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

away the paper, but she would not relent.
    “What is it?” he asked finally. “At least tell me that.”
    “It has to do with what you just said, my lord,” she said. “You have given me such an idea. Now sign, and then I will leave you.”
    Said? Said? What did I say? he thought wildly. I really must stop drinking so much. He closed his eyes, but she rattled the paper at his ear.
    As drunk as he was, Lord Ragsdale knew that he could leave the paper alone, roll over, and go to sleep. She would go away eventually, and he would be in peace. Nothing would change. By evening he would be at White's again and drunk, or at Fae's and miserable. He was on the verge of sleep when Emma Costello touched his hair. She smoothed it back from his sweaty face and rested her hand for a moment on his head. “Sign, my lord,” she ordered, her voice softer now, and held out the quill to him.
    He grasped the pen and managed to scrawl out his name. He closed his eyes then and relaxed as she stood up. He reached for her hand. “Emma, please tell me that I have just released you from that unpleasant indenture. Then you can go away and I will be happy,” he said. It was his longest speech of the evening, and his head lolled to one side.
    I should worry , he thought when she started to laugh. Have I signed away my fortune to this Irish harpy? But she was speaking now, and he strained to listen.
    “Lord Ragsdale, I owe you two thousand pounds, and I will pay this debt,” she was saying.
    “How?” he managed at last, wondering at the effort it took to form the word.
    “By reforming you, my lord, now that I have your written consent. It was your idea. Good night.”

MMA'S NECK WAS ACHING IN GOOD EARNEST by the time the scullery maid nearly tripped over her on the way down the back stairs to begin another long day in the kitchen. She grabbed onto the banister, scowled at Emma, and then snickered.
    “Can't find a place to sleep, can we?” she mocked. “Find a peat bog.” The maid hurried on down the stairs, tying her apron as she went and laughing at her own cleverness.
    Emma drew her knees up to her chin and watched the maid's progress. “No, but I will find a place someday,” she said, too quiet for anyone to hear.
    Not that anyone was listening to her. As Emma sat on the back stairs, she heard the butler giving his orders. Soon the upstairs maids would be coming up the stairs, staggering under the weight of cans of hot water and then teapots. Another day has come to the Ragsdale household, she thought as she looked down at the paper still clutched in her hand. She spread it out on the landing and wondered for a moment at her audacity. She shook her head over the document containing Lord Ragsdale's shaky signature. I must be crazy, she thought.
    She made herself small in the corner—something she was good at—as the first maid hurried upstairs with hot water. Five years ago—or was it six now?—she never would have done something that outrageous. There was a time when I cared what happened to me, she thought as she carefully folded the paper. I wonder which room is Lady Ragsdale's?
    The problem was solved for her as she quietly moved up the stairs in the wake of the upstairs maids. The first closed door she identified from last night. No one went in there, and she knew it would be hours before anyone stumbled out. Two doors down was Sally Claridge's room, if she remembered right. Ah, yes. The woman who opened the door was the dresser who had made herself quite at home in the little space Emma had carved out of the dressing room before the trip to Oxford. Robert had slept in the room next, but now the maid was tapping softly on the door beyond. The tall, thin woman with the sneer who opened the door was Lady Ragsdale's dresser.
    Emma thought at first that she would wait until the maid left and then knock, but hurriedly discarded that idea. The dresser probably would not let her in. She took a deep breath and followed in after the