Fifteen:
Shaken, Not Stirred

Ruth's driver took her the long way round because of a traffic snarl, and she was glad of it. She'd conferred with Catherine to get Harry's current address so she could surprise him by just showing up on the doorstep – rather than calling and being forced to wait forever and a day at the airport.

The streets of London weren't much changed from when she'd left, and she drank in the sights and sounds blissfully. The driver smiled and said, "Been a while since you've been home, then, miss?"

"Yes," Ruth said softly, smiling out the window. "I'd almost forgotten how annoying the traffic is and what an eyesore some of the things are."

"How long have you been out of the country?"

She sighed sadly. "Years. A decade."

"Too long."

She nodded. "Too long, indeed."

"Well, whomever you're staying with will set you straight – this is a very posh neighborhood, you know," he commented dryly.

She nodded and murmured, "Yes, well, my husband doesn't do things by halves, really."

They pulled to a stop in front of a row of townhouses, and he gestured. "That'll be it, then, ma'am – number 46. Let me get your luggage."

While he was unloading her things, Ruth stood there and looked at the house with its white paintwork and stark black trim and door. Clearly the house was part of a historical registry trust; the front 'garden' which consisted of several flower beds that were filled with flowers in riotous colors was neat and tidy, the stonework steps were swept clean, and the windows gleamed as the sun retreated low in the sky.

Ruth paid the driver a handsome tip; his company would be paid the rest through their contract with iNBC. And she took a deep breath and carried her bags to the front door. She rang the bell, and waited.

Suddenly, there was a furor of barking, and then Harry's voice. "Yes, Duchess, yes, calm down – someone's at the door, yes." The door opened, and he blinked as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. "What? How? When did you –"

"I wanted to surprise you," she said with a smile.

"You have," he breathed. "Come in, my love – let me get your bags – we'll have to set out another mug for tea –"

"Harry?" she murmured.

"Yes?"

"Don't I even get a kiss?" she asked. She need not have asked; he pulled her close and kissed her indecently, their tongues tangling salaciously as they stood on the doorstep. The dog was busy sniffing Ruth, and she finally huffed a bit and went inside again. When they finally broke apart, Ruth breathed, "Oh, I've missed that…"

"If you've been missing that, just wait until I get you upstairs," he teased softly. "But, for now, won't you come in before the neighbors see and begin to gossip?"

"Sod the neighbors," she said cheerfully. They both grabbed her bags and went inside. She took everything in; clearly, Sarah and Graham were good for him, because the place had a lived-in feel and even the antique furniture was appealing. "Where's Portia?"

"We're in the kitchen," Harry said, setting her bags down and brushing another, sweeter, kiss over her skin. "Sarah's finally managed to get her to try a bit of very milky sweet tea."

Ruth smiled and said, "I've missed her so much –"

"I know you have," he said softly. "She's managed to charm the hell out of everyone she's met…"

"Just like her father," Ruth murmured, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"No, her father is a grumpy old sod," Harry sighed. "Come on – let's get you a cuppa and we'll decide what to order in for supper. Graham works late, and Sarah has been living on curry the last few days – she says it's the only thing that's settling her stomach." He paused, then added, "But we can get in whatever you'd like."

"Harry, I'll be here for nearly two weeks – curry is fine," she promised, giving him a kiss.

Harry led her into the kitchen and said, "Portia, look who's here."

Portia glanced up from her puzzle book and shrieked, "MOMMY!" She knocked over her chair in her haste to get to Ruth, and threw her arms around her mother's legs. "I missed you so, so much!"

"Not nearly as much as I missed you, my darling," Ruth breathed, hugging her daughter and beginning to cry. "Oh, you've grown since I saw you last…"

"I don't think so –"

"Just a little," Ruth murmured. "But even just a little is good. Have you been having fun with your dad?"

Portia nodded, her curly red hair going every which way. "We went to a museum today," she announced. "And we looked at the mummies and things. I like London, mommy – can we live here?"

