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.”
The End
Note to my Readers
I want to thank you, yes you, my lovely reader! I hope you enjoyed ETIQUETTE WITH THE DEVIL. I appreciate the time you took to read my debut and would love to hear what you think. Please consider leaving a review—whether on Goodreads or wherever you prefer. Reviews help other readers discover new books and help us authors, too!
If you’d like to hear more about my new releases, please consider signing up for my newsletter. I’d love to hear from you, too. You can connect with me on Twitter @beckapaula or on Facebook. And you can visit my website to learn more about my New Adult and historical romances.
If you enjoyed ETIQUETTE WITH THE DEVIL, keep reading for a sneak peek of the second book in the Ravensdale series, A PROPER SCANDAL, available November 2015.
A PROPER SCANDAL
She has a reputation to ruin…
A wild spirit trapped by Victorian propriety, Minnie Ravensdale runs away from finishing school to pursue her dream of becoming a ballerina. She teams up with charming Irish pickpocket, Alex Marwick, who pretends to be her husband when they rent a room together in an East End brothel. But her new independence is threatened when Alex asks for her help in finding a mysterious society lady. Minnie knows who he seeks, but to offer up the answer would mean sacrificing her freedom and returning to her family a ruined woman.
And he has everything to gain…
Alex must find the mysterious woman who rescued him from a hellish asylum as a young boy. Without her, he is a ghost amongst the living—no identity except for the one he’s made for himself as pickpocket and card cheat. When he spots Minnie lost in the East End, he decides her social connections are the solution to discovering his true identity. But when she flees without supplying answers, Alex chases. They cause a proper scandal from the streets of London to Belle Époque Paris, as the pauper falls madly in love for the ruined lady.
Add it to Goodreads
And now for a sneak peek…
London, 1893
By some small miracle, the forged letter had worked its magic and allowed Minnie this far, but she worried her pretty lies would rot away as the day grew older. She glanced behind her and bit back a smile, hastening down the stone stairs of Miss Martin’s Finishing School. The headmistress glared back, her beady eyes watchful as ever.
Thirty-seven stairs felt more like three miles just then. The coachman waited at the bottom for Minnie, extending a shaky hand to help her into the carriage. She swept her gaze around the interior, satisfied with the blue bag on the floor. It would do the trick nicely. The others on the roof would be a loss, a small sacrifice for the greater cause at hand.
She settled back onto the velvet bench and straightened her skirts before drawing in a deep breath. “Oh,” she cried. Minnie fluttered her hand over her chest, the perfect imitation of ladylike distress. “There should be two bags with me in the carriage.”
The coachman stepped back, his hand on the carriage door. “There were only these by the door, miss.” His bushy white brows slanted downward, adding another crease to the wrinkles crowding his face.
“Silly me.” She forced her eyes to water as if she were overcome with worry. “I must have forgotten one in the hall as I made my goodbyes.” She sighed for good measure. “They were quite rushed you understand.”
If he was annoyed with her faux flightiness, he hid it well. “Of course, miss. Just a moment. Then we will be on our way.”
“Thank you.”
Minnie shifted over the bench seat, scooting closer to the other side of the carriage as soon as he closed the door. She waited a beat, her hand resting on the handle, slowly pulling it down until the latch clicked open, her heart hammering against her chest. She swallowed a premature shout of glee, waiting.
Any day now.
When his foot scuffed against the first granite step up to the school, she closed her eyes and pushed the door open, grabbing the bag at her feet.
She jumped out into the street, creeping around the carriage. Minnie peered around the black lacquer, watching as the coachman approached the miserable schoolmarm. The two spoke at the doorstep, the busy street noise drowning out their exchange.
Go inside, go inside. Go. Inside.
The headmistress nodded, scowling down at the carriage, no doubt intended for Minnie and her incompetence, before the heinous woman followed the coachman inside to search for a bag that didn’t exist.
Minnie shot off, dashing through the city’s foot traffic until she reached the first corner, then broke out into a run. She held her hat as she t
hrew her head back and laughed, watching as the beautiful morning transform into a sacred memory. She had plotted for months and finally she was free of that dreadful school, free to pursue her dreams, free of her uncle’s misguided plans.
