pendant.”
A collective gasp rang out. There were more guests witnessing her humiliation than Venetia had realized.
She stared at the emeralds, her mind reeling. Sofia’s loan was simply part of an elaborate deception. The insistence on the tiara, the knowledge of Venetia’s costume, the careful timing—all calculated to make her the perfect scapegoat.
“That’s impossible.” But even as she spoke, she grasped the trap’s perfection.
“The evidence is clear,” Captain Rizzi declared. “Stolen gems, concealed in jewelry you wore all evening.”
She felt Edward’s warmth as he moved closer against her side.
“Captain, surely you can’t believe Miss Playford would wear stolen goods openly?
She was lent the tiara by Signorina Sofia Morosini.
In fact, the signorina gave it to me stating her desire that it complement Miss Playford’s costume.
As she says herself, she’s been made a scapegoat. Look elsewhere for your criminal.”
Thank you, Edward. At least someone believes me.
Captain Rizzi glanced about him. “Several guests observed Miss Playford showing unusual interest in the contessa’s jewelry earlier.” His gaze alighted on Miss Bentley. “We merely followed up on certain… concerns.”
Venetia heard Edward’s intake of breath.
Concerns. MISS BENTLEY had concerns? Miss Bentley, who told everyone about my inheritance conditions?
So even her innocent admiration had been twisted into evidence. Every glance, every comment she’d made about the beautiful pieces around her now looked like criminal calculation.
I complimented someone’s necklace and now I’m a jewel thief?
“This is absurd,” Edward said, his anger clearly building. “Miss Playford is a young woman of the utmost integrity. I would be far from the only one to vouch for her.”
“And yet, what else would account for the discovery of jewels stolen from the contessa two weeks ago in the tiara worn by this young lady?” Captain Rizzi repeated coldly.
He glanced once more at Miss Bentley, and the flare of self-righteousness that crossed that woman’s face made Venetia flame with hurt and shock.
No. Surely not. Miss Bentley couldn’t be part of this. Could she?
Edward turned in her direction, demanding quickly, “You’ve known Miss Playford for some time, Miss Bentley. You surely would pledge your support for her strong moral character.”
Captain Rizzi raked Miss Bentley with a somewhat ambiguous look before Venetia caught the flash of collusion, confirming her suspicions.
Oh God. She IS part of this. Miss Bentley is actually part of this.
When she remained silent, the captain asked, “You revealed your concerns, madame, when we communicated with you. I don’t think you would now vouch for the young lady.”
Trembling—though whether from genuine emotion or theatrical effect, Venetia could no longer tell—Miss Bentley thrust out her chin. “Miss Playford is, indeed, charming but… perhaps the transition from penniless ward to heiress came as too great a shock and challenged her moral foundations.”
Challenged my moral foundations? I kissed someone! Once! After months of agonizing restraint!
There was a collective gasp, Edward’s louder than anyone’s, before he said with deadly quiet, “Captain Rizzi, Miss Playford’s character isn’t subject to anyone’s assessment when it’s quite clear the real jewel thief is at large.”
“Indeed. But what of your own character, Mr. Rothbury? What should we make of a gentleman who compromises a lady as you did tonight?”
One kiss. ONE KISS. And suddenly we’re scandalizing all of Venice.
There was silence, broken by Venetia who said, “Mr. Rothbury heard me weeping and came to offer comfort, Captain Rizzi. That is all. I give my word as a gentlewoman that I had no knowledge of theft, no awareness of emeralds in the tiara, no criminal intent.”
“Your word as a gentlewoman?” Miss Bentley laughed suddenly—a sound that made Venetia’s skin crawl. “When your behavior tonight shows such disregard for proper conduct.”
Is she DRUNK? Has she lost her mind? What is happening?
Venetia stared. This was not the Miss Bentley she knew. Or thought she knew.
Edward’s hands clenched. “Madam, I won’t tolerate your implications about Miss Playford’s character.”
“What action do you propose, Mr. Rothbury?” Captain Rizzi inquired.
“The facts speak for themselves. I applaud your efforts to play the gentleman at so late a stage, but if you’re so ready to champion Miss Playford on the basis of refuting aspersions upon her character, might I suggest your efforts would be better spent discovering the identity of whom you believe is the real thief. ”
The real thief being Sofia. And possibly Miss Bentley. And possibly half of Venice, apparently.
Venetia saw the moment Edward realized her position was hopeless. His face went ashen. Any protest would deepen suspicion. The kiss that had been their moment of perfect connection had damned them both.
We finally confessed our feelings and immediately everything went to hell.
“Miss Playford,” Captain Rizzi said, clearly enjoying this far too much, “you must accompany me for questioning.”
Guards moved to flank her. Her composure cracked.
She was trapped in circumstantial evidence and social prejudice, her greatest happiness transformed into destruction.
Edward reached out, then stopped. Even comfort would look like conspiracy. The anguish in his eyes reflected her own devastation.
“Venetia,” he said quietly, her name carrying love and desperation and everything they couldn’t say.
“I know,” she whispered, understanding his unspoken apology—for failing to protect her, for their stolen moment becoming her condemnation, for everything going so spectacularly wrong.
I know you love me. I know you tried. I know this is all Sofia’s fault and possibly Miss Bentley’s and definitely not yours.
As Captain Rizzi escorted her from the balcony, she caught one last glimpse of Edward frozen among his accusers, his face a mask of controlled anguish. The man she loved was as trapped as she was.
The masquerade continued below—music and laughter a cruel counterpoint to the drama above. But for Venetia, the evening had become a nightmare with no visible dawn.
From first kiss to arrest in under half an hour.