"We'll talk about it later," Ruth said softly. "Now, why don't we all have a cuppa and some biscuits, and talk about what we want for supper."

Portia grinned at her. "Uh-huh," she agreed, bouncing back to the table where Sarah was still sitting, dunking a ginger biscuit into her tea. "Sarah, this is my mommy – she got here early."

Sarah smiled wanly. "Hi," she said. "I'm a bit nauseous, sorry…"

"No, it's all right, don't worry," Ruth said. "Harry told me you're expecting – I don't want you to go to any trouble just for me, Sarah. Especially when you feel poorly."

"Builders okay, my love?" Harry asked. "I might have a bit of Earl Grey in the very back of the cupboard, but I don't know how long it's been in there…"

"It's fine," Ruth promised. Within a couple of minutes, she had a perfectly brewed cup of tea with a splash of milk in hand and was settled in at the table.

"How was your flight?" Harry asked.

"Lovely, actually," she murmured. "A private jet is much different than a Virgin 747."

She smiled when Harry's fingers brushed against hers and he held her hand. Still, after all these years, that had the power to thrill and excite her. She knew that by the time they got upstairs and ready for bed tonight, no holds would be barred. And it was enough to start arousing her, this little bit of attention.

"Long trip, though –"

"We stopped over in Singapore and Dubai," she said. "It wasn't that bad, but I wanted so badly to come home and see you both."

Sarah looked up and said, "You two are too sweet together."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So, dinner," he said. "We've been having an awful lot of curry…"

"I like curry," Portia piped up.

"Yes, I know," Harry said. "But why don't we ask your mum what she'd like?"

"I think I could stand a good chicken tikka masala," Ruth replied with a smile. "We can do something else tomorrow. Or I can whip something up, if you'd like."

"Are we going to see granddad this weekend?" Portia asked Harry.

"We are," Harry replied. "I've booked the train and all." He glanced over at Ruth. "He wants to throw a party; I thought it was probably best not to turn him down in a gregarious mood."

"I'd love to meet your father," she replied honestly.

"I'm not sure my stomach could take the train," Sarah moaned. "And bloody Graham can't take time off work, especially since I resigned at the shop."

Harry sighed and said, "I told you Malcolm is looking for a helper…"

Sarah sat up and stuck her tongue out at him. "I haven't coded for a bloody long time," she protested.

He just sighed and gave Ruth an annoyed look. "She read computer programming at university."

"Well, I taught myself how to hack," Ruth said. "It's not bloody rocket science, Harry, but languages and syntax do change, and it can be difficult to keep up with if you aren't doing it constantly. Don't fault her for not necessarily wanting to be Malcolm's tea girl. And don't put so much pressure on; being pregnant isn't easy. I had eight jobs when I was pregnant, and I ended up quitting them all because I could hardly move."

"Are we having curry, dad?" Portia asked.

"Yes, I suppose we're ordering in a curry," Harry sighed.

"Graham is working a graveyard shift," Harry said, his hand splayed low across the small of Ruth's back, very nearly on her bum. "He won't be in till five or six in the morning."

Ruth nodded and smiled a little. "Okay," she murmured. "So I have time to prepare for meeting him, still."

Harry shrugged a little. "He swings hot and cold; one minute, he's very accepting, and the next, he's a bit… not."

"Mmm, like his father a bit?" she teased.

The master bed and bath apparently took up the entirety of the third floor; Ruth was impressed when he opened the door and flipped the light switch. The room was spacious, open, and would clearly be bright in the morning hours when the sun was coming up. An enormous bed – clearly an antique – took up space on one wall, and Harry's "office" took up another corner. But there was still so much space… and several Persian rugs covered the mass of hardwood flooring.

