Free Etiquette With The Devil by Rebecca Paula

forever vulgar, and currently covered in blood and filth. She did not realize she was holding her breath until he descended and she gave a grateful exhale when his boots hit solid ground once more.
    “He’s grown to be a good man, no matter what anyone says,” Tilly said. She waved to him as he turned toward the house with the blade of his knife resting between his teeth. “If only his mother were alive to see him back at Burton Hall.”
    “He never speaks of—”
    Mr. Ravensdale ordered someone to take the horse away and strode toward the kitchen. Their eyes met and she felt the heat of a blush rise to her cheeks. She darted her eyes away, breaking their staring match, retreating to the piles of mending on the table.
    She wished to disappear but it was no use. His tall body shadowed the doorway. She could practically feel his gaze upon her. Clara stabbed the needle into Minnie’s torn dress hem and pulled it back through with a slight tremble to her fingers.
    “Come in, come in,” Tilly said, leading him about as if he were still a child clutching onto her apron strings. “You must be thirsty after a feat like that, you little devil.”
    “They’re idiots. Don’t know why I’m paying them when I end up doing the work. The ivy’s messed with the stone face. This damn house was going to crumble apart if I hadn’t come back.”
    “Mind your tongue, dear.”
    Clara kept her head down, focusing on sewing a straight line of stitches. She never excelled at embroidery. She was mindful as he took the seat opposite her at the end of the table—infinitely so as the kitchen’s scent of lye soap and tea leaves was overpowered by the smell of sweat, earth, and gunpowder.
    Mrs. Gibbs began laundry, chattering away as Mr. Ravensdale answered in kind until there was a brief pause. Clara didn’t trust herself to look up. She was certain to blush if his eyes met hers again.
    He drummed his fingers over the table in quick succession – tap, tap, tap, tap, tap—over and over until at last she did look up.
    “Ah, Dawson, didn’t see you there.” He raised an eyebrow as he continued his drumming.
    “Will you stop with that noise?”
    “Am I bothering you?” he drawled.
    Clara glanced back down at Minnie’s ripped hem. She refused to be baited into another verbal match with the man. There was work to do.
    Mrs. Gibbs cut in again, oblivious to Mr. Ravensdale acting like a tyrant toward the governess. Devil, indeed.
    “I thought you had the afternoon off,” he said, his voice low so only she could hear.
    Clara nodded, not offering an explanation for fear he would continue his torment.
    “So why are you mending, Dawson?”
    When she didn’t supply an answer, he threw his boots up onto the table, showering mud everywhere, his long legs crossed at the ankle.
    Clara set the dress onto the table, looking at the floor as she rose from her seat. She marched up and swatted his dirty boots off the table and reached for a rag from the counter top behind them, tossing it at his face. “We eat here.”
    “Will you join me for a walk in the gardens?” He tossed the rag down. “I could use a second opinion.” He grinned, and flicked a glance to her fidgeting hands. Nothing ever shook the man. Well, nothing besides his reunion with Tilly in front of the Bee and Thistle.
    “There is other work I must see to. Excuse me, Mrs. Gibbs.” Clara walked past Mr. Ravensdale and down the corridor, up the back stairwell to the first level of the house. The sound of his boots resounded behind her.
    “The point of having an afternoon off is that you are free not to work, Dawson.”
    She took a hard corner and started up the grand staircase in the foyer for the second floor. A schoolroom should be turned over so the children could begin their lessons. That was as good a place to start as any that afternoon. It was high time there was order in the house.
    He took two stairs at a time, erasing the distance she had put between them until he