Read Etiquette With The Devil for Free Online

nearly burned down the house and had him sleeping on the floor after her arrival yesterday, he wasn’t sure savior was the right word. Irksome, maybe. At least with her in place as governess, he was one step closer to leaving this trouble, and England, well behind.
    The world beckoned him. That was why he was so restless. It must be. It had to be.
    His world had always been larger than the one lived in by most. He could not settle in one place because his body did not know how. There was always another challenge to conquer, another border to cross, another prize to claim. Then there were the smaller pleasures too—the bottles of whiskey to consume, fine cigars to smoke, the feel of a woman’s body beneath his. He liked having mountains to climb, not ledgers to go over or children to constantly mind after.
    Bly reached into his coat pocket, worn and ragged from years of expeditions, and removed a tarnished silver flask. It was past ten in the morning; drinking was acceptable.
    What did it matter? Barnes was still drunk from yesterday.
    He took a long sip of the burning liquid and walked on toward the village’s center. If the villagers were going to accuse him of being the devil, then he could do his part and give them just cause to call him such a name.
    The Ravensdales paraded into town like circus sideshow freaks—a pirate and ballerina, a toddler on a donkey led by a stumbling Romeo, a prudish governess, and the devil of Burton Hall. The coy stares bothered him. The unguarded gawking of the passersby set his blood boiling. He did not mind on his behalf. He was used to such reactions. But he did mind when it regarded the children. They adored the attention their caravan was receiving. The awed looks were only cloaks for something harsher—village gossip. His only solution was to take another swig of the flask and flash a smile that dared someone to come forward and speak ill about him or his wards. It had been a few months since he flattened a man to the ground with his notorious right hook. He craved the opportunity to do so again.
    A hum filled his ears, soft and sweet. He turned, discovering it was Clara humming in between explaining the different shops to the ever-quizzical Minnie. The girl was going to be like her mother. He couldn’t think of a more fitting punishment for his wicked aunt than to see to her upbringing. Minnie would cause the woman to tear the hair from her head, no doubt.
    He ducked into the next shop, followed by Clara and Minnie. Barnes waited outside with Grace and James. The donkey bayed, calling attention to their entrance. Time seemed to stand still as wide eyes greeted them. A woman gasped and yanked her son to her hip. The man behind the counter turned to his associate and whispered. A fine welcome, as expected.
    “Good day,” Bly offered with a curt nod. Everyone continued to stare.
    A ghost , he heard whispered. It can’t be , another uttered. You know , someone began, his poor mother. His left hand flexed and crumpled the list of items Barnes had drafted the evening before. Bly stormed to the counter, a giant in the tiny shop, and slammed his fist against the lacquered counter. The candy jar beside the register rattled, and the shop clerk, a small and timid excuse for a man, jumped and unseated the spectacles on his bulbous nose.
    “S-sir,” the man stuttered. His pudgy hand shook as he attempted to right his glasses.
    Bly quirked a leering grin, glaring the man down as the whispers filled up the confines of the stuffy shop. They turned his stomach, much like the sallow wallpaper on the walls.
    “Yes, hello.” Clara pushed up to Bly’s side. She freed the wilted paper from his grip and smoothed it out over the counter, throwing Bly a disapproving backward glance as he ground his teeth.
    He looks like a savage, came another whisper.
    In the shop’s bright light, he noticed a small brown spot that sat upon the top of Clara’s cheekbone, just below her left eye. Somehow, he had