Minnie Ravensdale was a proper runaway now.
*
It was as if heaven opened its gates and an angel descended to walk among the pitiful filth of Whitechapel—a well-dressed angel who could put food in his stomach.
Alex leaned against the brick building, his cap pulled low as he studied the girl.
The bright feathers on her hat stood tall, waving to passersbys as if to declare: I have deep pockets, please rob me. Her silk dress, livelier than the blooms the guttersnipes used for begging, was far too fine. Her boots were well-polished, free of holes and not worn from work. And the dainty lace handkerchief she used to mask her face from the soot and stench, remained perfectly starched and white. 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 sheep 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 her handkerchief. She bent to retrieve it, jostled by the others around her on the busy street. Alex pushed through until he was near enough to fetch it for her, his hand ready to snatch the small purse at her dress’s waist, when her eyes met his. He sucked in a breath.
Men like him were meant for the shadows, not to be looked upon. Two hazel orbs remained fixed on him, wide with fear and…something unknown. She blinked and broke the moment, running for a narrow alleyway in search of an escape. The chit 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 London.
Alex at least had the good manners to behave like a gentleman, then rob her; not act like a filthy rutting beast, steeped in gin. 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 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, but he was running from coppers himself.
The metallic flash of a knife blade paused his retreat.
Feckin’ hell. Alex stepped around the corner. “Let her go.”
She struggled in the taller man’s firm hold, 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, then spat. “Bugger off.” He yanked the bag from her hand and a blade from his boot, waving it around.
Alex pushed up the worn sleeves of his coat and flexed his dirty fingers. “Language, good man. You’re in the company of a lady. Mind your manners.” He edged forward, raising his arms in surrender. “Maybe we can come to some arrangement,” he said, 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 for Alex to hear. 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 flowing down the column of her neck, staining the collar of her dress.
There would be only one end if he didn’t move.
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 suitcase, watching 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.
Her voice broke his concentration. He never saw the drunk barreling forward, until Alex slammed into the ground. The air rushed from his lungs as he collided against the cobble street. The man was saying something above him, but the words weren’t registering over the ringing in his ears. He heard the girl’s voice again, but he couldn’t focus his eyes enough to see what had come of her.
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 this muddle with his head still attached. Then the man’s eyes widened and he collapsed over Alex, as the blue bag swung past overhead.
The girl rolled the man off Alex with a shove, standing above with a smug smile. “Well,” she said, offering a hand to help him up.
He stared at the dark blood dripping down her flawless skin. This was no place for a lady. He ignored her hand and stood up on his own. “Right, come on then,” Alex said, walking to the brick wall at the end of the alley. 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 am not lost,” she said, looking steadfast into his eyes.
Her stare made him uncomfortable, so he 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 a gutter.” He rubbed at the ache throbbing at the back of his head.
“I am not daft.” She walked closer, her eyes fixed on the fallen men, her lips curled in disgust. “I am—”
Stubborn, he was about to counter. But she kicked one of the men in the gut with her polished boot. The words fell from Alex’s lips.
“Now, I am ready,” she declared. She 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 did not 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. So, have some faith.”
“I do not 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 affect.”
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. Her demise was closer than she would like to admit.
The man lifted an eyebrow as if to declare: see, you’re foolish ninny and you 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.
“That chit!” a man shouted from the opposite end of the alley. 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 rushed forward. The men on the ground climbed to their feet. 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 of his Irish accent making her smile when 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, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Right, let’s go.”
Before she could answer, he grabbed her bag and her 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.
The stranger finally dragged them behind the cover of some towering crates in an alleyway.
“We’ve lost them. For now.”
Minnie peered around the crates, licking her lips as she struggled to catch her breath. Her hair had come unpinned and her hat was flopped to one side, the satin bow excelling at nearly choking her to death. She tried to right her hat with her shaking hand as the man stood up from resting on his knees, but she stopped as he flashed her a smile. It was too bad the hair beneath his ratty cap was so unnaturally blond and dull. It ruined his handsome constitution.
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