Bly’s body, still dripping from his swim, levered over hers, cooling her warm skin. She gave a satisfied sigh as his hair dripped over her face like a soft spring shower over the moors. His lips slanted over hers and she lost herself to the kiss, still half-asleep, certain she was dreaming.
“Hello,” he whispered, his hands tenderly framing her face. “How are you?”
She took a deep breath before opening her eyes, bracing herself for the vivid colors of another world. India was just as he had always described. No saffron yellow, teal, or magenta awaited her, only the familiar hazel that made her heart squeeze.
Clara ran her fingers through his wet hair, the water drops running down her arms in rivulets. “Better now. Kiss me again,” she said with a coquettish smile, her voice still rough from sleep.
When he teased her lips apart with a wicked sweep of his tongue, she knew it was not a dream. Time lost its meaning as he kissed her, one caress melting into another, until her lips were swollen and the carved ceiling overhead spun from his languid assault.
Bly traveled his hands down her body, covering her curves and dips as if he were reading a well-studied map, continuing his path even as she stirred beneath him, an impious lament escaping her lips. His thumbs hooked under the hem of her chemise before his hands journeyed back up her torso, exposing her growing stomach.
“And how are you?” he asked, pressing a trail of kisses over the rounded flesh. The baby gave an answering kick to his touch in her womb. Clara smiled to herself, listening to Bly tell their unborn child of how Rhys tamed an elephant that afternoon, while she had slept off the worst of the afternoon heat.
“I hope you aren’t letting him bring that creature home.”
Bly pushed back, resting on his knees as he gave her a roguish wink. The warm breeze stirred the netting around their bed, billowing as if they were floating in the clouds.
“I could be persuaded to change my mind.”
She laughed, shifting up to her elbows, drinking in the sight of her wet, half-naked husband. “Devil,” she breathed, as he bent back down and pushed her chemise up further. In one delicious stroke of his tongue, he traced the script etched into her fair skin, curving over her ribcage under her left breast. Jaaneman. Soul of me.
“I was sent to fetch you,” he whispered into her ear. As if she hadn’t suffered enough from his touch, Bly tugged at her earlobe before his lips moved down the line of her neck and settled at the freckle at the hollow of her throat. “I believe it’s time for cake.”
“How is the birthday boy?”
A chorus of shrieks floated through the open room, and then the ripple of laughter. “Bloody hell, this is high,” a boy’s voice yelled. A splash followed.
Bly and Clara laughed, even as she shook her head, her fingers tapping against his back. “He learned that from you,” she scolded.
“His mother has been known to curse from time to time.”
“Never,” she said, sitting up, pressing her lips to his forehead. “A lady never curses.”
“Who said anything about her being proper? I have it on good authority that she’s strayed under someone’s influence.” He took a hungry nip at her neck, his lips still cool as they traveled to her bare shoulder.
She framed his face between her hands—that beautifully scarred face, feeling herself fall into the depths of his eyes. Words were no longer sufficient to express her feelings. They had been buried instead inside her heart since the day she met him. From time to time, with each beat, her body echoed: He will find you. He will love you. You will learn to live.
“Oh, how I love you,” she whispered. Those meager words would have to do for present.
Bly helped her dress and led her outside onto their balcony overlooking the pond, the vermilion sun filling the early evening sky. Above the lush top of the jungle, beyond in the hazy distance, loomed the Raja’s palace, its extravagant gilded temple spreading a blinding beacon of gold over the jungle landscape.
Minnie swung from a rope as James, Rhys, and Theo splashed each other in the tepid water of the small pond. Grace was perched on the toppled stone Buddha head, stringing marigolds onto long chains, while the wild bunch carried on. And the elephant, the one their son apparently had tamed, stood in the water with the children, reaching its trunk high into the air and showering them in sprays of water.
The boys cheered on as Minnie reared back into the canopy of the jungle, catapulting herself out of its shade, clutched around a rope. “Huzzah!” she cried, before landing into the water with an unladylike splash.
