Author's Note: I seem to have acquired a rather horrible cold which has meant that the proof read of this isn't terribly thorough as my head is all fuzzy. This chapter is also a little shorter than the others, but it felt right to give this interlude its own chapter. It is likely that the next chapter will be the last for a while. At the moment the story is approaching 50k which is about novel length and as much as it has been enjoyable to write at this pace, it has also been exhausting. This story is not done, but I need to take a break from posting for a while. Whether I will continue it as the same story or continue the next part of the story in a sequel I haven't decided yet, but I just need to pause and take breath before commencing the next part of the story.

Chapter 7

It was some hours later when she awoke, pitch dark outside and well past midnight going by the clock on the mantle. In spite of trying to return to her previous blissful state of dreamless unconsciousness, Ruth could not get back to sleep. She lay awake for a long time, watching the minutes tick by on the clock and looking about the dark oak-pannelled room. Being around General Pearce's things felt incredibly intimate, it was an insight into the man. Much of it was kept with a military-like neatness. From his few possessions that were on display, Ruth sensed he had the good taste of someone who invests in quality and yet was not overly ostentatious. There was nothing superfluous either. This was not a man, Ruth suspected, whose cluttered box room piled higher with junk year upon year, filling in direct proportion to one's intention to one day get around to clearing it out. The state of the box room in her own residence was a subject she rather preferred not to think on too long. Nor, she suspected, was he the sort of man whose bookshelves would be so full to bursting that the books would soon be lying in piles all over the floor and every available surface. No, everything was just so. Everything had its place. A spare sword hung from a hook by the door. A spare uniform jacket was hanging from the closet door along with several freshly laundered shirts. There were miniatures of his children on the nightstand and a diary that Ruth dare not look at no matter how her curiosity burned.

At length Ruth gave up on sleep and lit a single candle that sat on the nightstand. Something about the flicker of that flame caused events of the night to catch up with her with a newfound reality. The horror of what had occurred in a much beloved home with so many fond memories built up year-upon-year along with the gruesome end that Beth had met left Ruth quite traumatised. The state of her mind was exacerbated by a nighttime chill that was quite uncharacteristic for the time of year and Ruth found herself grasping the blanket from the foot of the bed as she went to stoke up the fire.

Alone, alone with her thoughts and nothing but the meditative flicker of the firelight to keep her company, Ruth found she could not help but think of the man whose presence sang from the room. She could not help but notice, for example, that she had unconsciously taken the empty side of the bed. Or rather, the side of the bed without an imprint. The side without the General's things. The side that did not smell of him. She pulled the shirt up to her nose and smelled his scent on the soft-laundered cotton. Holding it to her and letting the feeling of safety overwhelm her. She thought of his proposal, of her rejection. Of her talk about drinking and gambling and violence. Yet for all that the General had enjoyed many a drink on the various social occasions where they had spent time in each others company, Ruth Evershed had to confess she had never once witnessed him in a state of inebriation. The only time she suspected he may have joined in with one too many toasts after dinner he was mellow and morose under the influence of drink. As for violence, he was a man of the military of course but after witnessing his behaviour towards Catherine and his guilt over Jane's untimely death, after seeing every interaction with women and his own behaviour towards her, how could she possibly draw the same fearful conclusion that he might display violence towards her person. Not for a moment, even with the General charging towards her with the blade of his sword glistening in the moonlight, not for one moment had she been afraid of him. No, indeed, she had been relieved. She had honestly believed, apparently correctly, that he had come to save her. General Pearce had saved her life. Quite what the purpose of the attack had been, Ruth could not be sure, but thinking of him gave her comfort and at length she began to nod off, thinking of the warmth of his smile at many a ball, the cheeky glint in his eye, the sense of strength and honour that he exuded. It was these thoughts that gave Miss Evershed comfort as she pulled the collar of the shirt closed with her hand and wound the blanket tighter around her person. Staring into the flames, she let herself consider for a moment the man the General had displayed himself to be in private and

what it might be like to be married to this man. She felt a growing wetness between her legs as her mind wandered to the subject of marital relations, the intense way he stared at her and the inexplicable way she felt drawn to his person. The sense of comfort she derived from his person. The particular curve of his lips as he frowned. Staring into the fire, Miss Ruth Evershed thought of many of these things and considered for almost the first time in her life, the very great attraction she felt to a most eligible man.

