Etiquette With The Devil (45 page)

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.

“We can’t stay out on the streets. How much have you got?” he asked.

“I don’t even know your name.” She stopped untying the hat ribbon. “I am not going to volunteer how much money I have.”

“I didn’t steal your bag,” he pointed out, reaching into his pockets. He fished out a few pence. Not a promising amount.

He made a fair point, but Minnie was far from convinced that the stranger had noble intentions. He didn’t appear like the reputable sort. “I am sure you will expect something because of your efforts.”

He leaned one arm against the stack of crates, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “You
could
give me a kiss for my troubles.”

“I knew it!” Minnie cried, picking up her bag and swinging it into his stomach.

He fell forward, coughing at first before it turned to a deep guffaw. “I was only having a laugh,” he said, red-faced as he straightened.

“Oh, to be sure.” Minnie drew up her hand to drum at her lips. She frowned when she noticed the red stains. That was her best pair of gloves, perfectly ruined now. “What’s your name?” she asked, dropping her hands to her side.

“Alex.” He rubbed his midsection with a scowl. “How much do you have?”

“You are a pushy fellow.” He stared back so she continued, “I don’t appreciate it one bit.”

“I don’t like being chased across London because of some silly runaway,” he countered, leaning forward with an arched brow. “We’re. Even.”

“Fair enough.” She was not so naïve to admit that this man, however pushy and annoying, could help solve her temporary setback—a protector of sorts until she saw herself settled with a position at the ballet company. Minnie opened her purse and counted quietly, then cut the tiny sum in half as precaution. “Eight shillings.”

“Eight…” he said, trailing off as his heavy brows furrowed. He looked at her for a moment, making some heavy decision before he grabbed her arm once again. Minnie tried to shake him off, but his grasp was firm, even as he picked up her bag and peered around the crates. “Come on.”

“Where are we going now?” He ignored her question, his hand tightening on her wrist. “Do you know where you’re going?”

He didn’t slow his pace as he flashed her another smile over his shoulder. “No. New to town myself.”

They stopped in front of a blue clapboard building, bulging with age and leaning heavily toward the cobbled streets. A window opened across the street and a woman tossed out a bucket of foul smelling liquid, only missing a cart rambling by on the street. Minnie scrunched her nose and surveyed the others passing by as Alex knocked on the door. “We don’t have enough for two rooms,” she protested, reading the sign above the door.

He knocked again then straightened his coat’s lapels and removed his cap. “We aren’t getting two rooms.” He straightened as Minnie stood there, gaping like a fish out of water. “
Mrs. Marwick
,” he said, winking cheekily. “Close your mouth, darling.”

Before Minnie could reply, the door opened revealing a gray-haired woman with a crooked tooth piercing her bottom lip. “What do you want?”

“My wife and me would like a room for a week.”

The woman smacked her lips around as she worked her tongue into the rotting crevice between her two front teeth. She scratched her head for a moment, barking a laugh. “Sure you do.”

Alex looked over at Minnie with an exasperated look. “We’ve eloped and our parents won’t be none too happy to discover the fact. A week is all we need.”

“Newlyweds?” the woman balked again. She looked like a dying vulture. Perhaps sounded like one too, though Minnie had never encountered that experience before during her travels through the Orient with her family.

“That’s right, oh, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name,” Minnie said with a charming smile.

Alex draped her hand over his arm, covering her blood soaked glove with his hand. The picture of besotted sweethearts, no doubt.

“Cutpold, Madame Cutpold.” She coughed, surveying the couple standing below on the doorstep. “The room’s fifteen shillings a week, plus coal and food.”

“Wonderful,” Alex said, beaming at Madame Cutpold. “Isn’t that lovely, darling?”

“Splendid, dear.” There was nothing lovely about the place at all. The old buzzard was robbing them blind. Minnie spread her lips into a large smile until the apples of her cheeks ached from the effort of it.

“Come in then, come in,” the woman croaked. She shuffled over the worn floorboards, coughing so loud it sounded as if she would deposit her lungs onto the floor.

Minnie stifled her laughter as they passed the other guests, all of whom appeared to be of a disreputable sort. She had never been to a house of ill repute, having been on all accounts a lady until now. But judging by the vast sea of bosoms and various states of undress, Minnie could check that off as how to ruin one’s reputation properly. Guilty by association. At least no one would think to look for her in a place such as this.

After two flights of impossibly steep and rickety stairs, the woman shoved a key into Alex’s hand. “At the end of the hall,” she said. “I will be around at the end of the week to collect rent, lovebirds.”

Minnie plucked the key from Alex’s hand as he laughed. The door stuck so she shoved her hips against it until it flew open. Alex stood beside her in silence.

The room slanted toward the street to such a degree, that she thought herself overcome with vertigo. The milky-colored walls were cracked and peeled, exposing the horsehair beneath. A picture of the Mother Mary hung crooked above the bed in a small frame, the glass shattered into a spider’s web. Two small windows on the opposite, covered thick in dust and grime overlooked the foot traffic of the street below. A table and two chairs set between them.

It was the sad excuse of a bed that garnered her concern. “This won’t do.” Minnie threw her hands on her hips. The bed sagged and the linens looked like they had been washed around the time of Napoleon’s capture.

“I’m no gentleman.” Alex deposited her bag by the washstand in the room’s corner. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.” He paced the room, examining the windows and walls as if he needed another escape route in addition to the door.

“Then we will take turns,” Minnie said. “But tonight, I’m sleeping in that thing that resembles a bed.”

“I can’t have a say?” He pulled off his cap and ruffled his fingers through his blond hair. It looked so odd against the rest of his features that for a moment, she thought he was harboring a secret of his own.

“I was not allowed one in marrying you. I am afraid it is only fair.”

“I couldn’t be parted from you,
darling
,” he said, flashing a smile.

Pretty flirtations were pointless. Giving heed to any of his charm would only interfere with her plans. “The floor,” Minnie said, pointing the dusty boards. “If you are nice and agree to leave me alone, I might spare you a pillow.”

“How generous.”

“I’ll be a generous wife if you act the part of a husband with a straying eye and leave me well alone.”

“Deal.” He grasped her hand and shook with such vigor she found herself laughing at the absurdity of the day.

“Oh, Alex,” she said, collapsing back onto the bed in a peal of laughter. She blew away the ostrich feathers bowing over her face from her hat with a huff. “What now?”

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This book holds a special place in my heart as it’s the first that forced me out of writing fiction in secret. Without it, I don’t think I’d have any books published today or have found my tribe among the awesome readers and writers of the romance community.

So first I have thank Jamie Adams for discovering a short piece of mine posted online that inspired this story. Without her encouragement, I don’t think I’d ever have written this book or published any others. She gave validation to my voice and writing, and I’m forever grateful for that.

I’d also like to thank my editors Gwen Hayes and Blake Leyers for taking what started as as a NaNoWriMo project and guiding it gracefully into an actual story, as well as my copy editor Meghan Hogue. I was also lucky to have worked with Maggie Hall again who designed the drop dead gorgeous cover for this book—thank you for making my books look so pretty!

This was the first story I shared with the world and that brought me the lovely and talented ladies of the MTWBWY critique group. Thank you for welcoming me when I was the historical romance writer weirdo in a group of YA writers. I’d like thank my own hero, Jonny, for seeing the joy I’ve had in writing this book way back during those crazy twelve days NaNoWriMo, and for encouraging me to follow writing as a career afterward. A huge thanks to the readers, writers, and fans I’ve met along this crazy writing journey of mine, and to my friends and family, for always supporting and cheering me and my stories on.