Chapter Nineteen

L ater that night, Ruthie studied her husband carefully. Harry always ate quickly, seeming to wish to get the act out of the way so he could move on to more fulfilling things. She didn't mind that those things now included her. In fact, she approved wholeheartedly. Only, now his bites were slow and measured, his gaze far off, as if he were contemplating a puzzle hidden in the air.

"Is something wrong? Are the carrots not to your liking?" she asked. "Ernest said the cook made them the way you like…"

"They're fine," Harry replied evenly. He took a small bite of one as if to make a point.

Ruthie played with the chicken on her plate. Harry's room, which usually seemed so large and exotic, shrank before her eyes like the couple was being forced into a very polite and quiet box. Her new corset felt entirely too tight. She would never call Harry a moody person, yet here he was, in a definite mood .

She tried again. "Holly came by today to see me," she said, keeping her tone light and conversational. "She said that Bennie took her to the Adelphi Theater last night to see a new burlesque."

Harry continued to chew.

Ruthie went on. "She said we would like it; it's not as racy as some of the others and made Bennie laugh so hard he almost fell out of his chair, which…which is something."

Harry nodded absent-mindedly and cut off another piece of chicken.

"Maybe you'd like to take me there sometime?" Ruthie asked hopefully. "It sounds like a fun thing for couples to do."

"I don't like the theater," Harry replied.

"Have you gone?"

"Yes. And it felt like being stuffed in a smelly shoe."

Ruthie huffed. "It couldn't be that bad."

He bobbed his shoulders. "If you want to go, then you should go."

"I'd want to go with you."

Harry placed his knife and fork on his plate and wiped his mouth with his napkin. When he stared at her, Ruthie felt like she'd been doused in freezing water. "And I want to know why it sounds like an entire fucking Irish clan is in the middle of a three-day wake a few doors down from my own."

Ruthie's expression froze on her face. "Oh! Did I forget to tell you?" she said breezily, stalling for time. "I thought I told you."

Harry's smile did nothing to thaw the freeze. If anything, it made it colder. "No, as a matter of fact, you didn't."

"Well, husband, remember when we had that talk about my starting a charity?" she said, sitting as high as she could in her seat, gathering her confidence. "I've decided on one."

Harry lifted his brow. "And?"

"Aaand I thought about you and me and the kind of good we want to do in the world, and about you… I really thought about you—"

"Ruthie," he groaned.

"Don't be upset," she said, her control slipping. "I didn't know where to put them. And I thought since this house is so large and Ernest said there are rooms not being used, I…" Ruthie cringed, waiting for Harry's reaction, but it was taking too long, and talking—a lot—seemed like the only thing to do. "And I know you don't like discussing Ireland, and you don't have many good memories from that part of your life—or any part of your life, really—but I just thought that it would be good to help them. Because no one is, Harry. No one. These poor people have nothing to eat. They've lost their land and their homes and their families, and all we do is blame them. Have you read the newspapers? The Irish are called lazy, and people say the famine is all their fault. I don't understand how it could be. And you have so much, and you want to give so much, and…and…"

"Stop, stop, darling. Come here." Harry reached across the table for Ruthie's hand and tugged her out of her seat and into his lap. She was as surprised as she was flattered. He'd never done something so casually demonstrative before. She found it difficult to think when the soft leather of his glove skated affectionately across her back.

"I didn't mean to make you so upset," Harry said, hugging her torso. He leaned Ruthie back until she was resting on his chest. "I just wanted to understand how your mind worked."

Ruthie smiled. She recalled saying something very similar to him not long ago. "So, you don't mind? They were getting taken advantage of in the old rooms they rented. Did I tell you it's the two little girls we met in the park?"

"Naturally." Harry grinned.

"And their aunts and cousins and grandparents."

"It certainly sounds like it," he said as thumping and laughter were heard behind the walls. "What the hell are they doing in there?"

"They're children," Ruthie said. "They're acting like children. But don't worry. They promised me they would be good and quiet and not interfere in the club."

Harry squinted playfully. "And you believed them, did you? You believed a whole gaggle of Irish children when they told you they would behave."

"A gaggle?" Ruthie laughed. "They're not geese."

"You're right. They're not as quiet as geese."

She fingered the buttons of his coat. "So, you're not mad?"

"No, I'm not mad."

"And this isn't too personal for you?"

"Of course it's too personal for me!" he grumbled. The emotion came straight from his chest and nearly jostled Ruthie to the floor. "I've spent most of my life scratching that country off my skin. But the marks are too deep. I was nothing there. A bastard son. A freak. Unwanted. Unloved. I want nothing to do with their church and their superstitions." He hesitated. "And yet…sometimes when I wake in the morning, I can smell the grass. I can smell the color green. It's unmistakable and clean, and alive. It has so much energy and vitality. And all I feel is grateful."

Ruthie wondered if anyone's hands could ever touch another as intimately as his words had just touched her. They shot straight to heart and soul.

Harry blinked and frowned once he saw the look Ruthie was giving him. He wiped a hand across his face, and the moment was gone. "But why didn't you think about the Belgravia house? It's empty and bigger and probably more suitable for a gaggle of curious children and whoever else comes along. Feed them, house them, buy them clothes, find them work. Do what you can."

"Really?" Ruthie asked in astonishment. "I can do that?"

"I don't see anyone stopping you."

"Oh, thank you, Harry!" She threw her arms around her husband's neck, placing wet kisses along his chin. "Thank you. Thank you."

She noticed the tension in his body as well as the effort he was using to hide it. Instantly, Ruthie pulled away, resting her hands against the safety of his chest instead. She didn't apologize. She knew he wouldn't want her to.