Some distance away across London, Sir Harry's night was just as sleepless. Towers met him at the property and took in the scene for himself. Officers and men worked double time to clear the bodies, gathering any evidence they could before moving everything away and cleaning down the kitchen. The body of the poor maid would go to the morgue to be inspected by a doctor before her burial. A burial the expense of which Harry had decided to bear without informing Miss Evershed. He would have to discover whether there was any family, but he had never heard any mention that there was. The real target however, was undoubtedly Miss Evershed herself. Her connections to him had put her at risk and yet the events of the evening and the remarkable revelations from Lance-Corporal Hunter indicated to General Pearce that he was closer than ever to his goal. If Danny was right and the rumoured spy was indeed his father Lord Hunter, the dangers and the odds were greater than any of them could have imagined. They would need evidence. Real, strong evidence to bring down such a man and everyone involved in trying to discover such things would be at risk.

Towers, at least, had promised to warn the government and those senior military personnel involved in foreign relations to be more guarded in their diplomatic involvement with the French and the US. Undoubtedly, however, the news of the invasions in the United States would break soon. Summer, too often, was a time of war. Ghent had been offered as a neutral place to begin new negotiations with the US now that the war with Napoleon was over and General Pearce had no doubt that this foolhardy military expedition was an attempt to strengthen the British negotiating position and limit US expansion across the whole of that continent, however as the invaded country had a considerable home advantage, Sir Harry considered the British military offensive to be a pointless waste of life. The United States of America, he was quite sure, were lost. Those who believed they could still be won back were not living in this century. Closer to home however, there were other matters which constituted more pressing concerns. By the time everything was cleaned up and the men sent back to barracks, the sky was beginning to lighten. Sir Harry locked up the Evershed house and made his way across town to his own abode just as the first larks were beginning to warble in the blue darkness of the early hours.

Sir Harry entered his rooms as quietly as possible, turning the key in the lock with great gentility so as not to wake Miss Evershed should she be sleeping. The room was cosy. The fire crackled. Outside the rain pattered on the window and Ruth sat inside, wrapped up in a blanket, a shirt and pair of breeches that he could not help but recognise as his own, replacing the garments she'd been wearing which were completely soaked to the skin. He found the sight quite powerfully alluring and a strong surge of possession spiked through his heart. Sir Harry had to pause as the memory of her rejection returned to him and quickly muted his enthusiasm for her current state.

Waiting for her to notice his presence, Sir Harry eventually knocked on the wood-clad wall and Sir Harry saw her start and whip around in terror before she saw him and relaxed. He surmised she had been entirely lost in her own thoughts and he had clearly startled her by his appearance.

"General Pearce!"

"Miss Evershed, you must excuse me. I am conscious of the impropriety of my being here however I could not settle until I had satisfied myself you were quite well."

Ruth shrugged and then nodded. A yawn cracked her jaw. "I am quite well. Thank you, General. May I ask, the attackers?"

"Dead," He said bluntly.

Ruth nodded and stared once more into the flames.

"You should sleep," Sir Harry urged.

"I tried. I can't." Ruth looked up at him.

"Well, at least one of us should try to rest and I know I shan't. I have managed to clear things up at your residence and I intend on returning to my office for a few hours before briefing the Prime Minister and the Prince Regent first thing in the morning."

Ruth's eyes shot up to meet his. "Briefing them? About me?"

"About the attack, Miss Evershed," Sir Harry informed her quietly and then paused, "This was done for a purpose. It was done to scare you and to warn me. I believe we may be very close to our spy, closer than even we knew. The truth is, I would rather you were not alone until this is all resolved but I shall leave you to your solitude if that is your desire. Would you like me to go?"

"No! I...I think I should like the company," Miss Evershed offered, somewhat shyly.

Tentatively, General Pearce stepped closer and took the seat on the other side of the fire guard from where Ruth sat. "We may have to consider your having personal security. I fear your connection to me has made you a target."

"I can't believe Beth is dead," Ruth stared into the flames. "I keep expecting her to walk in the room."

"Is there family?"

Ruth shook her head.

Harry sighed.

"Don't blame yourself," Ruth insisted.

Harry looked up at her. "How can I not? I have been so eager to see you and to be in your presence, I pursued you like some sort of demented young rapscallion, I hired you to undertake work that put you in a position of immense peril and even after you made yourself quite clear where you stood I still pursued my course of action and as a result I have put you in danger."

"No... Sir Harry..."

"You could have died," Sir Harry's voice broke, the very thought of it was completely unbearable to him.

"As Beth did?" Ruth stared into the fire and clasped the large shirt closed at the collar with her hand.