“We’ll never get them out of the water,” she said to Bly, laughing as he shooed away a pesky monkey from the railing in front of their room.
“I can try.” He let go of her hand and jumped the balustrade, landing into the water below to the boisterous cheers of the children. He swam out to the boys with long sweeps of his arms, slicing the water with ease. Clara’s heart ached a bit more as he roared and grabbed Rhys and Theo under each of his arms, hauling them to shore. “Time for cake,” he yelled over their laughs. The others dutifully followed as one did when such sweet confections were offered.
“I made this for you, Mama,” Grace said, holding out a necklace of marigolds as Clara walked down the stairs, and stepped into the garden.
And their son—her baby was no longer a baby, but a boy. His skin was tanned like his father’s, his hair still refusing to lay flat on top his head. Rhys grinned at her, one of his front teeth missing, as he pretended to take a swipe at the melting frosting. Clara shook her head, fighting back a smile. He had perfected the same cheeky wink as Bly, too.
James pulled a chair out for Clara, as Theo barreled between Grace and Rhys to take his seat. The three monkeys were inseparable. When everyone had a spot at the table, Clara began singing, ushering a jolly chorus that erupted in cheers as Rhys blew out his candles.
Bly leaned over her, handing Rhys a piece of cake. “Clara, love?” he whispered into her ear.
“Hmm?”
His lips brushed her ear as he stretched out his hand and laced his fingers with her hers resting above her heart.
“Thank you.”
* * *
Thank you for reading ETIQUETTE WITH THE DEVIL! I hope you loved Clara and Bly.
Did you fall in love with Isaac Barnes? He has a new novella, THE DUKE’S IMPROPER BRIDE, releasing on October 17, 2019. You can pre-order now.
Not ready to say goodbye to the Ravensdale family? Find out what happens next when Minnie runs away from finishing school to team up with the charming Irish pickpocket, Alex Marwick in A PROPER SCANDAL. And read on for a sneak peek.
For the latest on new releases and exclusive content, sign up for my newsletter.

A Proper Scandal
They were faster than they looked—much.
Alex peeked over his shoulder, swatting away the line of laundry as he dashed through the alleyway. A petticoat stuck to his front, nearly taking off his cap as he tried to fling it off. His lungs burned as he took another corner, waiting for the sound of the chase to fade away. They were persistent, he’d give them that.
“Marwick!”
He’d come to hate the name he’d given himself. Though if he hadn’t stolen that silver platter from the shopkeeper this morning, maybe he wouldn’t be running blindly through the chaotic traffic of Whitechapel Street right now.
A carriage narrowly missed barreling into him, threatening to flatten him in the street. He missed one and barely escaped a second.
“Marwick! You filthy mick bastard. Mr. Davoren will hear of this, you’ll be sure of that, you will.” The man’s voice got lost in the street noise, carried only to Alex over the fetid air of factories and tenements.
Alex stumbled backward, scrambling for footing. The world was loud today, everything out of order, and yet he felt as though he could knock the city on its feet given the chance. He coyly jumped around the rear of a meat wagon and held on to its rails as it continue
d on its way.
His breathing even though his heart still raced, Alex jumped off at the next intersection, finding a corner to lean against and gather himself. The trouble would have been worth it if he hadn’t been caught. Instead the silver platter had been taken back and his pockets were all the more empty for it. That’s what happened when he caved to his hunger. His eyes became greedy. He wiped the blood from his lip and cheek, peering down the street. Little spoke of life this early spring day. The city was drab, the colors of his childhood. They spoke of the same misery. Almost.
And then there was a sight that nearly knocked him on his arse.
It was as if Heaven opened its gates and an angel had descended to walk among the filthy sinners of Whitechapel. A well-dressed angel who could put food in Alex’s stomach.
