Chapter Eleven
M ichael sat on a small wooden chair in the corner of the room. His hands trembled in his lap. Again and again, he shook them, but it didn’t work. From experience, he knew that this could go on for minutes to hours depending on the fight. He couldn’t just turn his body off with the snap of his fingers. Half the day had been spent in tense readiness, and even after what he’d just battled, his body still had more to give. Not fight, but something.
“Mike?” a voice called from the hallway. “Sorry to bother you, mate.”
His trainer. Michael wiped a hand over his face. It came away wet. He’d been alone for ten minutes and still hadn’t washed the blood away. It hadn’t seemed important, not when he was still coming to terms with what he’d just accomplished. The fancy lad, the lord who posed as a bruiser, had gone toe to toe with one of the best, and he was still standing. And it was only the beginning.
“What is it, Tommy?”
A pause. Then the trainer’s voice was uncharacteristically uncertain. “Ah, ya, mate, I’ve got someone here who wants to see ya… a woman.”
Michael grimaced and immediately regretted it. His face felt like it had been run over by a cavalry. The Irishman may have been clumsy, but his ham-hock fists more than made up for it.
“I told you, Tommy. I don’t want to see anyone tonight. I just want to wash up and get home.”
“Ah, no, mate.” The door cracked open, and Tommy peeked through. His face was ruddy with the fever of victory, and his bald head was dotted with sweat beads. If Michael didn’t know any better, he would have thought the grizzled trainer was embarrassed. “It’s not like that,” Tommy said, opening the door all the way.
Maggie stood in the hallway, her head bowed, her hands clasped in front of her like she were waiting in line to confess her sins.
Michael launched from the chair, tearing a shirt from the bed and throwing it over his sweaty and battered skin. “What are you doing here?”
Maggie’s chin jerked up. “You told me to come!”
Michael’s feet glued into place. If he moved, he wasn’t sure if he would kiss her or strangle her. “I told you it wasn’t safe.”
Maggie laughed nervously. “You said that, but you didn’t mean it. You wanted me here. And I’m glad I came.” She nodded to Tommy, who realized that he’d just been dismissed. Michael scowled at the man as he slinked out the door, taking more time than necessary.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Well, I am here, so you just have to accept it.” Maggie shrugged, then took off her cloak and hung it on the hook behind the door.
“What are you wearing?” Michael asked.
She looked down at her dress. “Now what’s wrong with it?” she asked with heat.
He pawed at the back of his neck. “Nothing,” he said, surveying the bright yellow dress. “It’s just a little loud, that’s all. Not you.”
“That’s what I said!
“What? To whom?”
“No one,” Maggie answered quickly. “Forget I said that.”
She smiled shyly as a blanket of silence tucked over them. She walked into the room, touring the small space with a few strides. It wasn’t Michael’s room, but it still felt like she was inspecting him, his choice of life. Her gaze landed on the small, tidy bed. “Will you sleep here tonight?”
Michael cleared his throat. “No. The inn gave me the room so I could clean up in privacy… and I suppose, stay and celebrate if I wanted.”
Maggie hugged her chest. Michael regretted not asking for a fire to be lit, but he hadn’t expected company. “Are you… celebrating?” she asked.
Michael’s body was again tense, strung tight. It was like being back in the ring, waiting for an opponent’s move. He nodded.
“Alone?”
“It’s better that way,” he explained. Michael spread his hand out in front of him, regarding the mess he’d made of his knuckles. “I’m not the best company after a fight.”
Maggie walked to the bureau, where a pitcher and basin sat filled with steaming water. She took off her gloves, picked up a clean linen, and dunked it in, wringing it out with both hands. “Maybe you haven’t had the right company.” She went to him and reached for his shoulder. Softly, she led him to the corner and pushed him down on his pathetic little chair.
Just as she was about to place the cloth on the corner of his mouth, he flinched.
“Let me,” she whispered. “Please?”
Michael took a deep breath and nodded.
