I turn the key on the outer door so the sentry cannot come in. Then I go back to the bedroom door, I stand with my back to it, my ears pricked for any noise from the king. I can hear the stertorous sound of his wheezy breath, and a loud wet belch. In the firelight before me, Thomas Culpepper slides his hand inside the throat of her gown, I see her head drop back, resistless, as he touches her breast, she lets him caress her, and she runs her fingers through his curly brown hair, pulling his face down to her bared neck.

I cannot tear my gaze away. It is as I always imagined it, when I used to think of George with his mistress. A pleasure like a knife, desire as pain. He sits on the high-backed chair, and draws her to him. I can see little more than the back of the chair and their silhouettes, dark against the glow of the fire. It is like a dance of desire as he takes her hips and pulls her astride him. I see her fumble with his hose, as he pulls at the ribbons at the front of her gown. They are about to do it as I watch them. They are shameless: me in the same room, and her husband behind the door. They are so wanton and so helpless with their desire that they are about to do it here and now, in front of me.

I hardly dare breathe; I must see everything. The sleeping king’s heavy breathing is matched by their quiet panting, they are moving together, then I see the gleam of her pale thigh as she pulls her nightgown aside, and I hear him groan and I know that she has straddled him and taken him in. I hear a little sigh of desire and it is me, aroused with stolen lust. The chair creaks as she clings to the back and rocks forwards and back on him, her breath is coming fast, he is thrusting up inside her, I hear her start to moan as her pleasure mounts and I am afraid that they will wake the king, but nothing could stop them, not even if he were to wake and shout, not even if he were to try the door and come out; they are tied together by lust, they cannot break free. I feel my own legs weaken with mirrored desire as Katherine’s little cries mount, and I slide down to the floor, to my knees, watching them but seeing George’s desirous face, and his mistress astride him, until Katherine suddenly lets out a gasp and falls to Thomas’ shoulder, at the same moment he groans and grips her, then they both subside.

It feels like a long time before she gives a little murmur and stirs. Culpepper lets her go and she rises from the seat, dropping the hem of her nightgown and smiling back at him as she goes to the fire. He rises from the chair and ties his laces again, then he reaches for her, wraps his arms around her from behind, nuzzles at her neck, her hair. Like a young girl in love for the first time, she turns in his arms and gives him her mouth, she kisses him as if she adores him, she kisses him as if this is a love that will last forever.