Chapter Twenty-Three
M ost nights before his fights, Michael craved being alone. He would sit in his study and close his eyes, imagining how the boxing match would play out. Punches would be traded, blood would be unleashed, power would be exchanged. And Michael would ultimately be the last one standing.
But, for unfortunate, obvious reasons, this night was different.
It didn’t help that Tommy had barely talked to him that day, only sending the odd grunt in his direction. The trainer didn’t know what his fighter planned to do against Harrison, but he could sense something was wrong. Tommy’s job was to see things, and even though Michael’s strength hadn’t diminished, nor had his training been half-hearted, he could tell that Michael’s heart was lost.
A lucky man could win a fight on no sleep, with no food in his belly, no technique, and no hope. But he couldn’t win without heart.
And Michael hadn’t felt his in days, not since his fight with Maggie.
He’d assumed that she would come to him when she realized how unfairly she’d treated him. Did she actually believe he wanted to lose on purpose? Did she think that he wanted his big—and maybe only—chance to end in this deplorable way?
But his father had been right all along. The world had decided what Michael would be the moment he was born into it. And that was a viscount. One day, an earl. And that came with responsibilities. A calamitous juxtaposition of power and helplessness.
Michael would yield now. His body would hit the ground and not come back up. And his mother would be safe. His father would continue to live quietly in the country. Maggie and he would start a life together fresh, without gossip or innuendo. It was the best way forward. The only way forward.
She’d been wrong when she told him that he was doing this because he didn’t want to be the little boy all the others laughed at again. Michael could take it. In her confusion and disappointment, Maggie couldn’t see that the tables had turned. It was his time to grasp the world’s attention in order to save the people he loved.
He would do it without complaint. Without bitterness.
He only asked for her.
So, if Maggie wouldn’t come, he would go to her. Because he wasn’t leaving her. Ever.
As usual, George was the first one to greet Michael. The enthusiastic animal met him at the top of the staircase as Michael made his way to Maggie’s bedroom. It had become their routine. After sneaking into Lady Alice’s townhouse, he would spend a few minutes in the hallway playing with the excitable pet, rough-housing and emptying his pocket of treats until the animal was satisfied and exhausted. Michael had initially done it to wear the dog down so George wouldn’t think to bark or alert the house of his nocturnal plans. Now he did it because he liked it. George was his friend. If Maggie held his heart, George also had a piece.
The light was on in the bedroom. Michael didn’t think to knock, and when he entered, he found Maggie standing next to the window peering out into the street. Her spine was straight, her shoulders were wide; even now, Maggie was not a beaten woman.
He could practically see the gears spinning in her head. She wore a thin robe over her even thinner chemise. Michael gave in to the moment and appreciated the way her bottom curved beneath the pale-yellow silk. Her thick hair was plaited in a long braid down her back, something she didn’t usually do, since she knew how much he enjoyed running his fingers through it as they lay together. Either she was still angry with him or wasn’t expecting him. Michael hated both of those options.
Her laughter drew his attention, and Michael watched as her breath fogged up the window glass. “I never have to look to know you’re here,” she said. Her placid voice gave no indication of her mood. “I only have to smell the dried meat.”
Michael shut the door behind him and entered the space that had felt as much like a home as his own. Now, he couldn’t shake the notion that he was an intruder. Why had he let their argument go on this long? It had been close to a week, and it seemed more like a lifetime.
He waited for Maggie to turn to him before he spoke. Her eyes were questioning, but not damning, and that gave him the push he needed to go on. “George and I have an understanding.”
“And what’s that?”
Michael opened his jacket wide on both sides. “I give him everything I have, and he accepts it willingly.” Maggie laughed again, only this time it was real and not forced. He fought to keep the smile on her lovely face. “I thought that was our understanding as well.”
She moved away from the window, hugging herself against the night’s chill. The moon streaked through the glass, giving her an ethereal, otherworldly quality. She was his Lady in the Lake. And Michael had come to ask her for what only she could give.
“Did we have an understanding?” she asked quietly.
“Oh yes.” Michael nodded, taking small steps toward her, desperately hoping he wouldn’t scare her off. “I gave you my heart, remember? I gave you all of me and asked you to watch over it. You said you would never give it back.”
“And I won’t.”
“Then why have you not come to me? Are you trying to teach me a lesson? If so, I’m afraid I’m not smart enough. Too many punches to the head, remember?”
“I was giving you space.”
“Take it back. I don’t want it.”
Her smile was tired. “I was angry—”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t have been.”
Michael resisted replying. He was unbalanced, unmoored, on the edge of a mountain without any support or notion of how to get down.
Maggie flinched. She clearly thought to come to him but stopped herself. That indecision nearly cut him in two. When she spoke, it was stilted and choppy, as if each word deserved all of her concentration. “You know… long ago I told some people that I wanted you to feel as powerless as I do at times—like most women do. And now that it’s here, now that it’s happened, I only want to spare you.”
She was so close. Michael could reach out and take her in his arms, but he held back. Maggie wasn’t ready. Besides, the moment he captured her, she would no longer be able to speak.
“I’m not powerless, my love,” he told her. “I have you, and you only give me strength.”
“But the match—”
“I don’t care about the match!” he growled. “I only want to be the man you love, the man you want. Can I still be that man even if I’m no longer in the ring? Will you still love me if I’m no longer a boxer?”
