Free The Secrets of Casanova by Greg Michaels Page A

for my delight in the days ahead,” she added, “I’ll be pleased to hear of more seductions from you.” With that, Dominique whipped the sheet high, ballooning the canopy of coverlet above her and Jacques.
    Jacques’ face was altogether mock astonishment as he leered at Dominique’s nude body. “Ah,” he gasped. “Is that all for me ?”
     

- 10 -
    THE BED GROANED AS JACQUES SAT UPRIGHT and lowered his feet to the floor. He yawned, stretched, and slipped off his nightcap just as the golden belly of the sun made its appearance in the eastern sky, which meant that, rising earlier than usual, Jacques might find time to answer the stack of letters on the secretary. Wherever he lived—which had been many places—correspondence arrived by post nearly every morning, and he felt a desire to exchange ideas and fond feelings with his friends, as well as the latest gossip of the day.
    He’d adventured throughout the thousand duchies, fiefdoms, and bishoprics of the Holy Roman Empire, the kingdoms of France, England and Italy, throughout Bohemia, Poland, and Switzerland. He’d had extended stays in Spain, Holland, and even Russia.
    Letters he received from royalty, from poets, from philosophers and mountebanks, from ecclesiastics, light women, and chancers were proof of these journeys. He prided himself on his ability to make a legion of acquaintances from many and sundry walks of life.
    Three years was a long time to be on the move, but it seemed clear to Jacques that Paris would once again elevate his fortunes.
    He shook loose his mane of hair, glanced into the sizeable hand mirror he always carried, and sat next to his bed stand, where he saw his previous evening’s study, his doctoral thesis. Hunting beneath it, he found his treatise on the squaring of the cube. He paraded bedside, flipping page after page while morning sunrays snuck into the room, reminding him that his brother was seeing the sunrise from the inside of Fragonard’s coach.
    “Owww.” Jacques dropped his papers, grabbed his foot, and plopped back down on the bed, a splinter from the floor fixed in his toe. He tugged his foot toward his body and removed the annoyance. In that instant, dread returned.
    “The écorchés,” Jacques shuddered, recalling the dream from his far-too-short sleep. He’d danced away the night with a dozen demi-beasts! Each jabbering creature hobbled toward him, slithered its hand into his, and began a chaotic whirl. The nightmare had ended when he’d gazed into the face of the reclining écorché s . He, the serene one, dispelled the phantoms, eased their ghastly rants.
    “Sir,” called a voice from the other side of the door.
    “A moment, Petrine. I’m awake far too early.” Jacques pinched a drip of blood from his toe.
    “I’ve brought your coffee, sir. Are you ready for your toilet?”
    “Yes.” Jacques retrieved his papers from the floor and, after replacing them on the bed stand, rubbed his toe a final time as Petrine entered. “Ah, the obedient valet,” huffed Jacques.
    The Spaniard had a pleasant look on his face, a quality his master appreciated in early morning. Petrine rarely spoke at this hour unless his opinion was requested; for this, Jacques felt absolutely blessed. He had acquired other servants in the past who chattered incessantly and on matters without a grain of substance. Jacques didn’t value idle talk from valets. At least not at sunrise.
    “I will wear the embroidered garters with the gold clasps on my stockings today, Petrine. Also, you may remove those shoe buckles from that case,” he pointed. “I’ll have those.” Jacques stole a look at the jewel box on his toilet table and decided to wear only the sapphire ring. “No periwig today, but powder my hair, if you please.”
    An hour later, Petrine had dressed his master’s hair, shaved him, brought eggs and more coffee, and polished the ever-dirty shoes.
    “It was genius of me to hire a valet who once upon a time was a