Read Online Carla Kelly by Reforming Lord Ragsdale - Free Book Online Page A

as though her neck hurt. She was silent a moment. “My lord?” she finally asked, not sure of her answer.
    “The very same,” he replied. “Emma, what are you doing sleeping on my stairs?”
    She was silent a long moment, and he wondered if she still slept. “I am sorry, my lord,” she said finally. “It seems that all I do is apologize to you. I don't have a place to sleep.”
    He didn't say anything. After another small silence, she rose and shook out her skirts. “I'll go find the back stairs, my lord,” she mumbled. “I can sleep there.”
    Without quite knowing why, he put out his hand to stop her.
    “Just a moment, Emma,” he said. “Help me up, will you?”
    She could have left him there, and by morning's light, he probably would have put the whole thing down to an imaginary alcoholic haze. Someone else would find him and help him to bed, and it wouldn't be the first time. Emma would sleep on the stairs for a few more nights until his mother got wind of the situation and straightened things out belowstairs. It didn't have to be his worry.
    He was about to withdraw his hand when she clasped it firmly in her own and, with one swift movement, tugged him to his feet. He swayed on the stairs, and she quickly grasped him around the waist and commanded him to take up his bed and walk. It was a voice of command, resounding inside his head, crashing around from ear to ear until he wanted to whimper and crawl into a corner. Instead, he did as she ordered, putting one foot in front of the other until he was outside the door to his own room.
    “I'll be all right now,” he gasped. “You can let go.”
    Other servants had helped him to his room before. Practice told him that he could negotiate the distance from the door to his bed and throw himself down on it, not to rise until afternoon or the resurrection, whichever came first. He tried to turn her loose, but she would not budge. Suddenly he realized, in spite of his weakened state, that the rules had changed.
    “I'll see you to your bed,” she insisted, her voice low but carrying into his brain where her earlier words still careened off his skull. “I'll not give you the satisfaction of telling someone tomorrow that your shanty Irish servant did you an injury, no matter how richly you deserve one,” she assured him.
    She lowered him to his bed, and he flopped there. In another moment his shoes were off, and she was covering him with a blanket.
    “That should hold you until morning,” she said.
    His head throbbing beyond belief, he waited like a wounded animal for her to hurry up and leave. To his chagrin, she stared around his room until her vision rested on his untidy desk. He watched stupidly as she shook her head in amazement at the ruin of his life.
    Then the whole thing made him giggle. He tried to raise up on one elbow, but he seemed to have misplaced his arm. He remained where he was, content to watch the two of her. “Reform me, Emma,” he said, and then hiccupped.
    “You are disgusting, Lord Ragsdale,” she said at last, each word as distinct and penetrating as a bell. She shook her head. “I never saw a more worthless man, much less served one.” Her words boomed about in his skull some more. She went to his desk and rummaged about for a moment. He raised up his head to watch her sit down at his desk, clear off a spot, and put ink to paper.
    She sat there quite awhile, crumpling two sheets of paper and then resting her elbows on the desk as she contemplated him lying helpless and drunk on his bed. In another moment, she dipped the quill in the inkwell again and wrote swiftly, pausing at last to read over what she had written in the dim light. She nodded, picked up the paper and the ink, and came back to the bed.
    “Emma, would you get out of my room?” he insisted, wishing he did not sound so feeble.
    “Not until you sign this,” she replied, sitting down next to him.
    “Here.” She thrust the paper under his nose.
    He tried to wave