He stared straight ahead as she cleaned the nicks and scratches on his face. Every time he attempted to sneak a glance at her from the corner of his eye, his chest squeezed, hurting him more than any of the Irishman’s blows. For the past few hours, Michael had been surrounded by blood and sweat, unclean men, hands slapping his bare shoulders, and rancid mouths speaking much too close. Maggie cleared his consciousness. She smelled fresh and clean, new and innocent. If the winner took the spoils, he only wanted her.
With Maggie’s hands on him, Michael had no concept of time. Speaking felt like a sin. Her hands were sure and efficient as she worked quietly, mopping up the butchery done to his face. He sent up a prayer of thanks that he hadn’t broken his nose; he didn’t wish anyone to be confronted with that type of carnage.
But when she maneuvered to the other side of him, Michael’s curiosity got the better of him. “So, are you going to tell me?” he rasped, mortified by the sensitivity in his voice. “What did you think of it?”
Maggie paused. His head was level with her chest, and he watched it rise and fall as she contemplated his question. The gown may have been loud, but it was demure and covered her from head to toe—yet Michael still believed it to be the most provocative thing she’d ever worn. Maybe only because she’d worn it to see him.
“I’m glad you won,” she answered.
Michael huffed and grabbed at his side. His ribs hadn’t been quite as lucky as his nose. “That’s it?”
She bent in front of him, frowning while she patted the cut around his right eye. She bit at her lower lip while she focused, and Michael noticed that her right front tooth slightly overlapped her left. He decided that it fit her, along with the shallow dimples on her cheeks that were more pronounced when she scowled than when she smiled.
Her breath was sweet and warm and caressed his chin. Had it been mere hours before when they’d exchanged breaths in a kiss? Had she thought about it as much as he had?
“Have you ever watched a fight before?” she asked.
The question caught him off guard. “Of course.”
Maggie straightened, holding the cloth in front of her. It was stained pink and probably would stay that way forever. Her brow pinched as she considered her words. “No, I… Yes, I understand that, but have you ever… watched someone you knew fight?”
Michael shrugged and palmed his shoulder. It was no better than his ribs. “Of course I knew them.”
She was rattled. Maggie twisted the cloth in her hands. “I mean, not just someone you knew, but someone you… knew well… and, perhaps, favored.”
Lord, he wished she wouldn’t make him laugh. But Maggie looked so adorable and uncomfortable as she stood there trying to tell him that she liked him without actually saying the words. In all fairness, Michael didn’t need any of her stammering. She’d come. That was telling enough. And all that mattered.
He rose from the chair, took the cloth out of Maggie’s hand, and tossed it back in the bowl.
Her head bowed. “I was told not to come here,” she whispered.
Michael smiled at her shyness. “ I told you not to come here.”
Maggie’s laughter was weak, listless. “No. I was told not to come in here… with you.”
“Who told you that?”
She ignored his question. and more words tripped out. “They said your blood would be up; they said it wouldn’t be safe for me.”
Michael swallowed the space between them, taking Maggie’s hand. He pulled her toward him. “ I told you that being alone with men wouldn’t be safe.”
“You said every man but you.” Her voice was hushed.
Michael palmed her chin, tipping it up so she could see him, see the man he truly was. “I will always keep you safe, Maggie. I will never leave you.”
Her eyes were clear, deep pools of faith and understanding. It humbled him.
“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Michael brushed his thumb over her lips. Once. Twice. His senses had been pulled tight this day. He’d traded punches and felt the power of another man all the way to the marrow of his bones, but nothing had prepared him for this. For Maggie. For her trusting expression, her velvety skin. For the fact that she desperately wanted to believe him but wouldn’t allow herself.
It brought out something savage in him. Michael had known that his body had more to give. There was so much left in him. And the dam was breaking. But he was not afraid for her.
If anyone could handle Michael in this state, it was Lady Margaret.
He held her tight, asking her to listen. “I’m going to kiss you, Maggie. And I won’t be gentle, and I won’t be sweet. But you are right. My blood is up, but it has nothing to do with the fight. It has everything to do with you.”
Michael was rewarded when Maggie’s eyes widened.
