"Have you heard that there is a thief?!" Daphne announced as she sauntered into his study, Cassius looked up and hoped his raised eyebrow gave her the impression he was surprised by her arrival. In truth, he had seen her exit her house in her pretty emerald gown and a parasol. She'd had her carriage brought out to the front but had not gotten on it, instead she'd marched right over across the street.

"A thief? In Mayfair?" He asked as he stood up in greeting, as a gentleman does in the presence of a lady. She gave him a disapproving perusal and scowled at him irritably.

"This is the third house that's been hit in the last two months! All while the families were away to the country on either business or for a house party. Why aren't you dressed?"

"Dressed? I am dressed."

"For going out!" She gave him a faintly censorious look. "As we planned two days ago?"

I am going to rescue you, Pembroke.

Quite frankly he was not yet convinced that the instance she was talking about wasn't a hallucination borne of his feverish wish to get rid of Cecily Sherrill and her constant attempts at undermining him in front of Honoria.

How else could he explain how he had ended up playing consecutive games of chess long into the night with the infuriating temptation in front of him? That she had somehow coaxed him into abandoning his waistcoat and loosening his cravat? The sensation of her nimble fingers undoing the knot torturously slowly, touching the skin of his neck and the top of his chest as she eased his collar open. He'd been a little drunk by then, but not enough to pretend he hadn't been willing.

Ever since he had expressed his betrayal and frustration at their first kiss, she had always been cautious about never taking his consent for granted. She had batted her eyelashes at him and just suggested that he would be a little more comfortable without the starch around his neck. That he was at home and surely there could be no objection to him taking his ease. She was a widow and had seen much more of the male physique than a measly neck.

With the drink and lust combating for dominance in his brain, he had fumbled with the knot, unable to concentrate on undoing it, so when she offered him help he allowed her to do it. She made a torture out of it, that was true, letting her fingers tarry, caressing his skin, painstakingly undoing the knot. He had been hard to the point of discomfort, and she had seen the evidence of it straining against the seams of his breeches. For a moment, he could have sworn her gaze had darkened in appreciation. She withdrew then, back into her seat as innocent as you please, as if she hadn't left him aching. Hadn't left him scorched everywhere her touch had lingered.

Is that how she did it?

She was a Venus; sex and divine beauty condensed into one woman. Was it any mystery a mortal like him was so weak when faced with her?

They said she left a trail of broken hearts in her wake. That many coveted her, many had offered her fortunes and devotion and marriage, yet she refused each one. Perhaps she did not wish to pledge her loyalty to one man alone when she had the many freedoms of a widow at her disposal.

And her choice of lovers.

He had to remember that.

It was at times like these that he understood his father so very clearly. To want a woman so much that you would bargain your dignity, your pride, your self-respect for her. To want the feel of her bare skin against your palms, the sound of her labored breathing in your ear.

Many had come before him, he harbored no illusions that she was exceedingly coveted. Men had fought duels over her. She was considered respectable by the very barest of margins because of the immense power of her husband's family and her more formidable fortune.

He was not going to become his father's son. Begging for scraps of affection, left a shell when that affection was revoked.

But he was already his mother's son, was he not? A base creature, ruled by lust. Ruled by his passion. Why else would he be so willing to take this woman he knew he would not, should not have? To grasp her by the waist, lay her on the rug, and lose himself in the heat of her body? Or to bend her over his table as he took her from behind, like a stallion mounting a-

Just because you are a base, disgusting animal, Pembroke, doesn't mean you have the right to rut me like one!

Jemma's shrill voice rang inside his head with such volume his entire body had a visceral reaction. His hands turned clammy, his face flushed with mortification, disgust at himself rising like bile to his throat.

A true gentleman did not want these things, he did not think about these things.

In spite of his every effort to deny the things Jemma accused him of, it felt as though he proved her correct at every turn. After that, he had deliberately lost the match and feigned tiredness. She had given him a skeptical look but had left compliantly.

And then he had gone upstairs, called for a bath, and had proven Jemma right once more by pleasuring himself to the thought of Daphne until he spent his seed in an almost violent release.

The momentary pleasure had come at the cost of such bone-deep shame that he was having trouble meeting her eyes. He allowed her to usher him out of his office and towards the stairs. She motioned to a maid and instructed her to fetch his daughter.

"Oh?" Daphne raised her eyebrow in an impatient expression. "You do not wish to go out with me and your father?"

"No," Honoria replied coolly. "As His Lordship has pointed out, I am very behind on my schoolwork."

