Chapter Fourteen

"W ill you stop flitting around here, fussing?" Harry hissed as Ernest refilled his wine later that evening. "We know how to eat. You don't have to wait on us!"

"Oh, I don't mind," the butler said eagerly, rushing over to Ruthie's side of the table, adding a splash of wine to her glass even though she'd barely touched it. "I just want to make sure the lady has everything she needs."

"That's what I'm for," Harry seethed, slicing his beef with his knife. He stabbed a piece with his fork and chewed it harshly, imagining it was his butler's neck. "If the lady needs anything, I will get it for her."

"Truly, Ernest, you've done enough. I don't think I can eat another bite anyway," Ruthie said, dotting at her lips with her napkin. "It was delicious."

The butler reminded Harry of a puppy being scratched by its owner—all he was missing was a wagging tail. "Really? Did you really think so?" Ernest asked, arching a brow at Harry's plate. "It wasn't too bland? He doesn't like any seasoning or sauces. Meat and vegetables are all he ever eats. Are you sure you don't want dessert? Mrs. Fox makes a wonderful pudding. He won't have any. He says it's an issue of texture, but just tell him to look away while you're eating."

Harry slammed down his fork. "Will you get the hell out of here? I'm having dinner with my wife. My wife. Not my wife and my butler."

Ruthie giggled, hiding her smile in her napkin. Harry noticed that she'd made that delightful noise for most of the dinner. It could have been the wine that Ernest kept topping up, or she could just be happy. As he'd planned. And all he'd had to do was mention eating dinner together in his room. It was that simple.

"No dessert for me, thank you," Ruthie replied. "Perhaps tomorrow."

Ernest shuffled away from the table. "Oh…" He looked at Harry. "Will this be happening again tomorrow?"

Ruthie glanced back and forth between the two men. "Is dinner not a usual occurrence?"

Ernest scoffed, answering before Harry had a chance to open his mouth. "Hardly. This one eats standing up."

Ruthie's expression faltered, her lashes flickering wildly. "I'm sorry. If you're busy with the club, you don't have to sit here entertaining me. I'm sure I would be fine by myself."

"I want to be here," Harry said instantly, hoping for the smile to return to her lips. "And we can eat together from now on." He glared at Ernest. "I never made a habit of it before because I never had anyone suitable to eat with."

"Quite right. Quite right," Ernest agreed, ignoring the fact that Harry was obviously putting him down. "Well, this is quite exciting, then. You're like a real gentleman now, sir, enjoying the fruits of your labor. Good for you!"

Harry dropped his head into his hand. He really needed to get another butler, one that showed more respect for his employer. "Just take these plates and get out of here."

"Right away, sir," Ernest said, lunging for the china. "And I'll bring up some dessert as well…just in case."

Ruthie laughed that time, and Harry decided it was almost worth being annoyed by Ernest just to see her so relaxed in his company. After last night…he didn't think that would happen. However, that was all behind them now. As she'd informed him in the park, there would be no more nights together. He'd tried and he'd failed. Harry was just thankful that Ruthie still wanted to spend time with him. That had been the entire point of this marriage, hadn't it? Companionship. The end of being alone. Love and sex had no place in their world. They were too out of Harry's control.

Case in point was his ravenous body that refused to listen to reason.

Harry changed positions in his seat for the umpteenth time as Ruthie shyly wiped her mouth once more with the tips of her fingers. How could something so innocent whip his body into such a frenzy? Especially when it had to do with the mouth, something Harry made a point of never staring at. All that saliva…chomping…food stuck in teeth. But with Ruthie… With Ruthie, none of that seemed to matter. The gentle slope of her mouth kept him transfixed. The faint wine stain on the bottom of her lip made him want to lick it clean.

"Do you really think he's going to bring up more food?" she asked, thankfully having no idea of his erotic thoughts.

"I have no doubt," Harry replied stiffly. "The man can't stand not knowing what we're talking about."

Ruthie nodded. "He's a good friend."

"He's my butler!"

She gave him the kind of look one would give a child. "He's also your friend."

Harry didn't agree, but now wasn't the time to begin an argument. "You know—"

The door banged open, cutting Harry off. Vine entered in two determined strides before halting like he'd hit a brick wall. "What the hell?" he asked, staring at Ruthie as if she had two heads. "Ernest said you were having dinner?"

"And?" Harry asked.

Vine blinked. "I didn't know what that meant."

"It meant I was having dinner."

Now Vine looked at Harry as if he had two heads. "But you should be at the club."