But she didn’t retreat. She didn’t run scared. To Maggie, curiosity was always going to be stronger than fear. She met him halfway.
Michael gathered her in his arms and seized his opportunity. He crushed his mouth to hers, unloading all the apprehension and awe, all the turbulence and relief that had coalesced that day. His ardor didn’t cower her. Maggie opened for him and accepted his tongue, rolling it with her own in a carnal dance. Michael walked her back to the bed. His hands still shook, and now his legs were doing the same—from plain, limitless desire.
Michael didn’t release her mouth as he covered her on the bed, drinking the sweet, insistent little sounds from the back of her throat while giving her his moans. His body screamed with pain—his ribs ached; his arms were on fire—but nothing could have dragged him from this moment. He’d dreamt of having Maggie underneath him, but it was nothing compared to reality. Their bodies undulated against one another, having their own conversation, but it wasn’t enough. Michael ran his hand down her body, over the lively curves and enchanting dips, and gathered her skirts. He lifted them and searched for skin.
Maggie gasped in his mouth. For one brief moment, her body froze. But Michael was not deterred. The kissing stopped. His lips rested on hers as he flattened his palm against her calf, running up her leg until he reached the bare skin above her silk stockings. She was downy and delicate, luxurious and strong. Her muscles flexed and pulled; her inner thighs quivered the higher he wandered.
Maggie clung to his upper arms. Her hold was tight, almost suspicious, as she waited to see what he would do next. He used his fingers to tickle the plump fleshiness of her hips and was rewarded with a sweet giggle.
“Do you like that?” he whispered, trailing kisses to the side of her neck. Maggie sighed and lifted her chin to grant him more access.
“I… I don’t know.”
Michael laughed. “You don’t know ?”
Her nails dug deeper into his biceps as he settled his hand in the triangle of her thighs. Michael cupped her mound, playing with her soft, curly hair, toying with the idea of doing more. He shuddered from the possibilities.
Maggie rocked her pelvis into him, an untrained movement that fueled him even more. “My head says I shouldn’t like it,” she rasped, jerking when Michael slid a long finger along the seam of her pulsing entrance. “But my body… my body says it does.”
Michael’s own body felt so impossibly light. There was no doubt what it wanted and liked. Her .
He ran a tongue along her ear and smiled when she shivered. “Let your body win the fight,” he told her, tugging the lobe between his teeth. “You can listen to your head tomorrow.”
Michael captured her mouth once more at the same moment he urged a finger inside her passage, slowly at first, meeting her body’s resistance with gentle pressure. She squeezed her legs against him, and he focused on winning over her anxiety. He worked her, listening to her body, testing her limits. When he felt her start to relax, he plunged further, stretching her and teasing her, inciting a flame that made both of them wild.
Maggie kissed him with abandon. Her hands were no longer keeping him at bay. Her restraint had reached an end, and her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Michael tried to keep a clear head. He needed her to find her release. He could anticipate its advent in her choppy puffs of breath and the restlessness in her limbs, but his own need was also pounding at the door.
Maggie was now the playful one, sucking on his lips, holding his head in her hands, moving him, canting him until she had him in the right spot. She became the aggressor, pumping her thighs, using him to reach fulfillment. They were sweaty and wet, impulsive and greedy. Michael could hear her growing impatience as she panted in his ear.
“Don’t leave… don’t leave me,” she keened.
Michael groaned, rolling his thumb around the nub. She liked that. Maggie’s head dug into the bed as her neck arched. “Never,” Michael murmured, kissing the skin she gifted to him. Her mouth was open, and she screamed out. Michael couldn’t stop himself. With his other bruised hand, he dipped a finger in between her pink lips. He almost lost himself as she sucked it with her moans and came in a splintering release.
Maggie went limp in his arms, falling back on the bed, all strain and tautness evaporating in a single, humid moment.
But Michael wouldn’t leave her.
He continued to kiss her—on her sooty, full eyelashes that flickered whenever she was going to say something delightfully cutting; on the fantastically curved lips that smiled up at him whenever she thought she’d checkmated him with a witty remark. Those same lips that were now seductive and bashful over what they had just done.
