Page 18 of Reforming Lord Ragsdale
The footman did as she asked, his eyes merry. Emma took a deep breath and walked to the window. She looked down to make certain no one was passing below and then droppedthe bottle, listening with satisfaction to the crash and tinkle on the pavement below.
Lord Ragsdale sucked in his breath, but he didn’t give up, even though Emma knew the game was over. His voice turned silky and wheedling.
“Hanley, my good man, go to the cellar and get me more brandy.”
“I cannot, my lord. The wine cellar has been sealed, according to your orders.”
“What?” he shrieked.
“Just so, my lord,” Emma chimed in. “You signed a paper last night. I am to reform you.”
“Never!”
Emma put her hands on her hips. “You are the worst kind of whiner, my lord. Sit down in that water.”
“Who is going to make me?” The menace was there, along with a little-boy threat that suddenly reminded Emma of her youngest brother.
She thought of everything she had been through. “No one except yourself, my lord. You signed an agreement and I will honor it. If you are a gentleman, you will too.”
The silence almost hummed. Emma closed her eyes in relief when Lord Ragsdale sat down in the water.
“Scrub his back, please, Hanley,” she said.
“You could at least close the window,” Lord Ragsdale said, sounding like a half dozen sulky boys. “I have goose bumps all over.”
“I am certain that will not prove fatal, my lord,” she said, wishing she could rush into the hall and laugh herself into a coma.
She heard a monumental sigh, followed by the sound of a washcloth, and pressed her lips tight to keep from breaking into a guffaw so loud that passersby could hear it on Curzon Street.
“Emma, you are no lady,” Lord Ragsdale said.
“And you are most certainly no gentleman,” she snapped back. “I have not peeked, nor will I.”
“The water is deep. If I drown, you’re to blame,” he said, his voice virtuous now.
“It won’t come to that.”
The sound of washing continued. She heard him stand up to finish the job, then sit down again. “I usually sing in the tub,” he told her, his voice conversational now. “Do you have a favorite selection?”
She laughed, unable to help herself. “Not one, my lord.”
“Well, then.” He cleared his throat and sang a ditty so filthy that even Hanley gasped.
When he finished, Emma applauded. “You could probably perform that in an alley behind Covent Garden,” she said. “That might be enough, though.”
Lord Ragsdale cleared his throat and began another song, worse than the one before.
“Dunk him under the water, Hanley,” Emma ordered.
“You wouldn’t d—”
Evidently Hanley would, and did. When the footman allowed Lord Ragsdale to resurface, sputtering and swearing, Emma just shook her head. “Tsk, tsk.”
“I’ll see you in Newgate Prison!” Lord Ragsdale roared, quite sober now. His washcloth swished past her face and landed against the wall.
“That was childish, my lord,” she said. “I’ll happily go to Newgate. I was planning to do that this afternoon. Your mother tells me that your secretary is incarcerated there, and I mean to ask his advice.”
“You can’t be serious. Hand me that towel, Hanley, you wretched excuse for a footman.”