"I've not really taken much time to decorate," he admitted. "Downstairs, a bit, but most of the things came with the house when I inherited it."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "It's quite lovely," she murmured. "But I wonder if that bed is made to withstand…"

"Five generations of Pearces have likely been conceived in that bed," he said, giving her a disapproving look. "I think it's up to the force of our… coupling."

She couldn't help it; she started laughing. "Oh, this is absurd – it's like we've never made love before, and you're just trying to show off your etchings."

He cracked a smile, and she leaned in to kiss him. "Ruth, I've… I've always thought that if I lived here, I would have someone here to share it with. Thank you for finally letting me share it."

She kissed him again. "I'm absolutely knackered," she admitted with a laugh.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips.

"You'll have to tell me, sometime, how much," she murmured, smiling.

"More than the sun, the moon, and all of the stars in the sky," he breathed. "Without you, I'm not certain I can go on. Not anymore."

She smiled and ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I wouldn't want to go on without you," she whispered. "The last couple of weeks have been torture. And eleven years… it was bloody awful."

He leaned in and kissed her, this time with intent. It wasn't just a tender kiss, no, this was a kiss that showed her just how he felt, and it warmed her through and through. He pulled her closer, flush against him, and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. The kisses went on, and it was comfortable like that, wrapped up together sweetly. She pulled away for a moment to breathe, and he lowered his forehead to hers, their noses touching, their lips a heartbeat away.

"Bed?" he suggested, but it was almost an order rather than a suggestion.

"Oh, yes, please," Ruth murmured.

He nodded and gestured to the bamboo panel on the other wall. "The en suite is through there; please make yourself comfortable," Harry invited. "I'll go let Duchess out for the last time and set the alarm, and I'll be right back."

Ruth hesitated a moment, feeling like the mood was broken. "Harry, I –"

"We're both tired," he said gently. "And if we make love, we should be happy and comfortable and tucked up in bed."

"When," Ruth said.

"Hmm?"

"You said 'if' we make love – it's 'when' we make love, Harry, because… because it will happen," she said. Her confidence was shaky, but she wanted him to know her intent.

"I didn't want to assume," he said softly.

"Go close up for the night," she murmured. "I'll take a shower and get ready for bed."

She took a couple of steps toward the bathroom; he stopped her and grabbed her hand. "Ruth, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to –"

"No, it's okay," she said. "You've got more than just me to worry about. Go ahead, love." She pulled away from him and went into the bathroom. It was just as airy and spacious as the bedroom was; all gleaming gold-toned fixtures, olive and yellow tones in the shower curtain, the rugs, and the walls. She shed her clothes and found the clean towels, then got into the shower and washed the day away with water so hot it was almost scalding.

She stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later in Harry's dressing gown, fluffing her hair with the towel. Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"Hello," she murmured.

He glanced up and sighed. "Hello."

"I rather like your bathroom," she said. "I rather like your house. If I didn't have to be based out of Los Angeles, I'd rather like to live here."

He looked up at her and said, "I've not been entirely honest with you."

She shrugged. "Everyone has their secrets."

"This was my grandparents' townhouse," he said. He took a deep breath, then sighed. "You know how I've always looked down my nose at the aristocrats and the Establishment?"

She came over and sat down beside him. "It's one of the things I like about you," Ruth murmured. "That you're enobled and such a shit about it."

"My father is the Earl of Bly," Harry finally said. "When he dies, I inherit. When I die, Graham inherits. My grandparents split this house away from the main estate because I was young and newly wed with Catherine… we never lived here. Jane hated it." He frowned and looked away. "I'm sorry; I should have told you."

She frowned. "Really?"

He exhaled and sighed. "Are you horribly cross with me?"

"I'm more cross that you think I'm so shallow as to care whether or not you've got money and a bloody title," she said, her frown turning into a scowl. "I love you, Harry bloody Pearce, and have done since before you were a Knight. I don't care. I love you."

"I've felt horribly guilty," he admitted.

"Don't," she whispered. "I don't bloody care. It doesn't matter."

