"Honoria has been playing chess with me," Cassius broke the companionable silence the two of them had fallen into. The day was particularly lovely, which was why Cassius had hired a small boat to take out on the Serpentine. Honoria, too stuffed with their picnic fare had urged the two of them to go on without her. Daphne had wanted to refuse, but then he'd extended his hand and looked at her so softly with his beautiful barely-there smile and she'd been basically a puddle at his feet. Though there were people milling about, Daphne was delighted that he did not mind being seen with her. There was minimum talk about them of course, on account of the fact that they were related by marriage. But still, it warmed her heart, easily pleased as she was when it came to the Earl of Pembroke. "She is actually rather good."

"Mhmmm," Daphne was currently not capable of speech. Her grip on her umbrella was weak because her fingers were trembling. Their boat moved gently along the lake, the gentle sound of sluicing water was supposed to be calming but....

Daphne had never been more aroused in her life. A persistent ache had settled between her legs that pulsed every time Cassius made a grunt while pulling the oars. Oh, just for one glorious moment he would lean back and his clothes would pull tight against his chest and he'd propel them forward.

Sweet Mercy, there was just something so inherently masculine about the expertise with which he maneuvered their little boat over the gentle surface of the water. Not a single inefficient movement, his form languid and yet controlled.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. A glorious bead of sweat worked its way down the side of his neck. She wanted to squirm, she wanted everyone gone so that she could straddle him, rock her hips back and forth, and give herself the relief she needed. Or toss herself overboard just so that she could cool off.

"And yesterday, we spoke of the book she has been reading over dinner."

"That's nice," she replied lamely, still too busy gawking at him.

With all the time they had been spending together, it was getting harder and harder to pretend that all she felt was a fleeting sort of attraction that could fizzle out. She pretended well enough that she was just teasing, or playing around, not taking the burning passion between them seriously but her soul knew the truth- he still had her wrapped around his little finger.

And so she let him think that she was just toying with him, that he was just one man in a long line upon whom she lavished her attention. That her teasing and touching were just thoughtless and meaningless actions. She would never let herself be vulnerable in front of him again. If anything, he thought less of her now than he used to, ever since that one Christmas her entire family, including the older Crenshaws and Jemma, had come to visit her. Cassius had come from Belgium to meet them and had instead found Alexei leaving her private suite.

The truth was obviously that he had come to be with William, whose health had already been in decline by then, and she had insisted that he use the door to her room for egress and ingress.

Naturally, Cassius had seen Alexei leave in his nightclothes, hair in disarray, and a love bite on his neck and had drawn the obvious conclusion. The condemnation in his eyes had chilled her to the bone.

But what else was the alternative? The truth was ruinous to her husband's name- and sodomy a hanging offense in England. She could not take a chance that Cassius would understand. Jemma sure as the devil would not have, with her façade of propriety and Godliness. Though that was an irony that Daphne could not comprehend. If anything, Jemma should have been a little more sympathetic.

Honoria waved from the bank, Cassius returned the gesture in almost boy-like enthusiasm. Honoria beamed, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

Daphne's heart fluttered in glee.

No, please get a hold of yourself, Daphne!

He was not even that handsome, she reminded the parts of her that were a little damp and aching like the devil; why, just look at that absurdly beak-ish nose! And if she really looked closely one of his incisors was sharper than the other. And that stupid divot on his chin looked like the perfect place to drop a kiss. Ridiculous! And his stupid lovely eyes with long sweeping lashes or that wonderful head of golden-

Er.....well, that hadn't had the intended impact. She wanted to hang her head in her hands and groan piteously.

Why had she done this to herself? Was she stupid?

Well. Arguably yes; her life had been a series of stupid decisions starting with unilaterally deciding that Cassius would never be happy with anyone that wasn't her, ending with deciding to once again involve herself in his affairs.

For God's sake, plenty of people had absolutely terrible relationships with their children, why couldn't she have left well enough alone? They would have gone on with their awkward relationship for a few years, then Honoria could have gotten married and they would politely see each other for Christmas every year. Why was she so weak that she couldn't bear the thought of him suffering when he didn't have to?

"How goes your reading of Emma?" Cassius asked once he'd stopped rowing, their boat bobbing steadily on the water. "Have you made it past the first page?"

"Yes, well, I hardly see the resemblance, Pembroke! I daresay the comparison is insulting to me and my prowess as a seasoned meddler," she replied, giving him a petulant look from beneath her lashes that made him grin. If this man didn't want to be seduced and then tupped within an inch of his life he had better stop smiling at her like that. "Ah, but it was correct on one note; I absolutely am handsome, clever, and rich."

"Humility is your most admirable trait, Lady Whittaker," he responded drily. "Truly you have nothing in common with the woman who thinks herself as smarter than her contemporaries and that she ought to take upon the task of assigning them appropriate suitors, whether they wish it or not."

Daphne would have bristled if she had detected even a hint of condescension, but Cassius' tone remained light and teasing.

"That is where we differ, Emma thinks a little too highly of herself, but I am simply more observant. Cassidy Lockhart – married with five children. We still write, you know!" She exclaimed in mock affront. "And she and her husband are quite happy in Northumberland, and still very much in love. Lady Lucille struggled to adjust to the life of a military wife at first, but then her husband became a war-time hero. They erected a statue of him! He retired as a much-decorated colonel. He even published a poetry book last year. She made up with her father, in fact, he didn't stay angry at her for very long at all. So, I daresay my matchmaking is a great deal better than Emma's!"

He observed her silently for some moments, though his ghost of a smile remained on his face.

"So everyone got their happy ending, did they?" He asked finally, his question bearing the faintest tinges of ruefulness. Likely he too was thinking that everyone save them had ended up with those that they loved. Like he too was regretting all the years lost without love and companionship.

A silent moment passed. And then another.

"Cassidy Lockhart would never have suited you," she blurted suddenly, and then blushed. What had possessed her to drudge up that ugly business all of a sudden? Couldn't she just have let the joke and the moment pass?

His eyes widened in surprise. He blinked before giving one single shake of his head.

"No," he replied begrudgingly. "She would not have."

"And neither would Lucille."

"No. She wouldn't have." He said with a hesitant ring to his tone. His eyes bored into hers. "You wouldn't have either."

It was Daphne's turn to be stunned, and then she felt her own rueful smile pull at her face.

"No," she conceded. "I wouldn't have. But I would have grown into it."

He remained pensive for a moment before nodding.

"Yes. You would have."

He did not meet her eyes again as he began to row back to shore. And it hung unsaid between them that the woman he had actually married had suited him least of all.