Chapter Twenty-Four
M aggie woke up the next morning with a warm, large, eager body next to her. Michael’s heavy arm was draped across her front like a sash. Weak light peeked through the window, and she could hear the household beginning to stir. Soon, George would start scratching at her door asking for cuddles.
She’d never believed this thought would ever enter her mind, but Michael had to leave—now. Maggie was expecting a note from his father any minute. She and the earl hadn’t had much contact since they’d returned to the city together. However, the day before he’d sent a messenger telling her that news would come in the morning and that she should be ready at a moment’s notice.
Maggie frowned at Michael’s tousled hair. Hard to do that when a fourteen-stone man who battled giants for a living was using her for a pillow.
Michael’s fingers twitched and his hand began to wander, following a trail under the swell of her breast, down her ribcage, coming to rest on her lower stomach. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured, his breath tickling the soft skin behind her ear.
When his hand started to rove lower on her body, under the cover, Maggie placed her own on top of it, intertwining their fingers. “You have to go.”
Michael shook his head against her shoulder. This was so unlike him. Usually, he was the one waking her up… in most imaginative ways. She knew avoidance when she saw it. The poor man didn’t want to start the day. He thought he already knew how it was going to end.
Maggie wasn’t so sure.
She slid out from under his arm and watched him from her side. He kept his eyes closed, fighting the morning. With the tip of her finger, Maggie traced the gentle slope down his nose all the way to the cleft in his chin. His face had finally healed from the O’Shaughnessy match. The purples and yellows and blues had faded into nothing, leaving only the light pink of his lips. It was a shame that they would all be back tomorrow.
Maggie leaned forward and kissed those lips. It was how he woke her most mornings, and she knew it to be effective. Michael’s hand escaped from hers and wound its way up to the back of her neck. When he started to apply more pressure—and the kiss turned hotter—Maggie broke free.
“You have to go,” she repeated, softening the command with a smile.
Finally, Michael opened his eyes. He reached for her once more, but Maggie wiggled out of reach. “My aunt can’t find you here,” she explained.
He sighed. “I know that. I just…” He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His profile was so beautiful to Maggie—his nose so regal and straight. She would never consider herself a shallow woman; however, she would hate for Harrison to cause it any damage tonight.
She rested her head in her hand. Her heart ached. She wanted to comfort him; she yearned to touch him. But she needed him to leave more. For his own benefit.
Maggie wasn’t sure what would happen if the earl’s note came while Michael was still there, though she doubted it would be good. He’d told her that everything was set, how the fight was going to play out, and she’d seemingly accepted it. Would finding out that she was working with his father be considered a betrayal? Maggie didn’t know the answer. And she didn’t want to learn it before she had time to splash water on her face and change into fresh clothes.
“Michael. Whatever happens tonight… just know that I love you.”
He could only come up with a half-smile. “Only one thing is going to happen tonight.” He lowered his gaze. “Will you be there? I understand that I shouldn’t ask this of you…”
“There is no place I would rather be.”
Michael nodded, and she could see that her answer had pleased him. “I’ll send a carriage for you—”
“Oh, no need. I have plans.”
He groaned and covered his face with his palm. “God, Maggie, tell me you’re going with him ,” he said, muffled by his fingers.
Maggie grinned. She was certainly not arriving at the Oyster Inn on Lord Oliver’s arm that night, but it wouldn’t hurt for Michael to think so. “Whyever not? I’m more than safe in his company, and his boxing knowledge is exemplary. He’s a perfect companion.”
Michael groaned again. “Please don’t use the word companion when you mention the duke.”
She tore his hand off his face and smiled. Michael rewarded her with a begrudging one of his own. Then he moved like a flash, flinging himself over Maggie before she knew what was happening.
“Michael,” she said, pushing against his shoulders… though not as hard as she should have.
“I know. I know.” He dipped his head and captured her lips in a sweet, chaste kiss that Maggie was sure she would be sighing about for days. “I’m just not in the mood to leave just yet.”
Maggie rolled her eyes as he traced her collarbone with his tongue. She could feel his desire pulse and burn against the triangle of her thighs. Her resistance was weak before; it was nonexistent now.
Michael lifted his head and waited. Maggie had no doubt what he was waiting for.
She didn’t have the heart to refuse him. It would be like cutting off her nose to spite her face. “What are you in the mood for, my lord?” she asked in a mocking tone.
Michael lowered his mouth to the valley of her breasts. “Well, my love… I’m so glad you asked.”
*
Lord Arthur shot out of his seat as Maggie hurried into the drawing room. “Where have you been?” he cried, ripping his watch from his jacket pocket. “I have been waiting forever for you, woman. I told you to be ready!”
“You told me you were sending a note!”
“Well, I sent myself instead. I’m so very sorry for the inconvenience.”
Maggie caught her breath. Dealing with two Conroy men back to back wasn’t for the faint of heart. “I’m sorry, Lord Arthur. Truly. I just…” Her face burned. “I had to take care of a few unexpected things this morning, that’s all. But I’m here now. I’m ready now.”
The earl humphed . Despite his intentions, Michael’s distractions hadn’t put her that behind schedule. He’d escaped out the back door minutes before his father’s carriage pulled up to the townhouse.
Lord Arthur’s gaze narrowed as he continued to scrutinize her. Could he smell his son on her skin? That was the main reason she’d been so late. She’d scrubbed herself raw during her extra-long bath. She didn’t ordinarily bathe in the morning, but considering her nighttime companion—and present company—she thought it for the best.
