Free The Secrets of Casanova by Greg Michaels

others laugh—not by coarse or vulgar means but with wit and artfulness, from a joyful observation of humankind.”
    Dominique poured herself another glass and clinked the bottle against his.
    Jacques continued. “In seduction, I’d like to believe I’ve never been calculated; I feel that would imply a cold detachment. I have been meticulous on occasion. Sometimes that’s required, and it’s certainly in my nature. Improvisational, too. One must be able to improvise.” He put his glass to mouth but took it away before drinking. “It goes without saying, a successful seduction must end with physical proof. Consummation.”
    Dominique’s face flushed.
    “So,” Jacques added, “when first meeting a woman I wish to have, I allow her physical and emotional impression to work upon me. I want her magic to inspire me. I guess her dreams and desires and attempt to achieve my aim through the direct attentions I pay her. Not words. Words alone are a fool’s game. When I haven’t the leisure to pay her my attention, I present an appropriate gift, maybe a chemise, some lace, cambric for handkerchiefs, dimity for petticoats, sometimes something golden. Gold, you see, is a powerful god who can often perform miracles. What I’m saying is that a well-conceived gift is visible evidence I’ve meditated on her person. I’ve listened to her, then revived her in my thoughts in order to select the perfect bauble. A woman’s nature dictates she be foremost in a man’s thoughts and heart.”
    Jacques drank the remainder of his wine. “When all is said and done, time is truly the most valuable commodity we share with another human on this earth. This is the significance of the gift—which lends itself to, but does not guarantee, a seduction.”
    “But, monsieur,” she pouted, “just this morning you seduced me without a single gift. What does that say?”
    “I seduced you, madame? I believe you seduced me.”
    “Rascal. Why on earth would I seduce you?”
    “ Nitimur in vetitum semper cupimusque negata . ‘We ever strive for what is forbidden and desire what we are denied.’ Ovid.”
    Dominique blew a tress of hair from her face. “If it’s true I lured you, why would I do so?”
    “Reputation, of course—my reputation.”
    “As a libertine?”
    “Yes.”
    “In the beginning, Francesco called you ‘the chaste.’ I actually took him seriously then.”
    Jacques lips curled upward.
    “Francesco, of course, is not easy to read. When I confessed that I’d misunderstood his irony, he confirmed in great detail your dissolute manner. I began to form an image of you in my mind’s eye. My imagination fired my desire. I’d never known a man who was a lover, a lover of many. A man …” Her voice began to falter. She spoke low. “A man who—”
    Jacques lifted Dominique’s arm and gently flapped the bed sheet so it billowed between the bedposts.
    “Reputation, reputation, reputation,” he repeated as the cool sheet molded over their forms and faces. Jacques spoke softly beneath the sheet. “Before I ever arrived here, I knew Francesco would tell you of my past, glorious and galling as it may be. Your husband is, after all, a younger brother who looks for my lead, who admires my exploits—although he’ll most likely never admit to it, even to himself. I felt then you might be tempted to discover—or rather uncover—my nature for yourself. Is that true?”
    “You and Francesco are indeed fruits of different vines.” Dominique’s laughter carried through the sunlit room. “It appears that when I have the purple grape, I prefer the green grape; when I possess the green grape, I want purple.”
    “Fickleness,” Jacques hooted. “Grapes! Madame Tigress is not to be contented then?”
    “Contented? Contented, Monsieur Jacques Casanova? Let me put a stop to this bloated conversation in a language you will clearly understand. Il cazzo non vuole pensieri. ‘The prick does not want to think,’ is that not so? But