Harry nodded grimly. "As Beth did." Sighing once more he rubbed his forehead from side to side and then began to loosen his necktie. It was another stain on his conscience. Another despicable death and one that would have to be covered up to prevent alarm amongst the General public and the extent of their knowledge of Lord Hunter's betrayal from becoming known now that all the perpetrators had been killed. "I shall see to it that she has a fitting funeral."

Ruth stared into the fire for a while. She felt Sir Harry's soft eyes on her and wondered that he could be so hard and cold with some and then so gentle with her.

"Did I frighten you?" Sir Harry asked quietly. "Charging in like I did?"

"You didn't frighten me, General. In fact you very probably saved my life." Seeing the way he looked at her she sought to reassure General Pearce, "Really," She urged him, even more than she felt, "I'll be fine."

The fire was settling in now and as it did so its warmth began to penetrate her skin. She closed her eyes for a moment, savouring the feel of its heat on her face. Silence stretched, interrupted only by an early blackbird outside.

When some time had passed and Miss Evershed still had given no indication of moving, Sir Harry rose from his chair and approached her, suggesting very softly that she ought to lie under the covers and keep warm. Miss Evershed found herself reluctant to leave the entrancing flames of the fire. Another yawn cracked open her jaw and reluctantly, Ruth acknowledged to herself – if not out loud – that she was indeed tired enough once more to merit lying in bed once more.

Sir Harry offered his hand to Miss Evershed which she accepted only to find she missed the contact once she was standing and had to let it go. She wrapped the blanket around herself a little tighter, swathing it around her body as a form of self comfort. In the darkness, wearing clothing that was much too large for her female frame, Sir Harry had never quite seen the woman before him appear so small and vulnerable. In spite of her stature she so often appeared strong, her lightening-quick mind and fierce intelligence more than compensating for her shorter height compared with the men around her. It was at times like this, the quiet moments after stress and trauma, that Sir Harry so often sought out human comfort and he could not hide the concern for her in his eyes.

"If only my father was alive," Ruth found herself confessing, "He gave the best hugs."

"Did he?" Sir Harry whispered, with some considerable interest on the subject.

Ruth blushed slightly, embarrassed to have raised the highly inappropriate subject of physical intimacy. The truth was, however, that she missed it so and when she brought herself back to the present, the General was half a step closer with his warm, broad chest and his strong arms and she found herself falling into them, her own arms tucked into her body as she let herself lean into him, as his arms came around her, as his hand tucked her head under his chin and a soft sigh escaped him carrying the breath of her name.

They stayed that way for a long time. Silent, wordless. Ruth listened to his heartbeat, noted the scent of his body, the particular sensation of the wool of his uniform coat on her cheek. Not since her father died had she sought physical comfort in someone else and never before had she realised quite how much she needed it. At length she found herself sniffling and then crying as all her feelings came flooding out at once. Sir Harry simply held her and made soft shushing noises and rubbed her back, rocking her like a child and when Ruth was all cried out he swept away her tears with his handkerchief and guided her to the bed to lie down.

Sir Harry pulled the covers back and waited for her to situate herself comfortably before pulling them over her person and tucking her in. The way her wide, dilated pupils stared at him, Sir Harry could not help but stare back and found himself tentatively leaning forwards. When no objection came, he gently placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and sat on the side of the bed, his large palm resting on the small soft hands with all their ink stains.

"Sorry."

"Broad shoulders," Sir Harry smiled kindly. It wasn't a moment for too many words.

"It was the disappointment," Ruth announced out of the blue.

Harry looked up curiously.

"The reason I turned you down. I was worried about disappointment in married life. Everything seemed too good to be true, to fast, too sudden after spending my entire adult life on my own I had almost given up on love. I was scared of the disappointment of marrying in hope and being torn apart by the reality."

"I cannot fault you for having concerns, Miss Evershed."

"Yet I did you an injustice by entertaining concerns that were based on rumour and speculation. I know you now, Sir, I know you are a good and kind man who has seen the error of his ways." Ruth looked down at her hands, unable to meet his eye as she worked up the confidence to say her next words. "Its just I find myself wondering if I made the right decision, that's all." For a moment she dared to glance at him and she noted his eyes hung onto his every word.

Sir Harry's eyes bore into hers, his chest heaving with heavy breaths as he sought to control himself, suppress his raging heart and surging hope. In as gentlemanly a manner as he could muster in the circumstances he took her hand and kissed it. "Sleep on it.