“How can you ask me that?” Maggie cried, her voice breaking. She launched herself into his arms. Michael squeezed her with ferocious need. “It doesn’t matter what you call yourself or what the world thinks you are. I know.” She raised her head, haunting him with the depths of her gaze. “I’ve always known who you are. You’re beautiful and strong and demanding and loyal and—”
“Yours. Maggie, I’m yours. That’s all I need to hear right now. That’s all I ever want you to think. If the history books ever write anything about me, I will just ask them to write one simple description after my name: Lord William Conroy, eighth Earl of Waverly, is Maggie’s husband.”
Maggie’s eyes sparkled with mist. “And you can handle that? You can live with that kind of notoriety?”
They swayed together as he chuckled, resting his chin on top of her head. “I’ve told you before, my family is no stranger to controversy. I should have always known that you were destined to be my countess.”
“When you saw me covered in filth in front of everyone?”
He kissed her forehead, holding her face in his trembling hands. “No. When I saw the way you looked at everyone. Like you were exactly where you were supposed to be, doing exactly what you were supposed to be doing. Always comfortable in your own skin. How I envied you. And adored you. Even then.”
Maggie stepped back, and Michael had to force himself to release her from his grip.
“I am comfortable in my skin,” she said. She pulled her shoulders back and allowed her robe to fall off her narrow frame and land on the floor with a whoosh . Michael worried his breath made the same sound as it fled his body. Maggie stood before him like the perfect mixture of angel and demon, life- giving but terrifying. Her nipples poked through the delicate, virginal fabric of her chemise. What was left of Michael’s heart thundered against his ribcage.
Even with all her self-assuredness, Maggie couldn’t stop her smile from turning shy. She clutched at the dainty neckline and pushed it over the edge of her shoulders, to the floor.
Michael’s jaw clenched. His balls tightened. His axis tilted.
“Please, don’t tell me you don’t know what to do with me again,” she teased.
Michael shook his head. He tried to speak, might have even opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Maybe a grunt.
Finally, she took mercy on him and held out her arms. “Come here, my love. Let me show you how comfortable my skin is.”
Michael sheathed himself in her embrace, surrendering to the powerful spell she cast over him. He was lost to madness, and he kissed Maggie with all the love and devotion that she’d uncovered in him. And soon enough, thinking was no longer an option.
As always, his body took over, becoming his guide. How he managed to get Maggie to the bed would always be a mystery to him. Her hands wouldn’t stop grasping, untying, unbuttoning while he made the short walk across the room. By the time he laid her on the mattress, Michael’s clothes were hanging off him. He made short work of the rest.
When he climbed on top of Maggie, she was more than ready, wearing the expression of a well-loved woman who knew what to expect and gladly awaited it. But Michael didn’t want her to be the only one with all the surprises that night.
He captured a breast in his hot mouth, running a hand down the side of her body as she arched dreamily, like a cat. Michael couldn’t stop with the one, and gave the opposite mound the care and awareness it deserved. Maggie clawed at his shoulders, urging him to settle between her thighs, but he had other ideas.
He slid off her, catching the disappointment on her face before he flipped her over on her front. Maggie squeaked as he lifted her arse high in the air, massaging the succulent globes with veneration and tenderness. He bent over to place light kisses and bites on the delicate skin, holding Maggie’s hips while she swayed and jerked from the unabashed attention.
“Michael!” she said, giggling. “What are you—”
Her mouth clamped shut as he fitted his cock at her entrance. She jerked away reflexively.
“Michael?”
“Let me, my love,” he panted. Just covering his tip with her wetness was enough to make his chest constrict in lethal ways. “Take me this way. Feel how deep I can touch you.”
She nodded, but her body remained tense. Michael eased into her, inch by inch as Maggie became reacquainted with his length. He slid over her, covering her back with his chest as he encased himself completely inside her.
“You were right, Maggie.” His lips grazed her earlobes as he whispered, “This is very comfortable.”
She twisted her neck to find him, closing off more words with a savage kiss that invited Michael to go faster. He pulled out and surged again, this time rocking her so hard that Maggie had to throw her arms out to brace herself on the bed.
“Is this too much?” he asked, panic gripping his stomach.
“More,” was all she replied, and he felt her bottom jerk back against his cock, urging it on.
Michael didn’t need to be told twice. He swept an arm under her torso, grasping her breast as he took himself off his leash. Pinching and playing with her nipple, he pumped into her taut body, reveling in his woman who gave as good as she got. Never were there half-measures. Maggie always met him on the line, encouraging, demanding more.
He wanted it to last all night. Hell, he wanted it to last forever. But Michael was only a man. When her slick walls began to narrow and pulse against his rod and her breath came hard and fast, he thrust one more toe-curling time, spilling into her gracelessly, frantically. Wholly.
Michael collapsed to her side. Though it took a few minutes, Maggie eventually roused herself to face him. Her skin was bright and sweaty. Her eyes were as clear as a lake, untouched by man. With a sleepy, contented smile she brushed the hair from his forehead, smoothing it behind his ears. “Where would I be without you?” she asked, her voice full of wonder.
Michael caught her hand and kissed her palm. He answered with a wry smile. “You’d be fine,” he said, echoing words she’d used on him once before.
Maggie nodded, as he knew she would. But then she said, “You’re right. I would be fine. But I would never be the person I am when I’m with you.”