Chapter Sixty-Three
The duchess’s footman, Sniggly, came out of her room, well calloused, by this time, to the degradations to which she subjected him. Just turning the bend of the corridor could be seen Rosella’s ankle, before it vanished. When he saw it, blossoms burst forth in his heart. If only he were a knight, and not a pawn. If only she could see him, and he were somebody to be seen. If that ankle boiled him in such ecstasy, what, he wondered, would the totality of her naked body do to him? Besides being struck permanently blind, he would disintegrate into steam, he figured, but wouldn’t it be worth it!
Rosella was walking and laughing with Enid and Genevra. They reached their door, and while Genevra unlocked it, Glen, walking to his room, saw them. Enid’s neck turned and their eyes collided—without a word being spoken, he read what was happening, what those three women were intent on doing with each other once they’d closed that door behind them, and Enid did nothing to disguise the twisted snarl of lust on her lips. They disappeared, the door closed with a fateful click, and Glen was shorn clear through with a scimitar of envy.