Chapter Twenty-Three

R uthie nodded to the crowd of spectators as she walked off the field. She painted a smile on her face and tried to enjoy the attention the cricket players were receiving. Her teammates didn't seem to have that problem. Lady Everly took the adulation and applause like a queen accepting her due, and Maggie was practically flying with all the waving her arms were doing.

The first exhibition game had been a resounding success. The people of Bath had come out in their thousands to watch the London Ladies Cricket Club take on their local girls. Ruthie had thought the townspeople would be against them, wanting their local team to put the Londoners in their places, but once the match began and both teams exhibited strength and talent, the crowd split its admiration equally, relishing an afternoon of sun and sport. It didn't matter that women were on the pitch, only that good cricket was being played.

Lady Everly graciously shook yet another insistent young girl's hand before catching up to Ruthie's side. "I hope you don't mind my saying, Mrs. Holmes," she began in her serene tone, "but you played marvelously today. I don't know what came over you."

Ruthie flushed. She'd hit for thirty-six runs and didn't make one error in the field. Her lungs still stung from all the effort. "I'm sorry about that one wicket," Ruthie said, not sounding as guilty as she would have liked.

"Yes." The lines around Mrs. Everly's mouth tightened. "The ball was coming right toward me. I called to everyone that I would catch it. Did you hear me?"

"Yes," Ruthie admitted, "but I couldn't stop myself. I just knew I was going to catch it. I wanted the ball."

Lady Everly's mouth relaxed. "It's quite all right. Assertiveness is needed, and we all lose our head sometimes in the rush of the game." Her voice sharpened. "Just don't make a habit of it."

"I won't," Ruthie said quickly.

Together, the ladies made their way to the edge of the field, where a tent had been set up with refreshment tables for the players and spectators. The local team didn't have a pitch of their own yet, so Samuel had suggested the match take place on the grounds of the Earl of Warren's estate, where they were staying.

The sprawling country pile sat high against rich, rolling green fields and abundant, ripe farmland. An elegant, manicured park and imaginative, exotic gardens surrounded the great Baroque house, along with two idyllic ponds and countless meandering walking paths. It was a nature lover's dream, and Ruthie regretted that the team wouldn't have more time to explore it—especially since Harry had informed her that it was technically his…and hers. Her team only been in Bath for five days and were set to move on to Exeter in the morning for the next round of matches. Ruthie knew that this was most likely the only time she would ever spend in this gorgeous home and couldn't help but mourn it like a small death. Much like she was mourning her short marriage.

Lady Everly handed Ruthie a glass of punch from one of the tables. The tent seemed even louder than the field, since all the players gathered around one another, talking at once. Ruthie noticed how different the atmosphere was from a ball or other formal gatherings that ladies were used to spending time together at. Conversations ran the gamut from preferred batting stances to sore muscles—topics that mothers usually frowned upon when eligible bachelors were nearby, searching for dance partners.

Lady Everly surveyed the charming scene and took a sip of her punch. A few years older than Ruthie, the widow had always been friendly toward her, but vaguely aloof. Ruthie could never scrape past the surface of the austere woman, nor did she believe Mrs. Everly wanted her to.

"How did you find Bath?" the lady asked. "This was your first time, wasn't it?"

"It was," Ruthie replied, irritated by the stabbing sensation that pricked at her heart. Would it ever stop? "I enjoyed it immensely. The architecture…the pace… I can't wait to come again, take more time exploring."

The lady nodded in approval. "I thought the same when I first came here. Perhaps your husband will bring you back for a longer trip."

Ruthie's smile was weak. She'd only told Anna about that horrible night with Harry and her brother and wasn't ready to inform the rest of the group yet. What would she say to them, anyway? She hardly knew where she stood with her husband. Their relationship seemed irrevocably broken, but that didn't necessarily mean their marriage was over. Most couples lived together for years in polite disdain. But Ruthie couldn't imagine that tepid future. She wouldn't spend her years tiptoeing around the Lucky Fish avoiding Harry's ambivalence. And there was no reason to think he wanted that either. As he'd told her, his life was small. He didn't have room for people he couldn't tolerate. Perhaps Ruthie would end up in the Belgravia house after all.

