Etiquette With The Devil Read Online Free PDF

the candles would last longer than an hour.
    And how she hated the dark.
    Her skin stung from the gooseflesh that raised over her body as, piece by piece, she stripped out of the wet layers of clothing and draped them over the covered sofa to dry. Her hands paused over the stays of her corset as a pungent smell filled her nose. A cloud of black smoke billowed from the fireplace when she turned.
    She ran to the windows, half-naked, and tried with all her might to open them, but they would not budge. She flailed her arms, attempting to cut away the smoke. Her eyes stung and watered.
    A knock sounded at the door as panic set in.
    “Come back later. Please,” she called out, unable to stop another cough as the smoke filled her lungs.
    “Dawson?”
    “Come back later,” she cried again. She wouldn’t dare been seen in her current state of undress.
    Instead of a knock, the door rattled on its hinges. “I smell smoke.”
    “Everything is fine.” Or it would be if she only had some water. Why hadn’t he given her any water? She rushed to the fireplace, waving her hands. Maybe if she used the blanket it would smother the fire out.
    Blast! Blast! Double blast!
    Nearly blinded by the smoke, she frantically ran her hand over the sofa searching for her dress. She clutched the cloth in front of her as she dashed to the door and cracked it open. Smoke billowed out around her.
    Mr. Ravensdale stood in front of her, holding a large bucket of water. “Is there a problem, Dawson?”
    “No.” She coughed. His hazel eyes suddenly appeared black, and narrowed. “My fireplace is sooty.”
    He slammed his boot into the door, forcing his way inside. She blushed at the string of curses he uttered upon discovering the smoke-filled room. He dashed in and freed the windows from their swollen jambs. A whoosh of cool moorland air swept in.
    She stood by the doorway, shivering, wide-eyed, and still choking on the smoke.
    “What are you doing? Get out!”
    She flinched back, fleeing the room as ordered. Struggling for air, she braced herself against the wall in the hallway and clutched her wet dress to cover her sooty, damp undergarments.
    A loud splash was followed by the hiss of dying embers. Mr. Ravensdale continued cursing even as he broke into a coughing fit. He emerged covered in soot and glared at her. “Stay there,” he ordered.
    It was a miracle she had avoided hypothermia after the day she had endured. All Clara wished for was to get warm and sleep. She would face the world and rest of its problems in the morning.
    Mr. Ravensdale returned and stiffly held out a worn army blanket in her direction. “That was your bath,” he said, turning his back to her as she dropped her dress and wrapped herself up.
    “I was trying to get warm, sir.”
    “Dawson,” he drawled, turning suddenly without regard for her state of undress. His eyes quickly swept over the pieces of bared, bruised, and stitched skin peeking out from beneath her wet dress. “Ravensdale will suffice.”
    She nodded, knowing full well that she was looking up at him with wide, scared eyes. She hated to be weak just as much as she hated the dark.
    “You can’t sleep in there now,” he said, raking a blackened hand over the shadow of a beard on his cheeks. “Follow me.”
    He practically ran down the darkened hallway, seemingly impervious to the shadows and covered furniture. Ghosts meant nothing to a man like her employer.
    “I am sorry for the trouble I caused si—Mr. Ravensdale.”
    “My whole life is trouble. A sooty fireplace won’t be my demise.” He stopped and turned. “Is there another problem, Dawson?” He grinned as she waddled after him, attempting to match his long stride. It was next to impossible to match, even on her long legs.
    “No.” The final shred of whatever dignity she had left after this godforsaken day disappeared.
    “Good. Go ahead.” He pointed into another room stacked high with trunks and blankets, and supplied with more light