"I'll start organizing everything the moment I get home from the cricket exhibitions. I can't believe it's almost time to leave. Four whole weeks away from London." She whistled, winking cheekily. "You're going to miss me something fierce, aren't you?"

"Undoubtedly." Harry's smile was genuine, but Ruthie thought she recognized a dash of sadness at the periphery.

She went back to playing with his buttons. "You know…you could come with me. I hear that Bath and Exeter and Manchester aren't so different from London. Myfanwy says the houses we are staying in are very comfortable, plenty of your own space to be had. And the families are the very best—highly virtuous and commendable."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Harry chuckled. "They lost their ancestral homes to me, so they weren't that virtuous."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, darling girl, that you and your teammates are staying in my homes—all of them. And yes, I hear they are very comfortable. I'm sure you will enjoy them."

Ruthie flinched. "But I… She said…" Her eyes widened. "You have estates in all those cities?"

"You know I do."

"Well, yes, you've told me, but…I don't think I ever believed you."

"Believe it, darling." Harry leaned in for a kiss that was over much too soon. "You're disgustingly rich now."

Ruthie slumped on his lap. "Well, that is something."

"I like to think so."

"So, you'll come?" Ruthie told herself not to be embarrassed by the hope in her voice. Or by the way it swiftly died when his expression turned serious.

"Ah, no," Harry said. "I told you. I don't travel outside the city."

"But that doesn't mean you can't. Or won't."

"It does for me. I told you, Ruthie, it's best for me to stay here. I like it here. I can be myself here."

Ruthie hopped out of his lap. "But you're not yourself here. You're always trying so hard to be the opposite of yourself. You just said so yourself. You play an Englishman, but you're not and never will be."

"That's hardly what I meant. Don't twist my words around on me," he said. The harshness in his tone shocked her. "I'm Harry fucking Holmes. I own most of the buildings and half of the men in this damn city. I've made it this way. Me. I did that. And now you're asking me to leave it?"

"I'm not!" Ruthie protested. "I'm not asking you to do that at all. I just thought it would be an adventure, something to do together. But let's not worry about it. If it makes you upset—"

"I'm not upset."

"Fine. You're not upset. Let's just change the subject."

Harry crossed his arms like a stubborn child, stretching out his legs. "Fine. What do you want to talk about? Seen any good theater lately?"

Ruthie groaned. Her neck lolled back until she was staring at the ceiling. "Now you're just being an ass."

Harry laughed. "I am, aren't I? I'm sorry. Christ, I seem to be apologizing a lot tonight," he said. Ruthie didn't have enough time to react. He reached out and caught her by the waist, returning her to his lap. "Truly. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take my anger out on you. It's not your fault. I… Sometimes I worry that you'll grow tired of me, tired of this life. What's worse is that I wouldn't blame you if you did."

Ruthie swiveled in his lap until she was facing him. She maneuvered her legs until one rested on either side of his hips. She could feel him growing beneath her and couldn't hide her own building excitement. This could be the night. She would ask him to take her again, to place his bare hands on her naked flesh. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew Harry wasn't ready, but she would ask anyway. He wouldn't take her to the theater; he wouldn't take a train. He could do this.

"Harry," she said slowly, bracketing his face with her hands. She held him there for a moment, allowing his body to acclimate. A hot flush came over her as he stared at her lips and worked on undoing his necktie. "How many times do I have to tell you that you're enough? This place is enough." She held her mouth inches from his, toying with the idea of kissing him. His breath was sultry and warm. His jaw was tight and unyielding beneath her hands. "I just ask that you keep trying. Please?"

Harry nodded, nipping her lips with his teeth. He reached around for her arse and grabbed a handful of flesh. Then he pushed her hips down, grinding them into his shaft. "I'll always try for you," he said, moving his pelvis along with the motions. "Always. Always. Always."

"Shh," Ruthie purred, placing her fingers over his mouth. Instantly, he was soothed. "I know, dearest. I know."

His eyes darted back and forth between her own, wide, childlike, lost in wonder. "My God, you're so fucking beautiful," he whispered. "So fucking beautiful."

Ruthie shook her head. "Please don't—"

"Be quiet," he said gruffly. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Sometimes I can't look at you, you're so beautiful. I thought so the moment I first saw you, dressed up like a man. I couldn't stop staring at this arse."

Even as Harry was growing more and more aroused, he was dousing her mood. Ruthie squirmed under his gaze.

"Stop it," he ordered her. "Let me look at you. You're all I've ever wanted, Ruthie Waitrose. From the freckles that are determined to never leave to the smile that is always so mysterious to me. To your hair that reminds me of the day"—Harry ran his nose along her neck—"to your smell that reminds me of our nights." He placed a gentle kiss on her jumping pulse. "You do more than make me feel safe. You are my safe haven. My refuge. You are where I belong."

She was so mesmerized by his words that Ruthie didn't notice her dress sliding up until the cold air hit her thighs. Harry had it pooled around her waist before he moved to his trousers. With a kiss, he lifted her to her knees as he shifted underneath.

He kept her there, poised on the tip of his shaft, waiting until she met his gaze. Only when she had did he continue. His expression was brutal and intense, savage in its intensity. "I've tried and tried for you, and I will keep trying," he declared. "But tonight, I'm going to ask you to do something for me. Tonight, I want you to try to see yourself through my eyes. Try to feel as beautiful as I know you are, as courageous and strong. Tonight, I want you to take everything I have to give and only want more. Because that is what you deserve, my love. Everything."

When Harry surged into her, Ruthie was ready. She took him wholly and completely, with a freeing wantonness she'd never experienced before. When they came together, she hugged his face to her breasts, keening into his hair. The cataclysmic exchange was heavenly and divine.

Harry released inside her, giving her his heart and his future, and Ruthie took it greedily.

And in the end, she did as he said. She only wanted more.