He's a little taken aback by her comment. To his surprise she has hit at the heart of him, or at least at his most compulsive vice. But the momentary loss of ground (well done, it rarely happens to him these days!) manifests only as brief puzzlement in his dark blue eyes. He must be a fascinating picture for someone like Verity, and perhaps she can see all the cogs and wheels turning in him all the time; how so much of his easy smile and blunt personality are the product of constant measuring and calculation. If only he knew that she knew. Iago might ask if she could appreciate the effort and the art of it all.

And it's odd to say what he will be here. Much of his deception comes so easily because the roles he played where he comes from are so definite and were mostly pre-written for him; class, rank, profession, spouse... Who knows what he might become, or what may be exposed here? It's harder to lie with nothing to play against, in a place where no one makes any real assumptions of anything about you. But baby steps. Iago talks a lot, but he couldn't articulate any of that right now.

He continues to scratch Bobbi under the chin as he talks. "My dear lady, of course. So should all good souls believe. One needn't find pleasure in the wounding of your heart's dear." One needn't, but one may, he does not add. "I meant rather some night's indulgence--an over-liberal taking of libation, to become too good a friend to one's cup of wine. Or else a little lechery, with some other sinner who seeks the same sport."