Chapter Twenty-One
W ith Maggie agreeing to be his wife, Michael’s training took on a new level. He woke earlier each day and trained harder and longer. Beating Jack Harrison and becoming the new bare-knuckle boxing champion didn’t seem like a dream anymore. It was within his reach. Michael’s destiny was finally in his hands. Not only did Maggie make him feel like a whole man, he also felt more powerful than ever. Like he could do anything: live the life he wanted, love the woman he wanted, be the man he wanted.
The transformation astonished him. By giving himself up to his desires, Michael had found the way forward in claiming all of them. He didn’t have to keep a part of himself hidden, as his father had advised. He didn’t have to live a life in the dark and the light. With Maggie, his entire self was seen.
It made him want to do great things.
Tommy, on the other hand, took some convincing, but even he couldn’t ignore the proof that Maggie made his fighter better. Every time Michael swung a fist, Tommy could hear imaginary ribs cracking.
Everything was running like a well-oiled machine. Everything was going to plan.
Until it wasn’t.
A week before the Harrison fight, Michael was, yet again, the last man remaining in the gym. Tommy threw a towel in his sweat-drenched face. “You’re done tonight, scrapper. Go home. Get some rest.”
Michael tossed the towel on the floor. “Why don’t we find someone else to spar with? I’ve got more left in me tonight.”
Tommy groaned. He picked up the towel and placed it back on Michael’s shoulder. “Do you see anyone here, Mike? Save it for that pretty lady of yours. You need to stop. Too much is no good; you know that. The last thing we need is for you to get hurt before the fight. You need to be fresh for Harrison.”
Michael scowled. His blood was still pumping too fast. Tension gathered in his shoulders. But Tommy was right—especially about the Maggie part. He considered sneaking into her room but decided to go home first and bathe. Then he could get sweaty again.
“All right,” he called out as the trainer was already heading out of the gym. Tommy tucked his cap low over his forehead before reaching for the door. The trainer was becoming something of a legend in the gym, now that he’d gotten Michael his prime fight. Every aspiring boxer hounded him to work with them, but Tommy wouldn’t hear of it—he gave all his time and attention to one man. Michael wanted to win for himself, there was no doubt about that, but winning for Tommy was equally important. When no one else had taken him seriously, Tommy had given him his blood, sweat, and unmitigated belief. Michael would repay him with the championship.
He hurried to gather his things. Maggie liked to wait up for him after his late training sessions, but he didn’t want her to if he could help it. Also, he simply missed her and didn’t want to waste another second.
They still hadn’t finalized a date for the wedding. Lady Alice had thought a Christmas wedding sounded like a rational plan. Six months was more than enough to make a tasteful, memorable event and give Maggie’s parents time to return for the nuptials. Michael hadn’t minced words about what he thought of that ridiculous idea. He countered with six days and said he would write to Maggie’s father and ask for forgiveness after the deed was done.
Lady Alice hadn’t minced words either.
Currently, they were at a stalemate, which meant that Michael would have to continue acting like a thief in the night in the lady’s home. At least George was behaving. Who would have thought that the dog would be his ally?
Michael spotted his carriage waiting for him. He’d lifted his hand to get the driver’s attention when he heard someone clear his throat.
Rutherford came into view, showing off those crooked front teeth as he sauntered over to Michael. “I’m glad I caught you, Burlington. Do you have a minute?”
“No.”
Rutherford laughed. “Quite right. No doubt anxious to see your fiancée after a long day in the gym. Congratulations on the engagement, by the way.” He gestured to the dark purple bruise covering the side of his face. “I should have guessed.”
“What do you want, Rutherford?”
Rutherford tapped his walking stick on the pavement a few times as if trying to gather his thoughts. The hair on the back of Michael’s neck came to attention. Something was not right.
“Well, you see, Burlington, I have a bit of a problem, and I was hoping that you could help me fix it.”
Michael’s laughter was thin. “You’re speaking to the wrong person.”
“I’m afraid not,” the man countered. “You see, I lost an awful lot of money the last time you boxed. Too much, really, and I desperately need to rectify that situation.”
Michael sighed. Of course. “I have nothing to do with the odds.”
“No,” Rutherford said, leaning closer. His breath smelled like a bawdy house—and not one of the upscale ones. “But you have something to do with the outcome.”
Michael stepped away, keeping his distance. “What are you asking me?”