He pressed tighter against the brick façade of a butcher shop, his cap pulled low as he studied the girl. The fancy feathers on her hat stood tall, waving to passersby as if to declare: I have deep pockets. Her silk dress, livelier than the half-dead blooms of the flower sellers, was far too fine for an unaccompanied girl in this part of the city. Her boots were well-polished, free of holes and not worn from work. No doubt, she was a lady through and through.
If she was an angel, then Alex was the devil himself, pushing off the wall to trail behind. She was an easy target, a lamb in the company of prowling wolves. He hadn’t been the only one to notice, either. A stout man elbowed through the crowd, shouting after her.
The girl startled, dropping the handkerchief clutched in her hand. She bent to retrieve it, jostled by the others around her on the busy street. Alex shouldered through the crowd until he was near enough to fetch it for her, his hand ready to snatch the chatelaine at her dress’s waist, before her eyes met his.
He sucked in a breath, struck. Men like Alex were meant for the shadows, not to be seen, certainly not to be studied as she did now. Two hazel orbs remained fixed on him, wide with fear and comprehension. She blinked and broke the moment, sprinting for a narrow alleyway in search of an escape. The bird wouldn’t find a way out, only empty pockets and torn petticoats. Cries for help had a way of falling upon deaf ears in this part of the city.
Feckin’ eejit. She’d get herself killed.
It’d be best to turn around. He had a mission here in London and he’d get nowhere if he went and landed himself in more trouble. But with her retreating figure and the last glimpse of that bright dress of hers, he followed. It was easy to keep pace with a drunk and a girl weighed down with heavy skirts. To her credit, she was handling the situation brilliantly, if not for the last turn into a dead end.
Alex skidded to a stop and peeked around the corner as the girl drew back a blue bag and struck her assailant. The stout man faltered a step, but it was no use. A taller man emerged from the shadowed doorway holding a rag. The men hadn’t seen Alex. He could slip away, search for another to pickpocket. He was a bastard for thinking so, especially when the rag was likely covered in ether.
“Let her go,” he said, stepping out from the around the corner. He clenched his sore fists as the shorter man drew a knife. Today was not going in Alex’s favor, not that they often ever did.
She struggled in the taller man’s firm grasp, fighting against the rag meant to knock her out, until she spotted Alex. Her body went slack. He hoped she was holding her breath or she’d be down like a bag of bricks soon, none the wiser to the rest of the world.
The taller man dropped the rag, stepped forward, wiping his arm across his face, and then spat. “Bugger off.” He pulled the bag from her hand and a blade from his boot, waving it toward Alex.
He pushed up the worn sleeves of his coat and flexed his dirty fingers. “You’re in the company of a lady. Mind your tongue. And your hands.” Alex edged forward, raising his arms and eying the girl’s bag. It would be nice to have money lining his pockets for once. Maybe a warm meal, too.
“Back off,” the drunk threatened, his words slurred. “We found her. She’s ours.”
“All of her.” The taller man circled her with a keen eye.
She tilted her head and mumbled to the men, her words too quiet. Whatever they were, they weren’t appreciated. The drunk dragged her into a tight hold and drew a blade against her throat. A small stream of blood trickled down the column of her neck, staining the lace collar of her dress.
Alex charged forward, catching the taller man by surprise with a fist under his chin. The man’s head snapped back, he wavered, then crumpled to the ground. Alex reached around and pried the blade from the others man’s hand, saving the girl from having her neck slit open, then shoved her aside.
She scurried over to her bag, as Alex circled the second man. For a drunk, he had a stubborn hold of the ground.
“Well, hit him!” She flung her hands out into the air, flapping like a bird about to take flight. The weight of the bag almost toppled her as it swung back and knocked against her small waist.
He never saw the drunk barreling forward until he slammed Alex to the ground. The air rushed from his lungs as he collided against the cobbled alleyway. The man was saying something above him, but the words weren’t registering over the ringing in his ears.
The man settled above him, snarling, his face as red as a tart’s lips. Jagged metal scraped against his neck. Alex’s stomach churned at the man’s foul breath, trying to work out how best to escape with his head still attached. Then the man’s eyes widened and he collapsed onto Alex, as the blue bag swung overhead.