"My father – you see – the party…"

"Harry, it's a party," she said softly. "It's not the first one I've been to, and I'm sure it won't be the final one, either."

He exhaled. "He wants to throw a party congratulating us on our marriage," he said very quietly. "He's invited friends, family, people I've not seen in years… and, of course, the landed gentry and all kinds of –"

"Harry," she murmured, placing her hand on top of his. "It's fine. I love you. I trust you. I'm not afraid anymore." She drew his attention back to her, and smiled. "You're so sweet to be worried, my love."

"I'm terrified," he whispered. "I'm scared to death that you'll leave because I lied and never told you –"

"Not going to happen," Ruth said, shaking her head. "You're stuck with me, Harry."

"Jane hated this house," he said very quietly, "because she hated me, and this was all the more reason… all the more reason to want out of our marriage. We never lived here, though it was my grandmother's intention for Catherine and Graham to have a safe haven."

"It's a safe haven for Portia," Ruth murmured, squeezing his hand. "And for you."

"It's called Ravensmede," he said. "The house, I mean. My grandfather was quite fond of Edgar Allen Poe. It was his refuge away from the pressures of everything – work, the War, grandmum's worry about the estate taxes…"

She gave him a kiss. "It's a lovely house," she whispered. "And I love you even more because you put my favorite body wash in the bath."

He smiled just a tick and put his arm around her. "Of course," he said softly. "The lady of the house must feel most welcome in it."

She got up and untied the sash of the dressing gown, letting it slide off her shoulders and reveal her naked skin. "I am," she said. "Very comfortable."

His eyes twinkled, and they watched her as she climbed into bed and pulled the sheet loosely over her. As soon as she was settled, breasts still exposed to the open air, he got up and began taking off his clothes. When he joined her in bed, he was as naked as she was, and she took the chance to explore his body in the dim light from the bedside lamp.

"Like what you see?" Harry asked, his tone slightly sarcastic.

"Mmm, yes," she whispered. "You're perfect."

"I am anything but perfect," he huffed.

"You're perfect to me," she murmured. "I'm far less than perfect; my thighs are huge, my bum's got fat, and I've got more stretch marks than –"

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he interjected.

She smiled and gave him a kiss; when he deepened it, she snuggled into his embrace and let the emotions and the sensations run wild between them. Lips, tongues, hands, fingers… skin everywhere was licked and touched and kissed, every nerve ending brought to life with delicious delight. By the time he pulled her hips down flush with his, his hands spanning her hips and digging in, they were both more than ready. She gasped and closed her eyes, feeling him fill her almost to overflow. She moved slowly, feeling the buildup already tingling in her spine, wanting it to last as long as possible. His eyes were glassy with desire, watching her, his hands holding her steady as she rocked against him.

"Ohhh," she breathed, gasping, closing her eyes, and giving in when her orgasm took hold. Harry wasn't far behind her… only a few moments passed before his eyes rolled back and he groaned.

It wasn't explosive; it was comfortable, good, lovely. It was normal, and it was them. It was beautiful simply because it was between them, despite both being exhausted.

She buried her face in his chest and breathed in the smell that was uniquely her Harry; a bit of sweat, a bit of that salty water-smelling cologne, and something she would never be able to identify aside from 'Harry'. She had missed it so much that now the absence of it was unnerving.

He pressed a kiss into her hair, the top of her head, and he whispered, "What time do you have to leave in the morning?"

"My driver will be here at seven," she whispered, sighing.

"I'll make sure you have breakfast," he promised softly. "I'll set the alarm."

She pressed a kiss to his chest. "I love you," she whispered.

"You say that so much," he rumbled softly.

"Because I want you to know it."

"I do know it," he whispered. "Every time you smile, I know it."

"Harry, you've gone soft in your old age," she murmured, yawning and closing her eyes. "Good night, my love."

END PART FIFTEEN