Ruth's eyes widened at his declaration but Sir Harry only smiled and kissed her hand again before rising to take his leave. "Sleep on it tell me if you still feel the same when you awaken."

"You don't need to go..."

"Mmm. I think I rather do, Miss Evershed."

"You could...I mean..." Ruth stuttered to a halt and then sighed, resignedly. "Ignore me. I'm being silly. Of course you must go if that is what you feel is best."

Sir Harry tilted his head slightly, he pushed his lips out thoughtfully as he tried to decipher what she was really thinking past the brave face she was trying to put on. He saw her eyes flit to the empty side of the bed and then back to his. Without saying a word, and maintaining eye contact, he slowly walked around the bed, shrugged off his coat and boots and laid himself down on the empty side of the bed. His side of the bed. Laying on his back with his hands on his belly, she immediately gravitated towards him, snuggling into his warmth and resting her cheek on his shoulder. When he stretched and arm back and tucked her against his side, far from complaining Ruth Evershed actually let out a soft sigh of contentment.

"You can't sleep under the covers," She told him, which was met with a warm chuckle that seemed to embarrass her as Ruth realised she was telling Sir Harry what to do in his own home.

"No, that would be quite improper," Sir Harry joked.

Ruth Evershed had the temerity to hit him, though it was a gentle hit, more of a pat on his chest. He supposed it was probably the effect of excessive tiredness that had dissipated so much of her usual reserve. Tiredness and the emotional strains of the evening. Yet while there was of course the risk that she would regret this come morning, Sir Harry could not quite bring himself to feel sorry.

"I feel I am displacing you," She told him, but the presence of her damp clothes still drying by the fire made it clear that she could not leave, herself, quite yet and Sir Harry muttered, 'stuff and nonsense' before kissing her once more and caressing her hair.

"You may soon discover, Miss Evershed, that there is something about the sight of a woman wearing a man's clothes that is most alluring," and then in a gesture which moved Ruth rather more than it should, General Pearce brought out a white ribbon from the pocket of his waistcoat and kissed it while staring at her most intensely before tucking it back from whence it came.

Miss Evershed blushed at the General's words but there was yet something humorous about the whole situation. What things people would think if they found out! And yet here they were, even sharing a bed they were still as chivalrous and bound in honour as two courting older lovers could be. That thought brought a smile to her eyes that was a vast improvement on the horrified shock she so clearly displayed earlier. For Ruth, the General's presence was a great source of comfort. Yet the happiness that she ought to feel at finally coming to an understanding with Sir Harry was tainted by the lingering guilt that she had been unable to help or protect Beth, who had died for no more serious a crime than being employed in the Evershed household. Yet being as she was in the embrace of his arms, at that moment nothing else seemed to matter and she was too exhausted by this point to resist her own need to seek comfort and safety and pleasure and rest.

"Is this what its like to be married?" Ruth asked after a little while.

"Sometimes, yes."

"Good sometimes?"

"Good sometimes," Sir Harry confirmed and placed another chaste kiss on her hair.

They stayed that way for almost two hours, Ruth dozing off and on. Sir Harry holding her, sleepless. Finally at around six o'clock Sir Harry extracted himself and apologised that he needed to go to the Prime Minister.

As she watched Sir Harry take his leave of her, he passed by the mirror he clearly used for shaving in the morning and impulsively she rose and stopped him. With a gentle hand on his chest, she bid him stop as she caught sight of a cutthroat razor.

His eyebrows rose, enquiringly as she moved toward the razor and picked it up.

"Don't move," Ruth told him.

Sir Harry pouted softly but obeyed her and stood stock still as she reached up to the nap of his neck and cut off a curl.

"There," Miss Evershed announced, "Now we are even."

Sir Harry's gaze at that moment was so dark and so intense that Ruth felt herself grow wet between her thighs and when he finally broke away and looked down she saw a noticeable bulge in his trousers which he was making no effort to conceal as his chest heaved with harsh breaths. At length Sir Harry took an aborted half step towards her before finally, in a low rumbling growl, he uttered her name and made a low bow before sweeping out of the room.

The tumultuous mix of emotions roiling within her did not abate as she stared into the fire long after General Pearce had taken his leave. At last, however, and after checking the pistols, Ruth found herself crawling back into bed and clutching the pillow that smelled of his scent. After some time spent staring at the ceiling, Ruth determined she was not going to sleep in her present state and in an act she found wantonly erotic, touched herself in the most intimate way possible in the General's own bed. Only after she had relieved all the tensions built up over dramatic course of the night did she eventually fall into an exhausted sleep.