Chapter Seven

"You've been odd all weekend. What's bothering you?"

Harry turned from his drink cart to see Malcolm entering his study and closing the door behind him. Harry smiled to himself and poured another glass of scotch. He took one for himself and gave the other to Malcolm. "Children in bed?"

"Yes," the butler replied, sitting down on the overstuffed leather sofa beside Harry's armchair as usual. "Graham wanted to keep reading his book, but he put it down when I told him I'd keep the collection under lock and key if he didn't."

"I'm glad he likes to read," Harry said softly. It was an admirable quality for a boy of twelve. Harry himself had been equally enamored by books and cricket when he was that age. He'd bought that collection of leather-bound classics for his son on Malcolm's recommendation. Even after living with them for over a year, his work schedule still kept him away from his children more often than not and he had not gotten to know them as well as he wanted to. He still needed the butler to tell him what the children would want as gifts.

"That collection was the perfect birthday present for him," Malcolm said. "When I told you he might like something to read, I didn't imagine you'd get him a whole library."

"I didn't think books would spoil him too much."

"No, certainly not. He's a good boy, Harry. He's not as sad as he used to be, but I think it's hard for them both to live here in the same house with you and still see you so infrequently."

Harry took a sip of his scotch. He knew Malcolm was right. He could probably count on two hands the number of full, uninterrupted days he'd spent with Catherine and Graham since he'd taken the position with Foreign Intelligence. They only managed to have dinner all together about once a week, if they were lucky. This weekend—even though he'd been on the phone for a lot of it—had been a very special occasion to celebrate Graham's birthday. But now that the department was properly up and running, perhaps he could cut down on his hours and be home with the children a bit more. Ruth could more than take care of things if he weren't in the office as much.

Ah, Ruth. That was the real reason for his odd mood, which Malcolm had picked up on. She would be returning from Gambon tomorrow.

"I asked a woman out last week and I will be getting her response tomorrow," Harry told Malcolm. It was changing the subject, but he'd been the one to change it initially when he asked about the children.

To Harry's slightly surprise, Malcolm began to laugh. "How on earth did you let that happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Harry, you have something of a notorious reputation, lest you forget that I knew you in the army all those years ago. It isn't like you to ask a woman out and give her time to respond or be at all concerned that she might turn you down!"

"Well, this woman is very different," Harry defended. Malcolm was right about his track record. He'd had a gift with seduction in his younger years. Before he was married. While he was married. After he was married. But after Jane died and he obtained full custody of the children, he had slowed significantly in his womanizing ways. Only when he was off duty in his foreign assignments did he go on the hunt for a woman to bed. He never dared think of such a thing when he had his children at home. He credited himself with some decency after all.

Malcolm regarded him curiously. "Different how?"

Harry did not quite know where to begin. Ruth was nothing like the women he'd been interested in before. He'd liked women who were dangerous and fun. He'd liked women who presented a challenge, women he could win over, women whose very natures dared any man to try to bed them. And he almost always succeeded before. Jane had been slightly frigid before he thawed her—though his loss of interest and her isolation had frozen her right up again. Before that, Tessa had been quite the tigress for him to tame. For a while, he developed a taste for women of nobility who were looking for a bit of unsupervised, naughty fun. Juliet had been the end of that streak, as she had been quite content to chew him up and spit him out, rather that the other way around as Harry was used to. Just the thought of that woman made him uneasy nowadays.

But Ruth, Ruth was nothing like any of them. She was beautiful, of course, but in such a subtle and understated way. She presented herself well but never with too much artifice, never trying to make herself attractive. She was so frightfully brilliant and capable at her job, it entranced him. He felt no inferiority to her far superior intellect, but rather appreciated it. Strange, that. He found nothing about Ruth to be threatening, though her qualities were certainly enough to intimidate any person. But she was so bright and kind and well-meaning. She had a sweetness about her that he found to be a breath of fresh air. Such a demeanor was not often present with a mind like hers. The combination had utterly enchanted him. From the first moment they met, he'd been drawn in by the bewitching beauty of her eyes and her smile. And since knowing her and working with her, his interest had only increased and his regard for her only deepened. He felt he knew Ruth in the way a supervisor knows his closest employee, but he wanted to know so much more. He wanted to ask her questions and hear her answers. He wanted to see her in every light and in every possible way. And yes, he certainly wanted to take her to bed, to see if that sparkle in her eye and that blush in her cheeks meant what he'd imagined it to be if he could ever manage to get her naked in his arms.

