Etiquette With The Devil

Etiquette With The Devil by Rebecca Paula Page B

Book: Etiquette With The Devil by Rebecca Paula Read Free Book Online
Authors: Rebecca Paula
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Historical Romance
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cold was fast to set in. Blast! Would she ever be warm in this house? “What did you do?” she repeated, her voice low and as threatening as she could manage between chattering teeth.
    Mr. Ravensdale removed the cigar from his lips and choked back another laugh at the sight of her. “It’s sugar water, not poison. It’ll help heal the gash on your head from your… fall . Since you won’t let me stitch—”
    “Mr. Ravensdale, I believe you can understand my apprehension, as you are no doctor.” The line of his jaw tightened. “ Sir. ”
    She held his stare, even as she wanted to melt into the floor and leave the day behind her. He raised a brow finally, coming out of his trance. There was the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. It was neither jaded nor earnest; it was entirely of its own kind. Clara could not look away.
    “Why, this one time when we were in Persia, Ravensdale—” Mr. Barnes began.
    “Let her think what she wishes.”
    Clara swallowed, growing weary under his calculating glare. If he knew her to be lying, there was no knowing what would happen. Would he press her for the truth? Would she have to run again if he interfered?
    “It’s her head.” He shoved open the kitchen doors with both arms and stalked away into the night.
    Clara’s chest tightened in response to Mr. Ravensdale’s hasty exit, giving her the urge to follow. Why she would ever want to follow that man, she’d never know, but she did just then.
    “Would you like a drink?” Mr. Barnes asked when she turned from the opened doors. The night air felt especially brisk as she stood in the middle of the kitchen, wet and shaking.
    He studied the empty glass in his hand, his brows drawn in concentration as he tried to fill it with brandy in a shaky dance. When it seemed like an impossible pairing, Mr. Barnes took a swig from the bottle itself and, wearing a satisfied grin, held it out to Clara.
    Forget escape. Clara had landed herself in a madhouse.

C HAPTER F OUR
    I n the quiet privacy of the park, Clara peeled off the layers of propriety for a few minutes of freedom. Hair down, no bonnet or parasol to protect her skin from being unfashionably sun kissed, no gloves or boots. Only another horrid dress of hers and bare feet, wickedly indecent, certainly improper. It was perfection.
    And to add to that glory, she was far from the irritating Mr. Ravensdale, perfection indeed.
    The sun above warmed her, casting flicking shadows through her closed eyelids as she laid in the tall golden grass of an abandoned garden in the park. Grace tumbled down beside her, mumbling. The babe was always mumbling.
    The pair had been out a while and Clara no longer felt certain the two men could manage the older children. Her concern was not necessarily for James, but she was worried for Minnie, who seemed to need everyone’s attention. For all Clara could guess, Minnie was dancing on the furniture or leaping through the halls. Since she was so poorly coordinated, it was a danger indeed. She saw a lot of turned ankles and bruises in her future where Minnie was concerned.
    “I think we should return, Grace. Would you like to see your uncle?”
    “No,” the girl answered flatly, plucking another handful of grass.
    “I don’t wish to see him either,” Clara said with a laugh. “But I fear we must.” And she meant that sentiment, truly. Clara’s employer unsettled her. They got on quite poorly, in fact, even in just three days’ time. It was always a battle: he, charming yet chiding; she, haughty and distant.
    Clara righted herself, the picture of the gloomy governess once more. “Let’s gather some flowers for your sister.”
    Grace looked up with a hearty grin, ambled to Clara’s side and latched onto her hand. Little by little, they walked toward the house, plucking flowers as Clara helped Grace recite her letters. She lifted the toddler to her hip and brushed the tangle of crimson curls away from Grace’s face as they reached the

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