Page 50 of Reforming Lord Ragsdale
She opened her mouth and closed it, bereft of conversation.
Lord Ragsdale laughed as he went back to the door. “Emma, you’ve been away from Ireland too long,” he said over his shoulder. “This is the second time in as many days that I have found you speechless.”
Impulsively, she grabbed a shoe on the floor by the bed and threw it at him, but it only slammed harmlessly into the closed door.
“And your aim is off,” she heard from the other side of the panel. “Ten minutes, Emma, or I’m coming back in to help.”
There is such a thing as too much improvement, she decided as she hurried into Lady Ragsdale’s riding habit and pulled on her boots. She grinned to herself, reminded suddenly of Paddy Doyle, one of her father’s tenants. After years of “the daemon dhrink,” as he put it, Paddy reformed and spent therest of his life driving his fellow tenants crazy as he extolled the virtues of abstinence.
“Lord Ragsdale, you could become tedious,” she told him ten minutes later as she found him in the stables, giving a little more grain to his hunter. She yanked the brush she had carried with her across the stable yard through her sleep-tangled hair.
“I’ll do that,” he said, taking the brush from her and handing her the grain bucket. “Here, have some breakfast.”
She laughed in spite of herself and looked in the half-filled bucket. “You wretch!” she exclaimed as he brushed her hair. “I mean, you wretch, my lord.”
“Well, I would only say it to the least horse-faced woman I know,” he replied, brushing her hair. “If you’ll move with me over to the fence rail, you will see a biscuit I brought for you, and some ham. Really, Emma, you should practice what you preach about a good breakfast.”
She turned around to say something, but he took her hair in a large handful and towed her toward the fence rail. “You are certifiable,” she said as she reached for the ham. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. Thank you, Lord Ragsdale.”
He chuckled as he finished brushing her hair. She handed him a ribbon, and he tied it in a tight bow while she started on the biscuit. He turned her around to admire his handiwork.
“You’ll do,” he said, setting down the brush. “You know, Emma, that’s the trouble with reformation. Sometimes you get more than you bargained for.”
She stood there, her mouth full of biscuit as he smiled at her. She noticed then he wasn’t wearing his eye patch.I wonder why I didn’t notice that sooner, she thought as she swallowed and wiped her hands on her dress.Maybe because it doesn’t matter to me.
He did observe the direction of her gaze. “I’d rather leave it off, if you don’t mind,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll see anyone, and it’s just you.”
She smiled at him, reminded of her brothers and similaroffhand remarks. “It’s fine with me, my lord,” she said. “It doesn’t matter one way or the other.”
He took her by the shoulders. “You really mean that, don’t you?” he asked.
She gently slid from his grasp. “I really do. If you’re more comfortable without it, leave it off.”
He thought that over and helped her saddle the mare. “I wonder how Clarissa would feel about that,” he wondered out loud as he cinched the saddle.
“You could ask her,” she said sensibly as she handed him the bridle.
“Emma, do you always reduce everything to black and white?” he asked, the humor evident in his voice as he put the bit in her horse’s mouth.
I thought I used to know right and wrong when I saw it, she reflected.But that was before that man, before Robert Emmet, came walking up the lane to our house, and I made the worst mistake of all. Since then, nothing has been black and white.“Of course I do,” she lied.
He was watching her face, and she turned away to busy herself with the stirrup.
“You’re a liar, Emma,” he replied, his voice mild. “I wonder when you will finally tell me something true about yourself.”
Chapter 15
Her mind froze ashe helped her into the saddle. She arranged her leg across the horse and spread her skirts around her, afraid to look at Lord Ragsdale. She said nothing as he watched her for a long moment, his face unreadable now. When she thought she would start to cry if he did not turn away, Lord Ragsdale whistled to his hunter and mounted him.
“I can wait, Emma,” he said as she rode beside him, too shocked to look at him. “I am also led to wonder sometimes who we are redeeming here, me or you.”
They rode in silence from the stable yard, until she managed to calm herself. “You could not possibly be interested in anything about me,” she said finally, knowing it was her turn to speak, but not knowing what to say to this man beside her.
“And why not?” he asked.
She looked at him then for the first time since his quiet declaration. “Because I am just your servant.”
He smiled then, reached over, and tugged her horse’s mane.