Rutherford’s mouth twitched into a toothless smile. “I’m not asking you anything. I’m telling you. You are going to go down exactly twenty minutes into the fight. And I am going to recoup my losses.”
Michael almost laughed. “Are you drunk? When’s the last time you’ve gone to your bed? Do you honestly think you can make me?”
Rutherford blinked and reached into his jacket pocket, taking out a small envelope. The smell hit Michael’s first—its distinctive musky-floral scent was like a punch to the gut of his memory.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Oh, I think we both know what it is. Your father likes to write letters, doesn’t he? He has such well-bred handwriting, and the smell”—Rutherford held it up to his nostrils—“well, quite distinctive. Would you believe that one of those fancy letters magically came into my possession? I didn’t want to read it—but I couldn’t help myself in the end.” He made a face. “Quite graphic. It’s old, but I hardly think that matters, do you? The newspapers will still be more than willing to print it. Oh, I know they’ll hide the names, naturally, but they will offer enough innuendo. I hardly think it will take people long to discover the deviant who wrote the… colorfully descriptive words.”
“How did you get it?” Michael gritted his teeth so hard that he was certain they would break.
Rutherford’s vindictive facade dropped. “I have no idea. It just landed on my doorstep. Lucky me. I have a feeling I’m not the only person who wants to see your head hit the floor in the fight.”
Michael closed his eyes, going through a million different ways to look at this situation. Nothing helped. “How much?” he asked. “How much for the letter?”
Rutherford tapped it against his smarmy lips before tucking it inside his coat. “Oh, you don’t have enough. Besides, watching you lose also has its upside. So, I’ll take both—your loss and the money I’ll gain in the betting circles.” He cocked his head, regarding Michael with animated curiosity. “So, do we have a deal? You go down and I’ll give you the letter?”
Michael huffed. His imagination ran wild, and he could feel chains of powerlessness circling his wrists, yanking him to the ground. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
The man blanched, placing a shocked hand onto his heart. “I am a gentleman . Something you could do well to remember about yourself. Come now, Burlington. You’re going to be a family man soon. Will you really put that all in jeopardy for a little glory in the ring?” He chuckled. “Do you want your child to grow up without a father, like you did? Although—to be honest—you were probably better off away from that pervert—”
Michael punched him right in the nose. “Fuck!” he seethed, shaking his hand. He’d heard something crack, and desperately hoped it was Rutherford’s nose and not one of his fingers.
Rutherford flopped to the ground, holding his face as he writhed like a panicky fish. He paused long enough to stare up at Michael. “So that’s your decision, then? You’re going to put your mother through all this embarrassment again? You’re right. Maybe she’s used to it by now…”
Michael went down on his knee. He picked Rutherford up by the collar and cocked his arm back for another strike.
Rutherford waved his hands. “But what about Maggie?”
“Don’t you say her name!”
“But what about her? What will her family think? They’re eccentric, but good ton . I hardly doubt they’ll allow her to marry the likes of you. Oh… yes… you haven’t thought about that, have you? That’s a shame.”
Michael changed tack. He began to rifle through Rutherford’s clothes, searching for the letter. Sweet relief filled him when he detected the crip edges and yanked it from an inside pocket.
Only, that made Rutherford laugh harder.
“You didn’t think I’d bring it with me, did you? It’s safe in my home, where you will never find it. That’s just the envelope. It’s drenched in so much perfume I figured it would be enough.”
Michael slumped as he lost himself in the paper he held. He recognized his father’s writing, and nausea took over.
Rutherford staggered to standing, then straightened his jacket and sighed. “Just lose, Burlington. People do it all the time. What makes you think you’re so special?”
*
“I don’t understand,” Maggie said. “What do you mean you’re going to lose on purpose?”
She studied Michael as he leaned against the opposite wall of her aunt’s drawing room, his expression haggard, as if he were already preparing himself for defeat.
He’d surprised her this morning when he showed up at the townhouse. Maggie had assumed that he would be at the gym, like he was most days. However, he’d come inside and asked to speak with her, keeping his distance, giving himself no opportunity to touch her.
Michael locked his hands behind his back, and a blue vein pulsed in the middle of his forehead while he scowled at his floor. “I have to,” he said. “I can’t risk the letter getting out.”
“But even Rutherford said the newspaper won’t print names. No one will know.”
