Carla Kelly Read Online Free Page A

seem presumptuous, as though Lasker didn't know his own business well enough to make arrangements, no matter how cramped things were belowstairs. And if Emma ended up sleeping next to the coal chute, what concern was it of his?
    He retired to his room, tugged off his boots, and settled on the bed with a full bottle of brandy in his lap and another on the night table. He avoided even a glance at his overflowing desk, hoping it would go away. The late hour, followed by a swallow or two of brandy and then another, permitted philosophy to override misanthropy. While he could not overlook entirely the desire to bolt the metropolis, he decided that he could tolerate the remaining few months of this London Season.
    There was no question that he owed his mother and cousin the favor of an escort, he thought as he drank steadily. And while he was doing his duty, he could peruse the females that frequented Almack's and other venues of quality, find a lady not wanting in too many particulars, and make her an offer. He had money enough to make Croesus a loan; barring his absent eye, his parts were all present and easy to look upon; he was healthier than most of his acquaintances. “Ah, yes, I will do well enough in the marriage mart,” he told the ceiling. “I doubt this will require overmuch exertion.”
    He took another swig or two from the brandy bottle, and then set it carefully on the floor. To his surprise, the bottle fell on its side; to his further surprise, nothing spilled out. He leaned off the bed and regarded the bottle. I must advise Lasker not to be taken in by the vintner , he thought. It seems that he is buying smaller bottles than he used to.
    The next bottle went down faster than the first. Lord Ragsdale considered an expedition down the stairs to the wine cellar for more but discarded the notion. The room seemed to be shrinking, and he did not think he could get out of the door before it disappeared altogether. Such an odd phenomenon , he considered as he unbuttoned his trousers, loosened his neck cloth, and closed his eye.

O SAY THAT LORD RAGSDALE AWAKENED with a big head would be to mince words. His stomach was as queasy as though he was sailing an ocean with mountain high waves. When he sat up, he whimpered at the pain in his skull. He lay back down again, hoping with all his heart that it had snowed ten feet last night and they would be unable to travel today.
    But the gods were not smiling on Lord Ragsdale this morning. When the maid who brought in the coal noticed that he was awake, she screamed a cheery, “Good morrow, my lord,” that filled the room and echoed back and forth inside the sorely tried empty space between his ears. After she thundered at least a ton of coal onto the grate, she threw open his draperies on runners that shrieked like banshees.
    “It's a good morning for a trip, my lord,” she offered with the voice of a boatswain in a hurricane.
    He could only force his lips into a weak smile and put his hand over his eye against the glare that threatened to blind his one remaining orb. If you say another word, I will die, he thought. To his relief, she said nothing more but slammed the door on her way out so loud that his guts quivered. He gritted his teeth and moaned.
    He had progressed to dangling his legs off the bed when his mother banged on the door with a battering ram and opened it a crack.
    “John, we want to leave within the hour,” she reminded him and then took a closer look. “Oh, John!”
    Three hours later, he groped his way downstairs and onto his horse, which waited patiently by the front stoop. Lasker had sent the footman in to help him pack and also to rescue him from his own razor when he attempted to shave his pale face. A splattering of bay rum was more than he could bear. It sent him lurching back to his washstand, where he vomited his toenails into the basin, vowing, as he gagged and retched, never to drink again.
    The cold February air was a relief. He breathed as