Good Godwin! (AFL, Round 3)

In which Damien proposes a rather radical arrangement...

A lesson in seduction goes dramatically awry, leaving Patience to wonder if she might never lay claim to Damien's heart. Could Patience be tempted to accommodate her husband's unorthodox proposal in the hopes he might someday learn to love her alone?

"That preening popinjay is her cousin."

Damien frowned. He had burst into the library to find his friend standing at the window, a book in one hand and a squirming ball of fur in the other.

"What?" he barked.

"Snydley. He's just leaving, by the way. Out the front door no less." Jonathan indicated with an incline of the head.

Damien was possessed by the need to kick something. He looked down. A basket of wriggly kits lay at his feet, presided over by the imperious Penelope. Yet another wholly natural urge frustrated by that foul-tempered feline.

"He was at your wedding," Jonathan continued, tossing Damien the Debrett's. "I've only just remembered. And because I thought it damned odd it occurred to me he might be related to your charming wife."

Damien stared at the volume in his hands.

"Chin up, old man," Jonathan chided, dragging his fingers through the purring mass of white fuzz. "You're no cuckold after all."

"Perhaps," Damien countered, "But in her eyes I remain a dupe. Indeed, I'm not entirely sure which is worse."

Jonathan was clearly tempted to answer, but appeared to think better of it.

"Still," Damien mused, "Such a misapprehension on her part might be turned to my advantage." With the toe of a polished boot, Damien threatened to upset the kitten-filled basket. "I may yet reclaim the upper hand."

Penelope hissed and lashed out at the fine leather encasing his ankle. He withdrew at the fierceness of the lunge, but not before the cat had left her mark.

"Oh dear," Jonathan sighed, flinging himself into a wingback and pitching a leg over its arm. He brought the kitten before his face and addressed it eye to eye. "It seems your grandpapa has a plan."

***

Patience turned the key in the lock on her bedroom door.

"There," she smiled. "Now we're sure to remain undisturbed."

She turned to face her cousin who was presently peering through the drapes of a window overlooking the garden.

"Come away from there, you coot," she teased. "I told you, he's overseeing the removal of his things from his bachelor apartments. Has been since the day he spoiled my fun and announced to le tout ton my true identity."

Snydley scowled. "This is damned awkward, Patience. I am still baffled as to how you persuaded me to assist you in such an absurd endeavor. I think you will agree that I have already gone above and beyond any reasonable call of duty."

She crossed to the bed and perched on its edge.

"Oh, come now, Arthur. You do want to see me happy, don't you? Hm? Now, no more dithering." She patted the spot next to her. "I require seducing."

"Indeed, dear cousin. You do," Snydley drawled. "I say, it's some wonder as to why that husband of yours needs any prompting at all. Tell me, are you certain he's quite well?"

"I suppose I shall know definitively in due course, but for the moment I very much need you to concentrate on the task at hand."

She tapped the bed more firmly this time.

With a sigh, Snydley moved towards her.

"Are you sure --"

"Completely. There's absolutely no one else I might ask, and besides, you have by far the greatest wealth of experience upon which to draw, wouldn't you agree?"

"Truly, my knowledge of the fairer sex is without parallel" he conceded, indulging in a little pose against the bed post. "If any man is to teach one how to make oneself more alluring to one's paramour, even if said paramour is as banal as one's husband, it is I."

Patience suppressed a smile.

"But be advised," he continued, "we will speak only in the most general of terms as you require but the most basic guidance. You are already fortunate enough to be naturally gifted with looks and wit, and indeed were I of Lord Byron's ilk, I might be tempted to woo you myself. Now, stand. The bed is not where you start but rather where you end." He took her hand and brought her to her feet. "Of course, that needn't always be the case..."

From beyond the door came the voice of Grimm accompanied by the pounding of Hessians upon the stair.

"My lord. My lord!" the butler called ever more shrilly.

"Silence, Grimm!" Damien boomed. "No matter how long she might have languished in the provinces, she remains my wife and I will not stand for her to entertain any other man above these stairs."

Patience looked at Snydley, then at the door. She shook her head.

The knob turned, and to her horror, without intermediate pause, the lock gave.

There was nothing to be done but to turn the catastrophe to her advantage. Patience grabbed her cousin and in a single movement brought them both down onto the bed. She could never have anticipated what followed, however, for with the force of their landing the bottom seam of the feather mattress ceded, filling the room with a cloud of down.

And then there was silence.

When at last the snowy fill settled, Damien fixed Snydley with a look fit to kill. He raised his chin and with a sweep of his arm indicated the door.

Without further ado, Snydley disentangled himself from the bedclothes and scampered from the room.

Damien closed the door after him then turned the key in the lock. After two revolutions the mechanism shot audibly home. He faced his wife.

"Well, my dear," he quipped. "It seems your level of sophistication far exceeds my imaginings. In your husband's home, before teatime? I must say, that is very modern."

Patience remained abed, but was now upright, and beginning to suspect all her plans were about to go spectacularly awry.

Damien approached and, to her horror, lay down on the bed facing her, his head propped on a hand.

"Be not afraid," he cooed. "Indeed, I cannot tell you how pleased I am with this afternoon's turn of events. It may in fact mean that we are better suited than either of us had dared to hope."

Patience looked into his eyes; they told her nothing.

"No doubt you're familiar with the works of William Godwin?" he continued. "The principles of free love? I must admit my interest in such ideas makes me something of a radical, but I do not see why we cannot come to some arrangement as to the conduct of our extramarital liaisons. Provided, of course, we agree to complete discretion. I can't be expected to challenge one of your lovers to a duel each and every week merely to maintain appearances. Wouldn't you agree?"

Patience could neither agree nor disagree. Her lips parted to answer, yet she seemed to have misplaced her voice. He reached for her and eased her back onto the bed.

"Of course," He raked the back of his hand along the length of her throat. "'Twould be a waste for two such voluptuaries as ourselves to eschew one another's company simply because we happen to be married." He reached her breasts, his breath becoming ever more ragged. Turning his hand over, he trailed his fingertips across the swells.

Patience was growing increasingly muddled. His touch, his voice: she was unsure which was her greater undoing.

Then after what seemed an eternity, he bent to claim a kiss.

In that moment, all reason deserted her, all of what he had proposed became as nothing under the ministrations of his practiced mouth. And when she felt hers open to accept the heat of his tongue, she knew that she was slipping beyond thought into a realm in which senses alone held sway. She moaned as he drew her closer and gasped when with a knee he parted her legs.

It was this last proof of her pleasure that seemed to break whatever spell had held him in thrall. For almost immediately, Damien withdrew from her and heaved himself upright. He appeared dazed, haunted even.

Turning from her he spoke, his voice rough. "I must go. You may come to me in my rooms tonight should you find yourself so inclined. I shall be waiting."

And with that he abruptly rose, and left her, reeling.

***

Just shy of midnight, Patience found herself sitting before her mirror, wondering at the face she saw there. He had kissed those lips, caressed that throat, whispered into that ear.

But what of those whispers. Did he truly wish to be unhindered by any obligation of fidelity? Or was he rather hoping to draw her out? Had he guessed at her ruse? Perhaps it was time to reveal all to him, to put an end to the games.

Patience fixed a look of determination on her face and rose from the chair.

Lifting a candle from the table, she crossed to the door leading to his adjoining room. She rapped gently.

Silence.

Knocking louder this time she listed for some movement from within, a voice bidding her enter. But again, nothing.

At last she turned the knob.

The bed was empty.

Empty, that is, with the exception of Penelope and her brood, purring fit to wake the dead.