Maggie couldn’t tell the disgruntled earl that, though. She tried to recall what people said about the road to hell and good intentions.
“Well, you’re here now,” Lord Arthur replied, slightly mollified. “And we’ve got work to do.”
She took a seat across from the earl, giving him her undivided attention as he filled her in on all that he had uncovered over the last few days. Maggie learned quickly that the man might have been living in exile for the better part of a decade, but the Earl of Waverly still commanded respect—and had a more-than-decent ear for gossip.
“I’ve been watching him like a hawk,” he said. “Rutherford doesn’t keep hours like a gentleman. He lives by a bachelor’s schedule that can be erratic at times. Some mornings he sleeps until midday. I must be getting old if I’m no longer jealous of a rake’s life.”
“But you said you found something… something that can help us?”
The earl’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes. I found out he had a mistress, and, with a little monetary persuasion, she informed me that he usually arrives every Tuesday, late in the afternoon so he can still squeeze in a decent dinner party,” he explained. “He never misses. Every Tuesday he is there. Which is wonderful news for us. We’ll have a sliver of time to search for the letter and, hopefully, get it to the match before Michael’s on the floor.”
Maggie felt like a cannonball had lodged itself in her stomach. “But that doesn’t leave us with much time. What if we can’t find it? What if we’re late?”
The earl hooked a leg over a knee and regarded her coolly. “Then we lose.”
“I don’t like losing!”
“Yes, I can see that,” he noted dryly. “But it’s the best we have. I’ve already asked an investigative friend to help us. He has a nose for these things. He’s a decent hunter and should be able to flush out the letter.”
An odd idea came to her, and as if on cue, George scrambled into the drawing room, making a beeline for the stranger daring to speak to Maggie without his consent.
The earl hopped to his feet, but instead of being annoyed by the noisy animal, he smiled. “Good Lord, is that a dachshund? I rarely get to see one of these little beauties!”
He fell to the floor like a child rounding up presents on Christmas Day. George’s wariness lasted for approximately two seconds and then he was mauling the earl, wiping the peer’s face clean with his long, rough tongue.
Maggie was stunned. “You… you like dachshunds?” she asked.
Lord Arthur refused to stop kissing the dog’s belly, so his voice came out muffled. “Like them? I adore them. Not many people use them for hunting, even though they should. Damn fine tracking dogs. I’ve been searching for one for ages. I’ve had a badger problem of late.” The earl climbed to his feet and brushed the little black hairs from his coat. “Did Michael tell you that I like to hunt? No, he probably didn’t, but it’s a passion of mine. I always wanted Michael to do it with me, but he never showed much interest—probably because I loved it so much.”
He smoothed his loose locks back over his forehead, his color high and glowing. “You know, I think I have a neighbor who used to have one. Maybe still does. Would you be interested in breeding this adorable beast?” The earl bent over and scratched George’s ear until the dog’s back leg thumped so wildly that he lost his balance and tipped over. “This beautiful, lean specimen would make a gorgeous sire. I would never mention it to my current hunting dogs, but they are getting a little long in the tooth. Noses aren’t what they used to be. But they were the best dogs a man could ask for.” He stared up at the ceiling, lost in his sweet memory. “It didn’t matter what scent I gave them; they’d be able to track it for days. Maxwell and I”—he sobered—“well, we spent many happy afternoons with those dogs. Many happy afternoons.”
There were so many questions fighting for the head of the queue in Maggie’s head. She landed on the one most important to her. “You don’t think George is too fat?”
“Fat!” the earl sneered, giving George a closer look. He scrunched his nose. “He needs more exercise, that’s true, but he’s not fat. He’s well rested.”
Tears built behind Maggie’s eyes. She’d never found such a kindred spirit before—had given up hope that they even existed. But without a shadow of a doubt, she considered that the earl could be hers—when it came to dogs.
“Yes,” she said, choking on her flailing emotions. “Yes, I would like to breed George. He is a champion.”
“A king among princes!”
Maggie flew into his arms, hugging the earl with all her might before kissing both his cheeks. “Thank you, my lord. I’ve been waiting a long time to hear someone say that.”
The earl flushed as his eyes darted around awkwardly. “Of course, my dear. Of course. Now, what do you say about the plan for my son? Do you think we can make it work?”
Maggie had never felt so right about anything in her life. “Yes, my lord. I do. I just have one suggestion.”
“What is it, my dear?”
She picked up George and settled him in her arms. “You said you have a man to help. But I think mine will get the job done faster.”
*
Later that afternoon, the Earl of Waverly, his investigator, Maggie, and her dachshund waited impatiently for Lord Rutherford to exit his townhouse. Their tenacity was rewarded when just after five, the front door opened, and Rutherford emerged with a shiny top hat on his head and a distinct dance in his step. He climbed into his conveyance and set out along the road without noticing the carriage that had been sitting idly outside his home for over an hour.
Short minutes later, the foursome was standing in Rutherford’s foyer after the earl had promised the butler an exorbitant amount of money for entrance… and his silence.
The investigator looked at Lord Arthur.
Lord Arthur looked at Maggie.
Maggie looked at George and placed him on the ground.
The earl dug out an old necktie from his pocket and showed it to the dog. George thrust his nose into the fabric, taking in the earl’s distinctive, musky perfume.
When the earl deemed that time was up, he stuffed the necktie back in his pocket and looked at Maggie once more.
She smiled and looked at her pet.
“All right George,” she said. “It’s time to show everyone what you’re made of.”