"Not tonight."

"But you're always at the club."

"And tonight, I'm not."

Harry scowled at his second-in-command, waiting for realization to filter across his ugly mug. Only it didn't come.

"What should I tell the others?" Vine finally asked.

"Perhaps you can tell them that he's having dinner?" Ruthie added helpfully, only it was obvious that Vine didn't find the suggestion helpful at all. His wandering eye slanted to Ruthie in a way that Harry didn't appreciate.

"I'm not going down tonight. You can handle it," Harry barked. "Now leave us."

"Have you forgotten that someone's trying to kill you?" With a sly glance at Ruthie, Vine opened his coat to show Harry the pistol he carried in his pocket. "How can I keep an eye on you if I don't know where you are?"

"Christ, man, you couldn't keep both eyes on me if you tried. Now, you know where I am, so let me eat with my wife in peace!"

Vine's cheeks ballooned like he were a squirrel filled with nuts. His complexion blazed to a shocking red. Harry muttered a curse. He shouldn't have mentioned the eye. Of all the things, why had he mentioned that lazy fucking eye?

Cracking his knuckles, Vine charged out the door, slamming it behind him. Harry sighed. He didn't look forward to dealing with that mess tomorrow. However, he could understand Vine's irritation. Like Harry, he was used to a certain way of doing business, and change never came easy.

Still, if Vine didn't like it, he could fuck off like all the others. Harry would miss him, but insubordination would not be tolerated—even from an old friend.

Harry chuckled and jabbed his thumb at the door. "Believe it or not, he's my friend. Are you sure you don't want to pack up for Belgravia? Think of the quiet—think of the proper servants. I have other places, you know. All over. I hear they're quite nice."

Ruthie's blue eyes fixed on him. "You hear ? Haven't you seen them?"

"I don't need to see them. I have papers that tell me what they're worth."

Ruthie placed her napkin on the table and leaned back in her seat. "Do you ever want to visit them? Get away? Do you ever get tired of doing the same things every day, seeing the same people, eating the same food?"

Well, that was quick. Harry's pessimistic side had guessed that it would take a few days for Ruthie to realize that she'd made a mistake. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop, waiting until the disappointment mellowed enough for him to speak. "My life isn't as boring as all that," he retorted, angry at how petulant he sounded. "You're not a prisoner here."

"No! That's not what I meant," Ruthie exclaimed. She wore the same yellow dress she had on yesterday. She reminded him of a sunflower, so tall and buttery, always so quick to make someone smile. "I'm not bored. How could I be? I've only been here a day. I was just asking. I'm trying to understand how your mind works."

Harry scoffed. Good luck with that . He still didn't understand it. He thought to laugh it off, make a joke of his little idiosyncrasies, but found that he craved honesty instead.

"It's tiring," he began, surprising himself by how tired he sounded. "I'm always exhausted. Sometimes it feels that everything is hitting me at once. Everything is always so noisy. So I learned long ago that simple is better. I keep my life small. I keep order. I keep control. It…helps."

"Like your walk this morning in the park? Does that also help?"

"Walk?" Harry frowned. "Oh, no I wasn't walking. I mean, yes, I was walking, but…I like to start my day sitting. I prefer to go outside where it's quiet, since this damn place never is, and I close my eyes. I try to keep my mind still and underworked. Does that make sense?"

"I think so," she replied slowly. "Yes, it does. And it really helps you? Closing your eyes? It's the best thing that helps you block out the noise in your head?"

"Other than sex, yes."

Ruthie blanched. She cast her eyes down at the table. "Oh, yes," she said nervously.

Shit. Harry had been doing so well. Now last night was back to the forefront. He should have quit while he was ahead.

He stood. "I should be going. Thank you for dinner. I've never eaten dinner with my wife before. I…I rather enjoyed it."

Two spots of pink dotted her cheeks. "Thank you. I did as well. But you told Vine you weren't going down to the club tonight."

"I'm not. I figured I might as well get some sleep." He shrugged. "Maybe read a little."

"But I don't understand. This is your bedroom."

Harry stared at Ruthie, searching for guile. Was she trying to make a fool out of him? Did she want him to spell it out? "You already told me that we wouldn't be sleeping together anymore. So I just assumed that I would take another room."

"I never said that."

"You did."

"I did no such thing."

Harry planted his hands on his hips. "I remember perfectly well. At the park. You said specifically that last night wouldn't happen again."

