He had intended a gentle, soft kiss, he really had. A small show of affection to seal their bond, to remind her of the kiss they had shared in the past, to mark the occasion of their engagement with a symbol of love and of hope for the future. That was what he'd tried to do.
But then Ruth pressed her lips more firmly against his, and Harry lost all sense. One of his hands rested on her cheek, and the other now found its way to her waist, pulling her closer. Ruth's mouth began to move against his. He indulged in that for a moment before swiping his tongue over her luscious lips. She opened her mouth to him, and their kiss deepened.
All the world fell away in that moment. In the back of his mind, Harry knew what had happened. He had asked Ruth to marry him, and she had said yes. She was going to be his wife, as he'd wanted in his fondest dreams for so very long. And she was here in his arms and kissing him with the same passion and desire as he felt for her.
Harry pulled back eventually, trying to harness every ounce of self-control he possessed—which was not insignificant—and did his best to keep from pushing too far too fast. She had agreed to marry him. She had let him kiss her. Quite deeply, in fact. And now here she was, looking at him with unconcealed affection that he'd dreamed of all these years.
But the reality of their circumstance and of the setting was not lost on him, despite the way his body and his baser desires screamed out to ignore it all and just keep kissing her. There was still a chasm between them, he knew. They had been friends, these last few weeks. Friends with that something wonderful lurking beneath. Though he had asked her to marry him, though she had said yes, they had not brought to light all that remained to trouble them.
And, of course, they had just left Ros's funeral. This was not the place to have a celebratory snog, much as he had enjoyed the little bit of that they'd enjoyed until now. There were other things to focus on. Other things to keep them occupied until they could make time for romance later.
Harry swallowed hard, blinking to return himself to some semblance of propriety. "What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked.
"No, it can wait," she answered quickly, dropping her beautiful gaze from him and shifting uncomfortably. Her happy expression fell as she, too, recalled what reality had in store.
But Harry could not allow that. "No," he insisted. "We carry on from this. We will have our time to figure ourselves out, but we cannot let it interfere with what we must do."
Ruth paused for a moment, trying to orient herself back to what it was she had originally intended before Harry's own agenda had distracted her. She blinked and nodded and said, "Um, Nightingale conspirators."
She reached into her bag and pulled out a file. The wind kicked up, causing her to need to push her hair away from blowing into her mouth. Her lips were a little swollen from Harry's attentions, something he tried not to notice. He patiently stood, leaning against that wooden fence, waiting for her to share her brilliance.
"They buried their trails deeper than I've ever seen," she told him, flipping through the file to find the page she was looking for. "But last night we came up with something."
The photo paperclipped to the page was that of the former Home Secretary, Nicholas Blake. Nicholas Blake, with whom Harry had worked for years. Nicholas Blake, who Harry had respected. Nicholas Blake, who Harry would almost go so far as to call a friend.
Harry looked to Ruth, shocked. She nodded. "He was part of the inner circle, Harry. He gave the order to bomb the hotel."
It couldn't be true. Such a thing couldn't be true. "They smeared him, they forced him to resign," Harry said in disbelief.
"It was a smokescreen," she said. Her voice was twinged with regret.
Though Ruth had been gone for some of the intervening years, she knew the relationship that Harry had with Blake. This thing that she had uncovered, this truth that she revealed, this was untenable. Unthinkable. Harry could hardly wrap his head around the very idea of it.
"Everything's in there," Ruth told him, finally closing the file. She had dropped the bomb, leaving him reeling.
Well, turn about was fair play, he supposed. Harry had turned her world upside down by asking her to marry him. Now she'd turned his world upside down by telling him this terrible truth. He had, not two minutes ago, had the euphoria of having Ruth accept his marriage proposal and kissing him. The highest of highs had come crashing down to the lowest of lows.
Harry Pearce had experienced nearly every awful thing that the world could offer; he had been beaten, tortured, imprisoned, shot, and endured all manner of physical pain. But betrayal always had the bitter sting of wounding him right in the heart. This was not the first time he had experienced it. It never seemed to get easier to bear.
