Really, it was just a coincidence that her bedroom faced the street and she could see into Cassius' front lawn from her reading chair next to the window. It was just that the light was best at this angle. For reading.

Her book?

Well, she was sure it was around here somewhere. She'd bought one last month, hadn't she? Sensible Sensibility or Prideful Prejudice or something like that. She had been meaning to get herself into reading, it was such a dignified and refined pastime. And the window also provided her with such a lovely vista while she was embroidering.

Daphne could not help but gaze across the street -very coincidentally, mind you- and observe what was doubtlessly a great trial for her neighbor. He was sitting outside with a small table set up for tea....while his daughter pretended he did not exist. And he was in the company of Miss Cecily Sherrill, Jemma's former paid companion. And it seemed as if she were giving him a lecture, and ordering his servants about.

Daphne felt indignant on Cassius' behalf. Of all the audacious things, she thought she could just come here and act as if she were mistress of his house. Granted, she, Honoria, and Jemma had occupied that house for most of the year and Cecily was very familiar with them. Still, as another employee of the Godwin's, Cecily was not altogether too far above the servants that she was commanding. No matter what privileges she enjoyed while Jemma was alive.

Daphne's mouth curled into a sneer at the thought of Jemma and Cecily.

And the way they had made a fool of Cassius. Made a villain of him, just to justify their own betrayal. The way that had made Daphne out to be a scapegoat, made Cassius think that she was a liar. And to think she stood there, bold as you please, living in a cottage on Cassius' goodwill.

Cecily Sherrill was...

"Come back to bed, darling," a husky voice broke her out of her vigil with a start. "It's so early."

"It is almost past three, George," she observed wryly, turning her attention to the exquisitely handsome twenty-something brunet who was currently stretching in her bed, the sheet slipping to his waist, revealing his chiseled abdomen. He looked like something out of a museum.

If only Daphne was in her typical spirits, she would leap into bed with him now and put Cassius Godwin from her mind, just as she'd been doing since William's passing. But she cast another look out the window and saw the way his posture was strained and his shoulders were drooping. She could not find it in herself to muster the good cheer to flirt.

This would not do. It was obvious to her that the poor man needed her help very desperately.

.....It was a bad idea. Getting involved with Cassius had always, always ended poorly for her. Like when she had pursued him during her first season, or when she had tried to expose Jemma's perfidy to him before they got married. She was always turned into a hysterical, immature brat.

And yet, she could not help it. If she could, she would have stopped loving him so very long ago. She would have stopped caring for him, she would have sold this house and moved far, far away.

And yet she was still here.

She had a young man with an impeccable physique in her bed but all she could think about was the forty-year-old man next door, whose stomach she was sure looked nothing like George's and whose hair had started showing some flecks of grey. But that bit of grey was ever so charming.

She could weep with despair at her own idiocy.

"George?"

"Yes, darling?" he purred, beckoning her over with a finger. She just shook her head.

"Darling, I think we ought to stop seeing each other."

George clapped his hand over his heart and collapsed onto the bed.

"The lady tosses me over like a used handkerchief!" he groaned. "Who will keep me company now, on these cold, lonely nights?"

"Oh, stop it," she rolled her eyes at him. "It is still autumn. And Mrs. Sherman was practically shoving her breasts up your face last night."

"Ah, but you're so much prettier than Mrs. Sherman. And she can't do half the things you know how to. I was going to make you marry me, you know," he pouted. "My father has cut me off but this life of poverty is not for me."

"I thought you would have gotten the message the third time I turned down your proposal George," she said with mock sternness. She knew he was half joking at best. While George very much was a young man of immaculate looks and commendable stamina, he was also destitute. And she was not fool enough to get married to a wastrel and give him all her money to waste. "Find yourself an heiress with more stuffing than brains, you're not getting a dime out of me."

"But I like you so much better than a debutant," he whined piteously, but Daphne knew it was all an act.

"You'll survive," she replied drily.

"Cruel beauty," he shook his head before hopping out of bed. He slipped on his trousers and then his shirt before dropping a kiss on her cheek. "I am only a letter away should you miss me, though I dare say your attention seems riveted elsewhere. Really? Pembroke?"