Ah yes, and here was the latest point of contention between him and his daughter; he had the audacity to want her educated. He had done the unthinkable and hired her a governess so that she wouldn't fall behind in her studies during her suspension for the term. He'd written to Miss Heartwood, the only teacher at Mrs. Pinehurst's who had been willing to help him, and she had kindly supplied him with the syllabus for each of Honoria's classes.

"Oh. That is such a shame," Daphne sighed with such remorse he almost believed it. "And your father was going to take us to Hatchard's."

Honoria's eyes flared at the sound of London's premier bookstore.

"Hatchard's?" She asked hesitantly.

"Oh yes, and he even said he was going to give you some pin money to spend on a few books."

"More books?" Honoria gulped. Cassius could see her pride warring with temptation. Now that was a battle he was a little too familiar with.

"Didn't a new volume of your favorite serial come out last month? The one about the murder that no one can solve?"

"Yes," he could see his daughter's resolve crumble.

"Didn't you tell me that the author ended the previous volume in unbearable suspense?"

Just like always, Daphne knew just what to say, just what to do to get her own way. It was both admirable and frightening, just how easily she found it to either coax or cajole someone into doing what she wanted all while they thought they had had a choice in the matter. Honoria turned and bestowed a dubious look at him. He looked to Daphne for guidance on what he should do next, and ag her nod he said; "Yes. You may have any three books of your choosing."

She stared at him mistrustfully for a few moments, and then she too looked to Daphne for reassurance.

"Come with us, won't you, Honey Bee?"

"I....I suppose I could come. For a little while."

Venus was the goddess of Victory too. She left no opponent standing in her wake.

"Good," a satisfied smile graced her face. "Now go back to your room and get dressed, hurry now so that we have time aplenty to get some ices afterwards."

Once Honoria was gone, she turned to Cassius and winked. Inside Cassius, gratitude and frustration fought. He could not help but resent that she knew his daughter better than he did. He could not help but hate himself for his own role in how things were. He could not help but hate Jemma.

What if. What if. What if......

But if he hadn't married Jemma, he would not have Honoria. And that was not a wish he was capable of making.

"That was impressive," he said finally.

"Catch more flies with honey, and whatnot," she waved her hand dismissively giving him an impish grin that made her seem much younger than her years.

"Why do you call her Honey Bee?" He said to distract himself from the familiar itch in his body to pull her in his arms.

"Honoria Beatrice...Honey Bee."

"It's a sweet nickname," he conceded, an additional apology for his previous behavior.

"How is a trip to Hatchard's a rescue?" He could not help but ask. She sighed at him in disappointment. "And how did you know all that about the books that she likes? When was the last time you picked up a book of your own volition?"

She gasped and then laughed, her hand flat against her chest. "I will have you know, sirrah, that I have recently bought myself a volume of Prideful Prejudice. It is by a woman."

Cassius blinked at her uncomprehendingly before a snort erupted from him.

"Pride and Prejudice," he corrected mildly before a little sliver of mischief darted through him. "Though I dare say you would enjoy Emma, more."

"Cassius Godwin!" She beamed at him, the combined impact of his name and that smile scrambled his mind. "Are you in the business of reading romance novels?"

"I read just about everything," Cassius replied unashamed, "though I would argue they are not just romance novels. They are a very poignant, humorous, and charming commentary on our society."

She crinkled her nose in displeasure. Cassius wanted to run his fingers along the surface, smoothing away the folds.

"Trust you to make a romance novel into an intellectual discussion."

"I consider myself an intellectual."

"Well, I consider you dreadfully boring. Now, this other book you are talking about, why do you say I would like it?"

"Because," he could not help the teasing grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth, "it is about a meddling woman who is convinced that she knows best and she wants to puppeteer those around her according to her wishes."

He was delighted when she threw her head back and let out a hoot of laughter. Even just the simple act of making her laugh felt like a benediction.

"And is she? Right about knowing best, I mean?"

"Not at all," he was grinning right back at her as if they were sharing an infinitely amusing private joke. "Her meddling turns out to do more harm than good and she is forced to accept that she may have erred."

"Just you wait Pembroke," she wriggled a finger in front of his nose. "I do know best and my meddling shall wield just the results I intend."

He was infinitely charmed. He could not help it. He wanted to snatch the hand and place a kiss on her palm. Their eyes clashed and then held and he felt as if she could read every wish, every desire that was in his blood.

For a moment, something pulsed between them, something electrifying and dangerous. And it was quickly dispelled as Honoria came back downstairs, changed for the outing.