Awareness dawned on Ruthie, and she let out a patronizing chuckle. "I meant that I wouldn't try to touch you anymore, but I still want to be with you. Honestly, Harry, we're not back to that, are we?" She got up from the table and mirrored his stance with her hands on her hips. "I want a real marriage, Harry Holmes. I won't take anything less."

He still didn't understand what she was saying. But he doubted she did either. "But l-last night…" he stammered. "Last night…last night…last night—" Fuck, the repeating! Harry bit his lips together.

Ruthie's irritation dropped. "It's fine. Last night was wonderful, and I would have told you that if you hadn't left me like you did."

"I didn't know what to say. I thought you were upset—"

"I was upset," she said. "I was upset that I didn't listen to you. You told me not to touch you, and I did."

"I hurt you."

"Not much. Just at the end. The beginning was…enlightening."

"I was only involved in the end."

"That's not true. Harry? That's not true."

He looked up to find her staring at him, her eyes so gentle and captivating, filled with such concern and understanding, it nearly broke him. Very few people had ever understood him; very few cared to try.

"I pushed you too far last night. I should have given you time, but that was my mistake—"

"You didn't make a fucking mistake—"

"Shh, please," Ruthie said. She reached out to hold him, but stopped herself and hung her arms at her sides, shaking them as if to rid herself of the temptation. "Let me get this out. I should have been gentler with you. Slower. But you've given me an idea, and I'd like to work on it. If you…" She glanced down shyly. "If you want to try again, we can continue to do it your way, or…we could try something different.

Want to? Fuck. That was all he wanted to do. But Harry curbed his excitement. "I don't want to disappoint you again."

Ruthie released a deep, throaty laugh. "Harry Holmes, you could never disappoint me. I chose you, remember? Now take off your necktie. I think I've come up with a better use for it."

*

Ruthie tied the knot at the back of her husband's head. "That's not too tight, is it? I don't want to hurt you."

"No, no, it's fine," he answered tentatively. "It's incredibly odd, but not uncomfortable."

"Good." Ruthie retreated from the bed and stood in front of Harry to admire her handiwork. She'd wrapped the necktie around his eyes to block his vision and had him seated on the edge of the bed. Other than his jacket, he still wore all his clothes, along with his trusty black gloves.

"Now what?" he asked, expectation high and apparent in his tone.

That was a good question. Ruthie wasn't exactly sure. She hadn't got that far in her theory. It had only come to her when Harry mentioned that he liked sitting alone in the park. The man seemed sensitive—more sensitive than others—when it came to outside stimuli, and it affected him in a most discombobulating way. If Ruthie could quiet his mind when he was alone with her, help him feel safe, then maybe their lovemaking wouldn't be such a source of stress. Maybe he could learn to enjoy the entire act instead of just the end. And maybe, just maybe, one day he would allow her to touch him the way that he'd taught Ruthie to touch herself.

She crossed her arms. "Do you trust me?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes."

His easy response gave her confidence to go on. "Good." She knelt in front of him and held her hand out just inches from his chest. "I'm going to touch your chest, Harry. That's it. I'm not going to do anything more. I won't unbutton your clothes or go any further. I'm going to put my hand right over your heart. Can I do that?"

She watched his throat bob as he licked his lips. "Yes. You can touch me. Now?"

"Now."

Gently, with great care, Ruthie rested her hand on his heart, marveling at the way she could feel its strong, insistent beat through his linen shirt and waistcoat. "Is that all right?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry replied. "Yes, this is fine. It's good."

"You're trembling."

He shook his head. "Not in a bad way. I…I'm getting used to it. I'm…I'm…"

"Maybe this is enough for today." Ruthie moved to stand, but Harry caught her hand and pushed it back to his chest, holding it there against his thundering heart. She smiled to herself and spread out her fingers, capturing more of him, taking all that he was willing to give. Her hand looked so small on his chest, and yet she felt immeasurably strong, strong enough to keep a man like Harry safe.

Locked in this embrace, Ruthie could feel her breath pumping faster, the communion of this moment affecting her in ways she didn't expect. She studied Harry as he pulled her closer, her torso as close to his as possible without touching. It was a lovely thing to stare at someone without their knowing, to appreciate the beautiful uniqueness of the other without embarrassment getting in the way. How Ruthie wanted to run her fingers along the gray shards of hair that weaved through his temples; how she wished to kiss the deep lines that fanned out from his eyes. She wanted to rub her hands over the chin stubble that forced him to shave more than once a day and caress the lips that had made her entire body tingle with one taste.