“Everyone will know.”
“But… but…” Maggie paced the room, searching for any way of changing his mind. “The letter is old. It’s… not important. Does it matter?”
Michael gaze was as dead as his voice. “It will matter to my mother. She will be humiliated like before. I can’t put her through that again. You don’t know what it was like.”
Maggie’s heart shattered as she imagined the anguish he’d shouldered in his youth. And she couldn’t fix it. Her mind whirled, but she couldn’t come up with any way to make this situation better. She couldn’t dump a drink on herself or fall in a puddle of mud. Those were silly distractions. This was much bigger and beyond her control. Maggie was completely powerless.
And Michael had determined that he was the same.
She grasped at anything and everything. “We can offer him money—more money. There’s got to be a number that will entice him.”
His smile was bitter, lifeless. “Nothing more than seeing me lose.”
Frustration raged inside her. “Did you ask?”
“Of course I asked!” Michael pushed himself from the wall. “Right before I beat him to a bloody pulp! I was so stupid!” His expression was like thunder, but Maggie didn’t back away. She wasn’t afraid.
Instead, she went to him, enveloping him in her arms, trying to send him all her strength. She ignored the fact that he kept his arms at his sides. “Please don’t, my love. We need to stay calm. There has to be a way out of this. Remember? There are countless ways to look at something. We just have to find it.”
He shuddered, but allowed her to hold him for a few more seconds before he pulled away. Michael’s countenance was contained once more, his tone unbothered. “I have thought of everything, Maggie. And now I have to do what I have to do.”
“You don’t! All I ask is you talk to your mother. Beg her to understand.”
He leveled her with a hard gaze. “Why can’t you see this isn’t only about her? I’m doing this for you. For us. I won’t allow you to enter a marriage with me being the topic of jokes, having whispers and odd stares follow you in every drawing room in London.”
“I’m quite used to people looking at me and not knowing who I truly am.”
“Maggie.” Michael sighed out her name like she was a child who couldn’t keep up with the lesson. But she was beginning to understand—all too well.
He reached for her, holding her head in his hands, but it wasn’t like before. There was no tenderness in his fingertips, no subtle passion in his embrace. Only patronization and pity. “My love, you were always left alone when you were a child, left to your wild whims. You don’t know what it’s like to have to have a family rely on you… ask you to keep its secrets safe.”
Maggie jerked from his hold, her chest tightening with indignation. “I have a family, Michael. I have parents that love me in the best way they can. I had a grandmother who taught me to never be afraid. I have brothers who are always excited to see me. I have an aunt who accepts me—who loves me for my differences. Just because I didn’t grow up like you, doesn’t make my family any less a family—”
“I know, I’m sorry,” he rasped, running his hand through his hair. “I’m not explaining myself well. I’m just trying to make you see—”
“Oh, I see. I see everything clearly.” Maggie bit her lip, attempting to keep her voice stable. She couldn’t allow any cracks in the veneer now, not with what she had to say. “You’re doing this because you’re afraid—”
“I am not—”
“You’re afraid of being laughed at again, of being the little boy who couldn’t control what others said about him.”
The vein in his forehead throbbed even more. He averted his gaze to her chin, as if he didn’t trust himself to look at her. But she wanted that anger. She invited it.
“Stop it, Maggie,” he said. “Don’t say another word.”
“I will because you need to hear it,” she replied.
“Goddammit, I said that’s enough .”
She shook her head. “No. Not until you realize that none of that matters—those boys, the opinion of the ton , your father’s infidelities and indiscretions. All that matters is us. I have loved you for most of my life.”
“You said you loved the sad little boy.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I loved the sad little boy at first. But I fell in love with the man who dared to be different. He chose to do what felt right and good. To do what he loved. I’m asking you to continue being that man.” She took small steps toward him, reaching out until her hand rested on his heart. It beat hard and fast.
With a ragged exhale, Michael placed a hand on top of hers. For a moment, Maggie thought that she had broken through, but then he lifted his head. He tried to smile, but it only made her feel worse. “I am that man. But I’m a viscount, remember? And I can’t let this happen to my family. I won’t.”
A pressure that Maggie had never felt before squeezed her heart. It collapsed her lungs, making her next words breathless and forsaken. “I thought you were a bare-knuckle boxer and a viscount.”
Michael tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and then dropped his arm to his side. “I’m not.”