"Yes," she said. Her forced smile was beginning to hurt. "Maybe we'll come back. That would be nice."

Lady Everly took another sip of her punch and gazed out toward the gardens. As usual, her expression was placid. Ruthie had only ever seen her ruffled or vexed when she spoke of her ex-teammates from the matrons club, who had forced her to leave after her husband had died. But Ruthie thought she saw something in the lady's expression, a restless heartache that Ruthie could only understand now that she'd experienced her own.

"Does it ever get easier?" she asked softly. Her arm grazed the lady's as they stood shoulder to shoulder away from the others. "Being alone, I mean."

The young widow shook her head wistfully. "I'm not alone."

"No, I meant—"

"I know what you meant," Lady Everly replied. Her eyes narrowed against the retiring orange sun. She reached for her necklace and rubbed the small heart pendant between her finger and thumb as if conjuring a vision.

"I'm sorry," Ruthie said. "I overstepped." She ducked her head, ready to give the woman her peace, but Lady Everly spoke again.

"My husband was a good man, my oldest friend. He's always with me even though it hurts sometimes to think of him. So I'm afraid my answer isn't very helpful. Some days are hard, and some days are…less hard. You simply must endure."

Ruthie nodded. A month before, she never would have approached the woman in this way, but something had changed in her. She valued Lady Everly not just as a teammate, but as an equal, which made it easier to create this intimacy and ultimately accept it. "Thank you," she said, "for being honest with me. It sounds like you had a lovely marriage."

Lady Everly laughed. "It wasn't always so. At times, I found our marriage to be very… trying . But as I've grown older and had time to think about it, I've come to learn that marriage is difficult because people are difficult. And my husband was a complicated man. There were so many layers to him that I wish I could have asked him about, tried harder to understand. But I suppose that's life. It's only human for people to hide parts of themselves away, create disguises to protect their hearts. I do. You do. Everyone in that tent does, even if they don't want to admit it. I think the key is to find someone who isn't afraid to get to the very heart of you. If you do that, you won't regret anything."

"Do you have regrets, Lady Everly?"

The widow's smile was wan. She reminded Ruthie of her mother, beautiful and statuesque, regal, with a hint of the coldness that only life could create. "Oh, my dear Mrs. Holmes, what do you think?" she asked.

*

Ruthie couldn't sit idly by any longer. She'd once declared to her husband that she refused to have anything less than a real marriage. Then why had she been so quick to accept defeat? Why had she allowed him to make that decision for her?

Unfortunately, Ruthie knew the answer. She'd fallen into an old, nasty habit. For years she had stepped aside, letting her mother control her life, too meek and afraid to face her. But Harry wasn't Lady Celeste, nor had he done anything to make her fear him. Harry was her partner. He was her companion. And he was her love.

If Ruthie had learned anything from her cricket match that morning, it was that she wanted the ball. And she could withstand the pressure and weight of it.

Harry Holmes could tell himself he didn't need his wife until he was blue in the face. It didn't matter. Because Ruthie knew the truth. He loved her. He wanted her. Just as she wanted him.

And she wasn't giving up on them without a fight.

As her teammates clustered together in the drawing room, putting their feet up and relaxing before they had to dress for dinner, Ruthie made a beeline upstairs. She wanted nothing more than to hop on the first train back to London to surprise Harry and force him to speak to her, force him to understand that she would never stop trying, but she couldn't desert her team. They were already dangerously short on players as it was, with Myfanwy, Jennifer, and Anna stuck on the sidelines due to their delicate conditions.

Leaving was not an option. But Ruthie couldn't wait either. A letter would have to do. With a single-minded focus, she burned a path to her room and dashed toward the little writing desk looking out to the pond. She found a pencil and paper in the drawer and flopped into the chair, ready to pour her heart onto the page.

"I've never seen you move so fast in your life. Where's the fire, darling?"

Ruthie hopped off the chair at the voice, barely saving herself from falling on the floor. She twirled to the bed, where Harry Holmes was lying back like he owned it, comfortable and relaxed with his ankles crossed and his hands tucked behind his head.

