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Ophelia instantly regretted asking. She had never brought her children with her to pay a call before, always entrusting them to the care of Alice. But Lord Timothy’s last unexpected visit, coupled with Reggie’s revelation to her, had made her loath to leave them behind.

“It is good of Prestwick to humor them,” she added hastily, hoping her friend wouldn’t read too much into the circumstances.

But Aphrodite gave her a searching look. “He has never shown much interest in children before, but he is being quite attentive to Catherine and Reggie.”

Ophelia reached for her cooling tea, busying herself with taking a sip before responding. “I cannot imagine that you often have children visiting here.”

“True, but we’ve children aplenty amongst our cousins,” Aphrodite countered, her countenance growing pensive. “Did something happen between you and my brother at the house party?”

Something. What a paltry word to describe the electric passion they had shared.

“Not at all,” she fibbed. “Why do you ask?”

“Because he called you Phee the other day,” Aphrodite told her with a pointed look. “And the expression on his face…”

Her heart leapt. Was Apollo as miserable without her as she was without him?

She set her dish of tea down with less elegance than she had intended, making an impolite rattle that seemed to echo in the air. “Plenty of my acquaintances call me Phee.”

“Oh? Strange that I’ve yet to hear one do so.”

“Prestwick delights in giving people pet names,” she added, because that, at least, was true. “He calls you Ro and goose, and he calls his friend, the Duke of Wrighton, Mal.”

“Yes,” Aphrodite agreed slowly. “He does indeed like to call those closest to him by nicknames he has invented.”

Aphrodite swallowed hard, emotion that she had been doing her utmost to tamp down and ignore for the last week rushing over her. She hadn’t expected to see Apollo here.

No. That, too, was a lie. Part of her had been hoping. She had missed him with an aching, soul-searing intensity every day they had been apart.

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting,” she protested, her tone weak, even to her own ears.

Aphrodite sighed. “I think you do know exactly what I’m suggesting, but you’re choosing to pretend you don’t. The both of you are being stubborn, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

She stared at her friend, not knowing what to say. She couldn’t very well admit that she’d fallen in love with Aphrodite’s brother. That they had spent a good portion of the house party naked together. Heat rose to her cheeks at the mere thought. Because it didn’t matter if she was in love with Apollo. He was a young, eligible bachelor who would marry and start a family of his own. Ophelia had fallen for his rakish charm, even though she had known it was only temporary, and despite the fact that she was old enough and wise enough to know better.

“Well?” Aphrodite demanded. “Will you not say something?”

“There is nothing to say.”

“Then I shall say something.” Her friend leaned toward her, blue eyes so like Prestwick’s alight with an emotion she couldn’t define. “I have never seen my brother like this. His moods have been wretched. Having him here the last week has been akin to living with a storm cloud. He’s been surly and downright inimical. I’m never certain if I’m going to be growled at, ignored, or dismissed. And then the moment he sees you in the drawing room, he comes in, pleasant as can be, and sets about charming your children.”

“Perhaps he found them amusing,” she suggested. “The diversion he required.”

“I think he found them to be yours, and that he cares about them as an extension of you,” Aphrodite countered softly.

“I’m not sure I understand what you are saying,” she told her friend, desperation rising.

“He is in love with you,” Aphrodite insisted. “It is plain to see, even if he won’t acknowledge it and despite the fact that you are intent upon pretending you are nothing more than passing acquaintances. The two of you fell in love at that house party, but you’re both too filled with pride to admit it.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled forth from Ophelia’s lips. “He is not in love with me. He is seven years my junior and a notorious rake. No doubt his head is turned by any female caller.”

That was unkind of her, and she regretted the words the moment they left her.

“I can assure you that his head has never been so turned,” her friend insisted.

Ophelia’s heart gave a pang. She wanted to believe that. Oh, how desperately she yearned to. But nothing could come of his interest. She couldn’t openly take a lover. Now more than ever, she couldn’t risk losing Reggie and Catherine to Lord Timothy.

“It doesn’t signify,” she forced out.