But all of that was quite hard to explain. Because all of that meant nothing if she said no to his dinner invitation. And so he told Malcolm, "I like her. Very much. I like her as an analyst and as a member of my team."

"She's in your department?"

He nodded. "I'm sure you've heard me mention Ruth."

Malcolm gave a knowing smile. "Ah yes. I wondered if there might be something there. You don't often speak about women you work with in that way."

"In what way?"

"With a bit of awe."

Harry could not dispute that. He was in awe of Ruth. Her efficiency and her dedication and her intellect. All of it awe-inspiring.

"So you asked her to dinner?"

"Yes. She was going away for a few days, and I asked her to go to dinner with me. And when she didn't answer right away, I told her to think about it and answer me when she got back."

"And she gets back tomorrow?"

Harry nodded. "But her working with me isn't really the only matter of concern."

"Oh?"

"Well, everyone calls her Ruth, but that isn't her proper name. Just like I don't like being called Sir Harry, it seems she doesn't like being called Princess Louisa."

Malcolm's jaw dropped. "Harry, you can't take the princess out on a date!" he exclaimed.

"Why not? She's just a person like anyone else, she's just got an important grandfather."

"But surely there are rules for things like this! Is she even allowed to date? Is she betrothed to some foreign prince to wed on her eighteenth birthday?"

"She's twenty-three, actually. I got a look at her personnel record so I'd know when her birthday is. She liked the book I left for her on her desk," Harry interjected.

Malcolm was not as endeared by that little story as Harry thought he should have been. "She is a member of the royal family. Her grandfather is King Richard V. And who are you?"

"Major Henry James Pearce, knighted Sir Harry by His Majesty ten years ago," he replied facetiously.

"I mean it, Harry, you can't just ask her out like you would anyone else. And never mind that she's a princess, you said she's only twenty-three? Aren't you about to turn forty?"

"Not for another five months," he grumbled. As a point of fact, Ruth would be turning twenty-four before he turned forty. But he knew Malcolm's point still stood.

"You're right to be nervous," Malcolm said. "You'll be lucky if her response doesn't come with a threat from the Royal Guard to stay away from her."

Harry did not bother to say that Ruth's sole bodyguard, a Mr. Tom Quinn, was wildly ineffectual. Presumably he was a perfectly fine protector, but Harry had overpowered him with his authority quite easily, and no one in the department ever had to see him except when he followed Ruth to and from the registry and escorted her in and out of the building.

For the rest of the night, Harry remained in his anxious mood about Ruth. He knew Malcolm was probably correct about him underestimating the effect of her being a princess. Ruth acted just like a regular woman doing her job, despite being significantly better at her job than anyone else. Harry did not think of her as a princess unless he was given reason to be reminded. Sometimes she had to go to various royal events, like this trip to Gambon at the King's request. But otherwise, no one would have ever known she was royalty. Maybe that's what Harry liked so much about her. But maybe he was remiss in thinking it did not matter.

Much to Harry's chagrin, he was prevented from going into his office first thing the next day. He was ushered into a long and terribly boring meeting with the Director of Intelligence first thing. He'd not even gotten to take of his coat or put down his briefcase. And because he was detained, he'd not been there when Ruth arrived that day.

Finally, though, he was released from the purgatory of pointless meetings and allowed to go to his office. The department was bustling when he arrived, everyone already well into their day. Ruth was on the phone and taking down notes when he walked by her desk. She did not acknowledge him, and he did not want to interrupt her. Even so, his heart thundered in his chest just to see her face after five days.

Harry intended to just push through his nerves and get right to work just as he normally would. But after he hung up his coat and turned on the lights in his office, he saw a slip of paper folded on his desk. He sat down and unfolded it. It was a note. Just two short sentences. Unsigned. Bu the recognized the handwriting.

Thank you for giving me time to think. My answer is yes.

He read the words over three times and felt his chest grow warm. Harry looked up through the large window in his office that looked out over the bullpen. He saw that Ruth had gotten off her telephone call. She was looking right at him. And they both shared a beaming smile.

Harry's phone rang, jolting him out of the happy moment. He answered it. "Pearce," he barked gruffly. He folded the note and put it in the front pocket of his uniform to save. In the bullpen, one of the other analysts came to ask Ruth a question. Back to work.