"Harry?" she exclaimed. "What… What are you… Here! You're here!"

His eyes twinkled at her inarticulateness, and Ruthie shot to the bed. Without a second's pause, she jumped on the surprised man and landed kiss after kiss on his face. "You're here. You're here," she kept repeating in between kisses. "I can't believe it. How did you do it?"

Harry raised his hands gently, trying to create enough space to speak. "Well, I certainly didn't fly."

Ruthie laughed and sat back on her ankles. Harry looked like Harry. His black hair was combed neatly off his forehead and his chin sparkled from a fresh shave. But on closer inspection, the bags under his eyes were prominent and his cheeks had sunk deeper in the days since she'd been away. "You took the train?"

"Of course I did."

"And how was it?"

"How do you think?" he said, shifting as if he was still in the distressing confines. "It was like being stuffed in a fast-moving, smelly shoe. I hated every second of it. Well, not every second. It became tolerable once the scenery changed. It was actually quite fun after that."

Ruthie wanted to leave the next question unsaid, but she'd always wonder if she didn't get it out of her. "And you did it for me? You left the city…for me?"

Harry scowled. "I certainly didn't do it for my health. This horrid man sitting behind me was coughing so hard I'm surprised he didn't lose a lung in my lap. It was revolting. But I…I couldn't stay away." He reached up and tucked a piece of her loose hair behind her ear.

He wasn't wearing his gloves.

Ruthie cocked her head, her lips forming a sly smile. "What's different about you?" she asked, remembering the day he'd found her in the park without her bonnet. "You look…incomplete, for some reason."

Harry's arms wrapped around her, and he hauled her into his lap. "I am incomplete. I've been living half a life since you left. I've come to beg for it back. And, according to two little girls, I look like shite." His expression sobered, and Ruthie could feel his fight for composure and calm as she straddled him. She placed her palm on his chest, hoping to curb his anxiety.

Slowly, with great intention, he held her hands to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist.

Ruthie was touched.

"But I won't allow you to forgive me this easily, Ruthie," he said. "I came here perfectly prepared to fight for you. Make me beg. Ask me for anything. Tea with queen, remember? I'll feed, clothe, and house every Irishman who lands on these shores hoping for a better life. And it will have nothing to do with my eternal soul. I'll only do it for you. I love you."

Ruthie couldn't see her husband anymore. Her eyes were filled with tears. Harry reached for her face. He held her cheek in his palm, stroking his thumb back and forth over her jaw.

"This isn't hard for me, Ruthie. In fact, it's easy. You make it easy. I realized that don't need to hide from you. I don't need to try so hard not to react. With you, I can just be."

"I know," she said, leaning into his chest, capturing his lips and his words, drinking them into her body where they would forever be a part of her. "I love everything about you. There's nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to ever worry about when we're together. I'll keep you safe, my love. I'll keep you safe from everyone."

Harry took a lock of her hair and caressed its ends with his fingertips. His face was raw and open, like he were a child noticing all the colors of the sunset for the first time. "I'm not afraid of dying alone, darling," he said softly before bringing his gaze back to hers. "I'm afraid of living alone without you. It terrifies me more than death ever could. I wrote about our marriage in my ledger not because I thought I was doing you good. You were a gift that I gave to myself. I won't allow you to think any differently. Can you accept that? Can you accept how dear you are to me? How important?"

Ruthie nodded, too choked up to form an answer. She searched for the handkerchief Harry always kept in his pocket and blew her nose into it before wiping the tears from her face. She was a mess, but her reflection was so bright and perfect in his happy eyes. And it was there that she finally saw the Ruthie that she wanted to be— his .

And she was beautiful.

Harry accepted the handkerchief back and returned it to his coat pocket. They gave each other the space and time to stare at one another. There were no anxious looks or darting, embarrassed glances. Ruthie allowed her husband to take in the memory, and hoped that it would be the first of many more for him to cherish as they grew old together.

