Cassio was concerned about Emilia, yes, but it seemed that even more than that, he wanted to know that which was not his business. What had occurred between Iago and Emilia was a hidden knowledge that Iago would not disclose to anyone; it was a secret that was to stay between the two of them forever… Or at least, it had been, until Emilia had let the truth spill from her beautiful, treacherous lips. There was no way to undo it, now that it had been done, and Iago knew that keeping secrets was no longer a choice. The truth would out one way or another, for Emilia knew, and Othello knew, and thus it was no longer in Iago's hands.
"Emilia… 'Horribly grieved'," Iago murmured in absent echo, his tone grave. With the grim realization of one tremendous debtor, he lifted his gaze heavenward. "And for my sake?" He shook his head slowly, and sounding very near to grief himself, sighed, "Dear Emilia." It felt odd on his tongue to call his wife 'dear' aloud. He disregarded it and looked sheepishly toward Cassio.
"In good troth, lieutenant, I… I do not think you should like to hear what has happ'd between my wife and I," Iago said tiredly and ashamedly, casting his gaze upon the ground. "It is...terribly unfortunate, and I do not like to think of it, let alone speak of it. Spare me, my friend...do not put me to it, I beg of you. I think that you, upon hearing the truth, would think me a villain-and if you did, I would not blame you. Faith, you would be a villain yourself if you did not recognize me as such." He sighed again, and pressed his fingers to his forehead. "Do not torture me so much as to bid me relate such foul and unhappy happenings, lieutenant sir, if you be my honest friend… If you do, then you take delight in my pain, and friend you are none."