Daphne felt her cheeks heat as if she'd been caught red-handed.

"Oh, get out of my house, George!"

"I doubt there is a man less sexual than him alive, in fact, I can think of a corpse or two that is likelier to have sex," George joined her by the window where he observed Cassius with a judgmental eye. "If he weren't a father, I would stake my entire fortune that he was a virgin."

"You haven't a penny to your name, George," she deadpanned and her lover let out an astonished guffaw.

"You harpy!" He protested in between chuckles. "That was horrible of you! This defensive over that personification of a brick, are we?"

"Get out of my house, George," she gave him a gentle push.

"Without breakfast?"

"George!" She aimed a pillow at him and caught him straight in the face.

"No, Honoria will stay right here," Cassius spoke through grit teeth. If the women in his late wife's family did not stop suggesting that Honoria would be better off living away from him, he was going to throw his desk against the wall. "We have spent too much time apart from each other already."

"I practically raised the child, I know her temperament. This is what Jemma would want," Miss Sherrill insisted. "If you won't send her to live with me.....Perhaps I ought to move back to Pembroke house, I believe I am needed here."

Good God, no. The last thing he needed was Miss Sherrill reminding him of what Jemma would want at every turn. Reminding him that he was a failure, making him second guess everything. Things between him and Honoria had improved slightly, she had been willingly joining him for tea these past few days, even going so far as to make some inane conversation.

Cassius had nearly wept in the privacy of his study the first time she had mentioned liking cats all of her own free will.

And then Miss Sherrill had arrived, coddling and cooing over Honoria and for some reason the battle lines had been drawn again. Honoria wanted to go with Miss Sherrill, Cassius had resolutely- albeit privately told Cecily that it was not happening. He could guess that Honoria had somehow found out.

His head pounded. He was one wrong word from yelling. All he had wanted to do was enjoy some time to himself after dinner, and recuperate from hosting an unwanted guest, but no, Miss Sherrill had come to broach the subject once again.

"Miss Sherrill, why don't you retire for the evening and we can sort out the details of your return?"

"Oh no!" She protested, ignoring his subtle way of telling her that she was unwanted. "I have made arrangements for at least a week."

"Oh, don't worry, I am sure Lord Pembroke will be delighted to see me," her voice carried down the hall, forestalling any response he was about to make. His butler's mortified protests followed, but what else was he to do if she wished to forgo etiquette and barge into his house as if she owned the place?

As the door opened and Cassius caught his first sight of her in two weeks, the last time being when they'd exchanged harsh words, he felt every nerve in his body come alive. His skin pulled taut over his bones, his breath caught in his lungs.

She was in a beautiful gown of a deep blue hue, it complimented the unblemished smoothness of her skin and the rich darkness of her hair.

God. He did not have the fortitude to deal with her right now.

"Ah, Cecily," she smiled at Miss Sherrill with evident venom in her tone. Clearly, that was a rivalry that Daphne had not left behind. "It has simply been ages."

"Lady Whittaker," Miss Sherrill replied, her demeanor suddenly shifting to meekness when she had been outspoken just moments before. Her face was pale, her posture nervous and unsure. "These....these are not calling hours."

"Well, it's a good thing I am only calling on the residents of this house and not whatever hangers-on happen to be here, hmm? Be a dear and go down to the kitchen and ask for some tea, won't you?"

Cassius felt a vindictive sort of glee when Miss Sherrill stiffened in outrage at the dismissal.

"It is not your place to ask me such a thing. I am not a servant," she ground out in protest as Daphne lifted an insolent eyebrow.

"Aren't you? You were an employee of the Earl while the Countess was living. Now....you don't have even that. Living on the Earl's largesse, one might think you would act with a little more humility in his presence. But forgetting your place seems to be a habit for you. Do take care, you know how precarious the position of a useless charity case can be."

Whatever veiled threat Daphne had just made had its intended impact. Cecily turned white as a ghost, suddenly unable to even look at anyone in the eye. She seemed damn near close to tears!

Once again Cassius was shocked by just how mean Daphne could be. It was like she knew just what words would cut a person down to their very base selves. A quality he abhorred.

