Carla Kelly by Reforming Lord Ragsdale Page A

voice this time. “You started it, you finish it. I like my back scrubbed first.”
    She watched in surprise and then amusement as he stepped out of his small clothes, made a rude gesture to her, and staggered toward the tub.
    He turned to look at her, injury all over his face. “You could at least close the windows,” he said. “I have goose bumps all over.”
    “I'm sure that it will not prove fatal, my lord,” she said, wishing she could rush into the hall and laugh herself into a coma.
    He stared at her a moment longer and then had the delicacy to cover his parts with the washcloth. “Emma, you're no lady,” he said. “Shouldn't you be fainting or something?”
    “And you are most certainly no gentleman,” she said. “I wouldn't dream of fainting and miss all this high drama.”
    He sat down slowly as the steam rose from the water. “If I drown, you're to blame,” he said, his voice virtuous.
    “It won't come to that, I'm sure,” she told him as she picked up the scrub brush and bar of soap. “Now bend forward.” She lathered up his back and scrubbed away, ignoring his protests of harsh ill-treatment. When she finished, she took a washcloth to his face, making sure there was plenty of soap on the cloth.
    “Goodness, did I get soap in your eye?” she asked when he began to squirm and tried to grab her wrist. “How careless of me. Perhaps you'd rather do this yourself after all, my lord. Here, push your head down in the water. That should help.”
    She shoved his head under the water and held it there as long as she dared. When he came up sputtering and swearing, Hanley had to stuff the end of the towel in his mouth to contain himself.
    “I'll see you in Newgate Prison!” Lord Ragsdale roared, quite sober now.
    Emma leaped to her feet and moved quickly away from Lord Ragsdale's reach. “Excellent, my lord. I was planning to go there myself this afternoon,” she said as Hanley gave up and roared with laughter. “Really, Hanley! Your mother tells me that your secretary is incarcerated there, and I mean to ask his advice.”
    “You can't be serious,” Lord Ragsdale said, standing up and reaching for a towel.
    “Oh, I am so serious, my lord. If I am to be your secretary too, I had better learn the business from a master.” She smiled back at Lord Ragsdale as he stared hard at her and wrapped the towel around his waist. “Only I promise not to cheat you. I think it will be much more diverting to reform you. After luncheon, then, Lord Ragsdale?”
    “I wouldn't follow you across the street, you presumptuous parcel of Irish baggage.”
    “Oooh, sticks and stones, my lord,” she replied. “Then I'll go by myself. If you want anything before this afternoon, I'll be in your book room, sorting out your bills.”
    “You can't do this!” he shouted, shaking his finger at her.
    “Watch me.”

MMA SPENT THE REST OF THE MORNING IN the book room, sorting through the clutter of bills, many of them unopened, that resided in dusty piles on the desk. As she arranged them chronologically, oldest first, she found herself wondering how Lord Ragsdale had managed to keep himself out of Newgate. Does this man ever pay a bill? she thought as she frowned over requests for payment from liquor wholesalers, procurers of livestock feed, and mantua makers.
    Mantua makers? She scrutinized the bill at arm's length and then remembered that Lady Whiteacre in Oxford had mentioned a mistress. Well, at least she's stylish, Emma thought as she created a separate pile for bills from modistes, milliners, cobblers, and sellers of silk stockings and perfumes. I had a pair of silk stockings once, she thought as she picked up the bill. I will not think about that.
    But she did think about it, leaning back in the chair as she sniffed at the faintly scented paper. I wonder who is living in our house now, she thought. I hope they have not made too many changes. Mama had such exquisite taste.
    “Now, Emma, you know you cannot think