Carla Kelly

© 2012 Carla Kelly
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Cedar Fort, Inc., or any other entity.

ISBN 13: 978-1-4621-1020-9

Published by Sweetwater Books, an imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc.
2373 W. 700 S., Springville, UT, 84663
Distributed by Cedar Fort, Inc.,
www.cedarfort.com

Cover design by Angela D. Olsen
Cover design © 2012 by Lyle Mortimer
Edited and typeset by Melissa J. Caldwell

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To my sisters, Karen Deo and Wanda Lynn Baier—
Family isn't just anything; it's the only thing.

O
THER
BOOKS
BY
C
ARLA
K
ELLY

F
ICTION

Daughter of Fortune

Summer Campaign

Miss Chartley's Guided Tour

Marian's Christmas Wish

Mrs. McVinnie's London Season

Libby's London Merchant

Miss Grimsley's Oxford Career

Miss Billings Treads the Boards

Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand

Reforming Lord Ragsdale

Miss Whittier Makes a List

The Lady's Companion

With This Ring

Miss Milton Speaks Her Mind

One Good Turn

The Wedding Journey

Here's to the Ladies: Stories of the Frontier Army

Beau Crusoe

Marrying the Captain

The Surgeon's Lady

Marrying the Royal Marine

The Admiral's Penniless Bride

Borrowed Light

Coming Home for Christmas: Three Holiday Stories

Enduring Light

N
ONFICTION

On the Upper Missouri: The Journal of Rudolph

Friedrich Kurz

Fort Buford: Sentinel at the Confluence

K
EEP MY COUNSEL LEST THOU SLIP.
I
F LOVE OR HATE MEN OFFER THEE,
H
IDE THY HEART AND HOARD THY LIP.
W
ED NO MAN.
R
EMEMBER ME.

—from the Irish, seventeenth century

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

About the Author

WONDER WHY IT IS THAT MY MISTRESS IS SO
ignorant
, Lord Ragsdale thought as he took a sip of morning brandy and gazed at the heavily scented letter spread out before him on the breakfast tray.
Could it be that no one ever taught her the difference between “there” and “their”—and what on earth is this word?

He held up the paper closer to his good eye. “Hmm, it appears that I am either thoughtless, thankless, reckless, or feckless, and I don't think Fae knows that word.”

He felt a tiny headache beginning from all that scent, so he crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it across the room toward the wastebasket by his desk, which was overflowing with other correspondence. As usual, he was wide of the mark. “Fae, why so much musk on one letter? Do you think I am an otter?” he asked her miniature, which resided, smirking, on his night table.

He took another sip and then slid down to a more comfortable level in the bed.
Of course, you didn't take on Fae in the first place because she was a grammarian
, he reminded himself.
You acquired her services because of her other splendid talents. Fae Moullé might not be able to string a coherent sentence across a page, but she knows her way to a man's heart.

It was a thought that only a week ago might have propelled him from his own bed on Curzon Street and into hers only a brisk walk away. As he closed his eye, he asked himself what had changed in so brief an interval. Perhaps it was the rain. That was it; too much rain always made him restless and dissatisfied, even with the prospect of making love.

Making love. Now there is an odd phrase
, he thought as he opened his eye and stared at the ceiling. “Fae Moullé, I do not love you,” he told the plaster swirls overhead. “You provide a pleasant jolt to my system, but so would another. No, Fae, I do not love you.”

Lord Ragsdale sighed and jerked the pillow out from behind his head. He lay flat on the bed and almost returned to sleep again. The room was cool and silent, but some maggot was burrowing about in his brain now and wouldn't let him doze. Of course, it was well past noon too.

Perhaps it was time to send a letter to Fae, severing all connections. He could sweeten her disappointment with a tidy sum and offer to provide excellent references. The thought made him grin, in spite of his vague discomfort. Any woman who could perform such magic between sheets ought to have no trouble snaring another marquess or earl.
England is full of dilettantes
, he thought,
and we recognize what we like.