Then he lifted his hand and did something she'd wanted him to do from the first time she'd met him. Harry imprinted himself on his skin as he traced the contours of his face. His fingers didn't shake as they rode the pointy ridge of her jaw, the long, straight slope of her nose. She opened herself completely and could feel him color in the shades of gray under her eyes and fill the lines bracketing her mouth. His touch made her whole again. His touch made her alive.

But, as ever, Ruthie wanted more.

She slid his jacket off his shoulders and undid the five buttons of his waistcoat. She nudged Harry to lift his arms, and she lifted his shirt off, so he was bare to the waist.

Pink and white scars slashed his chest, though the black, curly hair managed to disguise most of them. However, Ruthie wouldn't let them hide from her. She swept her fingers over all the places that had caused him pain in his life, giving ample attention to his side, where the almost -straight line from her stitches stood out from the others, still a deeper shade of red, in need of time and patience to truly heal. Solemnly, she kissed it. Harry's stomach jumped and flexed beneath her lips, and his hands latched on to her arms.

Ruthie giggled, raising a brow. "You're ticklish?" she asked, not having seen that coming.

Harry's cheekbones were apple-tinted; his forehead was slick with a thin layer of sweat. He was trying so hard for her. He'd told her it would be easy, but Ruthie knew it couldn't be. A person couldn't change their core overnight, no matter how much they wanted to.

But whatever Harry was willing to give would always be enough, because it would always be everything he could.

He seized her mouth while she giggled. The heat of the moment took over, and Harry leaned Ruthie back, giving her his weight. She tried to wrap her legs around his hips, desperate to feel all of him, but his busy hands waylaid her. He stripped her of her clothing, and only then, when she was naked and free underneath him, did he rise from the bed and rid himself of his trousers.

Ruthie grinned at this lovely man who was finally giving her this gift. He was thick and strong, tall and confident before her, with muscles that traveled in sleek, roping lines down his body.

He lifted one pointed brow and matched her grin. "Have you seen enough, wife?"

She shook her head, blushing at her blatant hunger. "If I say no? What if I told you that I like to watch?"

"Do ya?" he asked softly, his accent coming through. "Do ya like to watch?"

Nerves gathered in the pit of her stomach. Ruthie had only been joking, but her husband wasn't. She worried where this might take her, and if she'd be brave enough to follow.

She mustered her courage, coming up on her elbows, crossing one leg over the other. "I don't know. I've never been given the chance before. I should take it," she decided. "I'm going to ask you to do things, things that give you pleasure. Can you do that for me?"

"Lass, you know the answer to that," Harry replied instantly. His voice was deep and hoarse, and it made Ruthie's toes curl in the air.

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "Then touch yourself, Harry. Show me how you do it when I'm not with you. Show me what feels good."

A shudder ran through him as his hand lowered to his shaft, already hard and swollen. He rubbed it lazily with his palm while he stared at Ruthie, his sinful green eyes daring her to go on.

When she didn't say more, Harry's movements came faster as his fist pumped the length of his shaft. Velvety sounds erupted from his chest, and the tendons of his neck strained.

Ruthie uncrossed her legs and scooted to the edge of the bed. Harry slowed as she came closer, completely stopping when she reached out and took him in her hand. She mimicked his hold, and when she squeezed, Harry groaned, dropping his head back in ecstasy.

"I can't take this any more, wife," he rasped, cupping Ruthie's face and forcing it to look at him. Naked desire reflected back to her. Her naked desire. "I want you."

Without releasing him, Ruthie settled back on the bed, guiding him inside the apex of her thighs. Their lips skimmed as he entered her, slowly and reverently. Harry filled her body. He filled her heart and her soul.

And she did the same to him.

Their passion soon took over, and their bodies rocked as one. Their hands weren't as tame. Harry left no space on her body untended to. He worshipped the ridge of her collarbone with his tongue and kissed the skin behind her ears. When he took her breast in his mouth, he massaged the other with his palm. He couldn't get enough.

He was knowing his wife.

And when the moment came upon them, when their senses screamed and their spines curved and every ounce of energy felt used and depleted in the holy quest for fulfillment, Ruthie heard music in her heart. Her husband had sung an ancient song that her body had always known.

She still didn't believe in destiny, but at that thrilling moment, she knew it must have always been written in the stars.