I awoke to birdsong, and the soft sighs of June as she slept next to me. The sun shone brightly through the window, and all was right with the world. Lust, whether newly born, or aroused from a deathlike slumber, must always create sunshine, filling the loin so full of radiance, that it overflows upon the outward world.
I gently caressed June’s shoulder until she awoke. I was feeling rather frisky, and so we made merry upon the bed for a time.
“Oh, June,” I said, “You are a glorious woman.”
She smiled bashfully. “You have made me happy, Dennis.”
“And may I continue to do so,” I said, “although I fear your bed has ensnared me.”
“Oh pooh,” she giggled, and walloped me with a pillow. With a roar of false outrage, I held her down and tickled her until she begged me to stop, tears of merriment cascading down her cheeks.
“Oh! Oh oh!” she gasped. “Stop, Dennis, please stop, I beg you, I shall do anything you ask!”
“Anything?” I teased.
“Yes, anyth--what was that?” she said, suddenly alert.
“I heard nothing,” I whispered.
We listened intently. “There!” she whispered. “Do you hear it?”
I did. The most feared and hated sound of all: a tread on the floor below! A moment later, I realised there was a worse sound, for to our aghast ears came the muted murmur of male voices below us.
“My husband!” whispered June in terror.
“Well,” I said, “Last night was highly enjoyable, but I must away. Good day to you, madame,” and gathering up my clothes, I made for the stairs.
But O! What tragedy was this? I could hear the creak of nail on wood as a man’s shoe trod upon the lowest step!
Trapped, damn my eyes!
I hurried back to the bedroom. “Your husband comes to greet us and commend us on such a vigorous night of field tilling.”
“Oh God,” she moaned in terror.
“June!” came the cry up the stairs. “Does your lazy rump still lie abed?”
“Behind the door,” she whispered, gesturing frantically.
Seeing immediately what she was about, I quickly sprang behind the open door. The cold brute who dared to call himself my angel’s husband strode into the room not a moment after I had secreted myself. Frowning, he stood just inside the doorway, eyeing his wife carefully, and with extreme inconsideration blocked my escape.
“Why aren’t you up and about, wife?” he asked coldly. “Been teasing the kitty while I was away?”
I nearly reached out and assaulted the dastard for his vulgarity, but restrained myself. June, meanwhile, hurriedly arose from the bed, sheet wrapped about her, and threw her arms around her husband.
“I was…merely trying to surprise you,” she said, with only a very slight touch of desperation.
The Doctor recoiled slightly from her embrace, and said, “Surprised I am--at your indecency. You should cover yourself.”
You damned fool, I thought. If she had any decency, she would go uncovered all day long, looking as she does. Thinking this, I resolved to perform some mischief on the Doctor, perhaps leave some sign that he had been cuckolded. I dare say I doubt he would care if another man made toad in the hole with his wife from a purely natural standpoint, but I imagine his pride would be affronted.
The Doctor turned and called back down the stairs, “Nicholas! Fetch the bags up here, would you? And be quick about it!”
So he would shame his wife in front of a servant, would he? The arrogance of the man! Resolving to listen to my own devils, my hand snaked out while his head was turned and I gave June a firm pinch on her bare buttock. She yelped.
Morgan turned back, startled. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” said June quickly. “I trod upon a nail-head.”
“Oh,” he said dully. I imagine he would not care if she trod upon a bayonet.
“I shall dress, then? While you manage your bags?” she asked hopefully.
Morgan stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then said, “Yes. Yes, I imagine so.” He turned and began descending the stairs.
I hurriedly struggled into my breeches. “You must leave,” said June.
“Madame,” I replied, “Even the promise of more of your sweet kisses could not keep me.” She melted a little as I said this.
From outside I could hear Morgan bellowing at his hapless catamite, Nicholas. Feeling rather daring, I pulled June close to me and gave her a long kiss. Releasing her, I asked, “Is there another way out of here, besides the front door?”
“No, so hurry before--” but before I could descend the stairs and flee, I heard Morgan and Master Nicholas entering, grumbling and straining under the weight of their bags.
“Damn!” I whispered furiously. I placed my hands on her shoulders. “Think, June. Is there any other way out?”
She thought for a moment, then the light of remembrance dawned upon her face. “Yes! The window out Rexford’s study. ‘Tis not high, and there is a shrubbery directly below.”
“Thank you,” I said with feeling, and checking rapidly to ensure I had all my clothes, quickly crossed the hallway to the Doctor’s study.
“June!” Morgan bawled from below. “I am famished! Get down here and make me some breakfast post haste!”
With some urgency, I rammed up the paint-encrusted window. The resulting gap was just large enough for a rather fit young man to shimmy through. I eased my legs through the gateway to freedom. Twisting back towards June, I said, “Adieu, madame mon amour, jai passerai chaque nuit rêvant à votre yeuxl.”
She gave me a pleased, soulful look, and I slung myself out the window.
June was right, there was indeed a privet bush beneath the window. However, she neglected to mention that there was another window betwixt the bush and the study window, this one leading into the kitchen, and as I plummeted to earth I passed before the startled eyes of Doctor Morgan.
For a heartstopping moment, he was transfixed. Luckily I had been wearing my breeches, else he should have gotten a good look at my bare arse. As it was, I efficiently used the seconds he had given me through bafflement to extricate myself from the shrub. As I finished, I heard him bellow from inside the house. “June! Who the devil was that?!”
One of my mottoes is: Never look back. That way they won’t get a good look at your face.
I sprinted across the lawn towards the lane, my bare feet pelting through the sodden grass. Behind me I could hear Morgan charging like a bull out the front door of the cottage, hot in pursuit. Luckily, the lackwitted physician had taken too long to take to the chase, and I soon left him huffing for breath and hollering impotently. “I’ll catch you, you rascal, whoever you are!”
I chuckled to myself as I trotted down the lane. He didn’t even know who I was! I had stuck his wife, squeezed through the window, and outrun the furious husband, and I still left behind no clue as to my identity!
One of my better exits, I must say.
The Life, Times, and Misadventures of Dennis St. Michel, Viscount of Stokington, Soldier, Gambler, Diplomat, Scoundrel, Notorious Rakehell, and Lord of Menacing House, in his Own Words.