The girl rolled the man off Alex with a shove, standing there with a smug smile. “Well,” she said, offering a hand to help him up.
He stared at the dark blood dripping down the flawless, clean skin of her neck. This was no place for a girl like her. He ignored her hand and stood on his own. “Come on,” Alex said, walking to the brick wall at the end of the alley, side-stepping the fetid puddles. If he saw her to safety, then he could try nicking her purse as reward for his efforts without having to behave like a complete cad.
“I’m not lost,” she said, staring steadfast into his eyes.
Alex pulled his cap lower and stepped back. “They’re going to wake up soon,” he said, scaling the drain pipe. “I wouldn’t be around when they do.”
The girl paused, considering him.
“They’ll strip you bare and leave you dead in the gutter.” He rubbed at the ache throbbing at the back of his head.
“I’m not daft.” She walked closer, her eyes fixed on the fallen men, her lips curled in disgust. “I’m—”
“—Stubborn.”
She kicked one of the men in the gut with her polished boot. “No. I’m finished now.” The girl clapped her hands together as if she were dismissing the whole mess. “If you would show me a way to escape, I’d be thankful.”
* * *
The man waved for her to scale the wall and follow. Minnie took no caution in guarding her annoyed glare. She didn’t appreciate his herding her around like a wayward sheep.
“Give that to me,” he said, reaching down for her bag as she struggled with the weight of her skirts to shimmy up the drain pipe.
“You could run off with it and leave me with nothing.”
“It’s possible.” He leaned closer, his weight divided over the narrow brick wall. “Except I just saved you from those brutes. Have a bit of faith, yeah?”
“I don’t need rescuing,” she bristled back, holding the bag out of his reach. Let him lean forward and fall if he wished to wrestle it free. Minnie hadn’t run away to be ordered around by a complete stranger. She was ordered around by every other person in her life all ready.
“I thought you’d say something to that effect.”
She swiped her gloved hand over her throat, feeling the fresh sting of a scratch. Her hand returned red, stained with enough blood to signify it more than a scratch. When she started this morning, everything seemed possible. She had London in her hands and her dream of dancing finally within her grasp. Except the day was growing lat
e and what she thought had been a few wrong turns had turned into her being thoroughly lost and nearly mugged.
For the niece of an adventurer, she should be better with directions.
The man lifted an eyebrow as if to declare: you’re foolish and need me. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of carrying on like the rest of the girls her age. Minnie Ravensdale was made of stronger stock. So instead, she lowered her hand and smiled back at the man, defiant.
“There he is! Marwick!” a man shouted from the opposite end of the alley. “And look, he’s got that chit with him.” Behind him, a pack of hooligans gathered, their eyes hungry as if she were a Sunday roast.
With a nervous swallow, Minnie shoved her bag into the stranger’s hand. “We can go now.” She scrambled up the drain pipe without an ounce of grace, looking over her shoulder as the group climbed to their feet and rushed forward. With a wave of her bloodied glove, she smiled, laughing as her taunt provoked them closer.
Her rescuer, if he proved himself as such, tugged hard on her boot and cut her taunting short. Minnie lost her balance and toppled over the wall.
He tensed as she landed into his arms. “Do you want to die?” he asked, holding her tight against his rough coat.
She gazed up at him, the world swirling around her. “No.” She thought to say more, but she was lost at repeating his words, the lulling cadence causing a smile as they passed over her lips.
He stared down at her, blue eyes dark and burning as if she had just attacked him in the alley. “You’re well on your way today.” As quickly as they settled into the quiet moment, he dropped her feet and righted her. “Right, let’s go.” Before she could answer, he grabbed her bag and wrist, then led them forward into the maze of dark alleys ahead. They weaved in and out of the crowds, dodged behind lines of drying laundry, ducked into shops—anything to put distance between themselves and the thugs.
Etiquette with the Devil Page 32