Michael didn’t smile back. A somberness overwhelmed him, a deep sensation that prohibited him from taking any of this lightly. He rested his forehead on Maggie’s. “You need me,” he said.
She didn’t say anything, though her arms found life again. Michael’s hair always turned curlier when it was wet, and she wrapped one of the tendrils around her finger. It was a simple gesture, casual, but it did something to Michael. Again, that lightness overtook him. Even after his victory tonight, it was only now that he felt impossibly whole. Not the viscount, not the boxer, just Michael.
But life would not be deterred for long.
“Maggie?” a voice called out from the hallway, followed by a few substantial pounds on the door. “Maggie, we have to go. I’ve worn out my welcome, I’m afraid.”
Michael’s head popped up and he shot her an incredulous look. “Are you serious? Him? ”
Maggie squirmed, surprising him with her contrite expression. “I couldn’t come on my own. And you didn’t offer me a carriage.”
Blood came rushing back, and with it all the pain he’d been suppressing. Michael winced as he rolled off Maggie and helped her to her feet. “I didn’t offer you a carriage because I told you not to come.”
She fluffed down her skirts and reclaimed her cloak from the door hook, then fanned it out dramatically before draping it around her shoulders. “You didn’t mean it, remember? And it’s too late anyway.” Irritably, she fastened the clip around her neck and stared at the floor. “You…” She shook her head as she tried to find the words. “You’re at least happy I came, aren’t you?”
Michael ran a hand through his damp hair and settled his fists on his hips. When he tried to reach for Maggie, she stepped away.
“Aren’t you?” she asked.
“Jesus Christ, just answer the lady!” Lord Oliver yelled through the heavy door.
Michael filled his lungs. “Fuck off, Your Grace,” he shouted back.
“You fuck off,” the duke returned. “You ruined my night and cost me a lot of money, now don’t ruin the lady’s!”
Maggie pressed her fingers against her forehead. “Your Grace, can you please give us some privacy?”
He answered with a sarcastic humph . “I’ve given you quite enough privacy, my dear. It’s time to go.”
Michael launched himself for the door. His hand was on the handle when Maggie caught him by the arm. “Don’t,” she said, holding him until he contained himself. “He’s not worth it.”
Michael’s gaze darted back and forth between her eyes. “But what is his worth to you, Maggie? Why do you keep company with the scoundrel?”
Another irritated noise interrupted them from the other side of the door. “I could ask her the same thing about you.”
“You’re not helping!” Maggie cried. She turned to Michael. “He’s a friend. A somewhat helpful friend, since he brought me here tonight to see you.” She ducked her head, her expression turning shy. “I won’t forget a second of it.”
Michael hugged her tightly, kissing her quickly. “Nor will I.”
Oliver pounded on the door.
“I have to go,” she said.
The thought of her leaving drove Michael into a violent panic. “Let me take you. Just give me a moment and I’ll be ready—”
“No. I don’t need help,” she replied, softening her response with a reluctant smile. “You should stay. Celebrate with your adoring fans. If anyone deserves it tonight, it’s you.”
“No, I don’t want to be with anyone other than—”
She cut him off with a much-too-quick peck on the lips and spun to open the door. The smug Lord Oliver was on the other side, leaning against the wall. His expression said that he’d heard everything.
He showed his teeth with a wide smile and locked eyes with Michael.
Maggie rushed past, but the duke lazed a few more seconds, his stare only intensifying. “You’ve had quite the night, haven’t you?” he said in that low, teasing way of his.
Michael left his hand on the door, poised to slam it in the duke’s pale, malnourished face. “I’m sorry yours didn’t work out as well. There are always more fights to bet on. Better luck next time, Your Grace .”
Lord Oliver let out a lifeless chortle. “And there will always be more women, am I right , my lord ?”
Michael studied the duke closely, trying to find his meaning. “There are no other woman for me,” he said. “Only Maggie.”
The duke returned a wistful smile and finally peeled himself off the wall. “Good answer, bruiser. Good answer.”