"Ever feel like you just can't go on, Ruth?" he asked, clutching onto the fence and trying to keep his equilibrium.
"Can't go on, must go on," she answered in both support and apology.
Harry once again tried to regain control over himself. Strangely, controlling desire and controlling rage were similar feelings. Lust and wrath, two of the deadly sins. Harry had all seven in spades, he was certain. Something to ponder in the bottom of a bottle of scotch another time.
"Do you want the file in your office?" Ruth asked quietly.
He had turned away from her, staring out into the field again, but he felt her hand rest on his arm. At her touch, Harry looked back at her again. "You'd better give it to me now. I normally wouldn't take such things home with me, but I don't think I should be on the Grid while I make my arrangements."
Ruth's eyes widened subtly. There was a time when every single feeling she had was etched on her face. Now, she had learned to school her features. She was still quite expressive, but she had learned to temper her reactions. Probably for survival. Yet one more way she had been forced to change as she adapted as a result of her sacrifices for him. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right, and Harry vowed quietly to himself that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make up for all that she had suffered.
That was for another time, though, just as he'd told her already. Though it struck Harry that, in accepting his proposal, Ruth had noted that they never seemed to have the timing right for anything between them, and waiting for the right time would result in nothing being done. They'd have to make the time. Yes, Harry would make the time.
"We should get back," she said quietly, interrupting his thoughts.
Harry gave a curt nod. "We should." He had driven her to the funeral; she did not have a car, and her flat was closer to his home than her old house used to be, so she accepted the offer to drive her as it was not actually out of his way. And she wasn't about to take a cab all the way out to this little country church.
The two of them fell into step together as they often did. They did not speak as they made their way back to Harry's Range Rover. His mind churned with a thousand thoughts, but he needed to sit in the quiet and organize them. And he would. Later, he would sit alone in his house with a glass of scotch and pore over the Nightingale file that Ruth had given him. He already had the outlines of a plan in his mind on what to do about all this mess.
But of course, that was the easy part. Finding a way forward with work was second nature. It was all the rest that gave him some difficulty.
Even as he had these thoughts, Ruth took his hand in hers. Their fingers laced together as they rounded the bend by the church and headed to the car park. It was the first time this had ever happened, at yet it already felt like the most natural thing in the world. Harry was holding Ruth's hand. His fiancée's hand. Despite the nightmare her research had inflicted, Harry could not help but think that this was a dream come true.
"Do you need to get home right away?" Harry asked as he got his keys from his pocket and unlocked the car door.
Ruth let go of his hand. "Not particularly. What do you need?"
He paused, holding the handle to the passenger door to open it for her. "Given…all this, I'd like to spend tomorrow handling it. And if you aren't opposed, I'd like to spend the rest of the day with you. I'd like to find a ring."
Her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. "You're sure you want to do that now?" She reached out and placed a gentle hand on his chest. "I won't change my mind," she promised. "Even if we have to wait a while to get a ring."
Harry softened at that. His heart warmed to know that she wanted to reassure him. But he shook his head. "No, I don't want to wait. This has been a day of sadness and regret in so many ways. Too many ways. I'd like the good to outweigh the bad."
"Was my agreeing to marry you not enough?" she teased lightly.
A small smile came over his lips. "It is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Truly. But I would like to spend the rest of the day with you in celebration of that. And as you said, we never seem to get the timing right. I'd like to use the time we have to get this taken care of. Something to distract from all the bad until we have to face it in the morning."
The raise of her brow made Harry realize the import of what he had said. He had not intended to insinuate that she would spend the night with him. Even if she had said she would marry him, that did not necessarily translate into so much so quickly. He never would assume so.
Harry resisted the impulse to correct his meaning with her. She was a smart woman. She would draw whatever conclusions she liked. He certainly would not deny her if she did want to spend the night. But he would let her decide that for herself.
Harry gave her a little peck on the lips, just because he could, and opened the car door for her. She got in, he shut the door, and he walked to the driver's side of the car. It was time to find an engagement ring.