And yet his heart squeezed in his chest. Envious that she had the guts, the sheer audacity to say the things he had only been thinking. That she was always so unapologetically herself, never caring who she offended or how it made her appear. And for some reason, it always seemed to be something that people loved about her. Something they found irresistibly charming instead of rude.

Once Miss Sherrill had ambled out of his study, she turned her gaze to him.

And he was all too aware that they were alone, with the door closed. Her attention was solely on him now, and along with it came the unbearable attraction he felt for her. As always, her every exquisite feature came into sharper focus, so beautiful he wondered for the umpteenth time how she could possibly be real.

He was feeling a headache coming on.

"You must stop letting these people run rod shod over you, Pembroke. You will never be seen as the authority figure in regards to Honoria otherwise. I am sure my aunt writes you every day to remind you of all the things you are likely doing wrong."

He gaped at her in surprise.

"I knew it! That woman just needs an excuse to feel superior," she held out her hand expectantly. "Give them here."

"Is there anything I can help you with?" He asked tiredly even as he reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick wad of missives and handed them to her. And then promptly cried out in astonishment as she tossed them into the fire.

"There we are," she nodded in a self-satisfied manner. "Now come with me to the library. I am here to rescue you."

"What did you just do with my letters?!"

"I put them where they belong, Cassius," she turned back and faced him, expression solemn. "You get to decide what happens to Honoria."

"I...but they.... I don't know what I am doing!"

"Do you love your daughter?"

"Of course I do! What kind of question is that?" His head was spinning. This is what she always did to him, made his brain go spinning out of control. Hurricane Daphne.

"Do you want what is best for her?"

"Yes. She is everything to me."

"Will you willingly do anything that would harm her or hurt her?"

"Never!" He protested, offended that she would even ask. And then suddenly she was too close. He couldn't breathe without inhaling that intoxicating scent of jasmine. She patted his face softly. He shivered at the meager contact.

"Then trust yourself. You two just need to find your middle ground. That will take time. Stop letting them interfere."

Cassius swallowed thickly, his throat stinging too much to form a response. He just wordlessly followed her to the library, where she pulled up two chairs and brought out his chess set.

"Sit. Take off your waistcoat if you like, undo your cravat. You're done with dinner, I presume? Then you just have bed after this."

"I am not undressing in front of you!" He hissed, his body hot all over, jolting as her hands propelled him into the chair.

"Don't worry, Pembroke," she winked at him suggestively. "I won't ravish you....not tonight, anyway."

If he hadn't been hard before, he was now. Christ, how disgusting he was, his mind knew all the myriad reasons she was not for him. All the reasons he should not find her attractive, but his base nature always overruled his common sense.

"You suddenly seem to have ample time in the evening. George Upton not keeping you adequately busy?" He asked defensively as she poured him a glass of his own port and then helped herself to one. Her eyes snapped to his in surprise, before softening into a look of pure, unadulterated smugness.

"Why, have you been watching me, Pembroke?" She looked up at him from under her lashes. His face heated in mortification. He had not meant to. It was just that he could not help himself from gazing at her house again and again. Wondering what she was doing. Who she was doing it with.

"It's hard to miss. Your home can be seen from my office."

"Oh don't try and backtrack now, Pembroke," she wagged a finger at him as she set up the pieces on her board. "You can tell me you fancy me."

And be among the droves and droves of fools who lay themselves at her feet?

"I'll be white," he said, ignoring her statement but she laughed at his deflection. She did not say anything more, allowing the game to commence as they made their opening moves.

They played in silence for a while, the tension in Cassius' body finally waning, the drink making him feel a pleasant buzz. He loved getting lost in the strategy, the movements of the pieces on the board. It was still his favorite damn activity.

"I am sorry," he broke the silence, speaking before he even knew what he was going to say. She raised her eyes at him, a questioning eyebrow raised. "For what I said. At your house. It wasn't right of me, I know it hurt you. Forgive me."

She stared at him in silence for a minute, her expression devoid of the typical flirtatious mischief he was so used to seeing on it. And then she nodded in thanks and made her next move.