Harry's lips fell apart the tiniest bit, and Ruthie could see the tips of his white teeth. She leaned in, moving her face toward his, always mindful of his margins. "Is this too close?" she whispered in his ear.

Harry shook his head slowly. She took her hand from his and ran it up his chest. When she found his skin at the base of his neck, he shuddered.

"Do you remember what you told me when we first met?" Ruthie asked, sliding the tips of her fingers along his throat, riding its wave while he swallowed. "You said that I make you feel safe. Do you feel safe now?"

"Yes." His voice was shallow and reedy, but Ruthie felt the huskiness all the way down to her toes.

Ruthie's fingers made it to his chin. She grazed them against the line of his jaw, loving the grating effect of his whiskers on her sensitive pads. "Is this too much? Do you want me to stop?"

Once more he shook his head. "Keep going."

Ruthie allowed herself to be brave. She traveled up his cheeks, lightly skimming the bridge of his straight nose and sharp cheekbones. His skin was soft, supple, youthful. A map that had so much more life in it. Ruthie was sure that if she asked Harry what kind of book he was, he would tell her a tragedy, but she only saw a blank page waiting for their happy ending. Waiting for her to bring some romance into his pragmatic life.

She made her way down to his lips, hesitating briefly before tenderly caressing them. She was transfixed and attentive, mesmerized by their wide, lovely bow shape. Such shocking, filthy words had come from these lips, but they'd only ever made her feel lightheaded and cherished. They'd only ever made her feel wanted.

His mouth twitched against her, fluttering against her palm.

"Can I kiss you, Harry?" Ruthie asked. Her voice was just above a whisper, as if she were casting a wish upon a star, floating a prayer into heaven.

"Christ, you better soon. I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Ruthie flinched away. "Is it bad?"

He yanked her back to his face. "It's too fucking good," he said before capturing her lips.

This kiss was so very different than the one they'd shared on the street. That one was desperate and carnal, filled with open-ended questions and hasty panic. Maybe it was the way Ruthie had been touching him, but when Harry opened to her now it was exquisitely soft, undeniably sure and tranquil. With a gentle surge, he swept his tongue around her mouth in a luscious massage that touched Ruthie's heart.

It was a sweet kiss. A kiss of dreams. A kiss of sweetness and sincerity. A kiss of intention.

Ruthie continued to skim the side of Harry's face with her fingertips, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew his hands stayed at his sides. Even then, even lost in their kiss, he wouldn't allow himself to touch her. But she cast that thought from her mind for another day. They had time. There was no rush.

In this room, surrounded by other people's wealth and misfortune, Ruthie felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Because even though she could taste the need on her husband's tongue, she could also taste the want. Harry Holmes wanted her.

And that wanting surged. Soon the kiss became deeper. Their teeth clashed together as a primal, naked yearning took the reins. Harry groaned as he pressed against her, capturing and containing her desire, guiding their kisses with less restraint, less reverence. Ruthie could feel the heat building in him, feel the control slipping.

She told herself to pull away, but she wouldn't heed her own warning. There was something so beguiling about finding herself on this edge of danger. Not knowing was like a kind of drug.

And she only wanted more. Her fingers shook as they worked on the buttons of his waistcoat. There were five of them. Had he done that on purpose?

Harry wasn't stopping her. Was it Ruthie's imagination, or was he even backing away to give her more room to work? She was almost there. Just one more and then his shirt would be the only thing between her and his chest. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more in life but to place her hand on his heart again, only this time skin to skin.

The fifth button came undone in her hands.

"Harry!" A frantic pounding came from the door. "Harry, get out here! You have a problem that needs attention. Now!"

Vine.

Damn .

Harry's head jerked away, but Ruthie hadn't released his waistcoat. He yanked the necktie off his head and looked down. His eyes widened as if he were startled by what was happening. Slowly, Ruthie dropped her hands, and he instantly replaced her, doing the buttons back up.

"You should go," she said, coming to her feet.

"Yes," he said.

She wandered back over to the table, where Ernest never had left her the dessert. She wondered if it was too late to ask him for a taste of that pudding.

By the time she looked back at Harry, he was back in working order with his jacket on and his expression blank, as if the past few minutes had never happened. But they had. Ruthie could still feel them in her bruised lips, in the shakiness of her knees.

Harry walked to the door but stopped to face her as he reached for the handle. He cocked his head, a crooked smile on his face. "You said that people never listen to you?"

Ruthie's heart pounded against her chest.

"It's all I want to do." He hauled open the door. "Tomorrow, then? Same time? Same place?"