Chapter Twenty-Six
T he Duke of Winchester poured so much brandy in Michael’s glass that it spilled out over the top.
“Enough, enough,” Michael said, taking his drink back. “I can’t possibly have any more!”
Lord Oliver gave him a disgusted look. “Yes, you can. I’ve never drunk with a bare-knuckle champion before, so you are going to indulge me.”
Michael watched as Maggie rolled her eyes heavenward, a small smile peeking through as she continued to work on his face. Just like after the O’Shaughnessy match, Maggie had met him in the little room at the Oyster Inn and grabbed the clean linen on the bureau. Unlike after that match, she wasn’t alone for long.
The duke had forced his way in just as Michael was tearing the linen out of Maggie’s hand and leading her to the bed. Never one to be left out, Tommy followed on his heels. Apparently, everyone decided that Michael would celebrate that night, whether he liked it or not.
In all honesty, he didn’t mind it all that much.
“Top me up, Your Grace,” Tommy said, holding his empty glass out to the duke, who didn’t hesitate to fulfill the order.
Maggie giggled, leaning over Michael’s left side, inspecting his puffy eye. He had thought O’Shaughnessy had ham hocks for fists, but Harrison was in a league all his own. But he was the champion.
No. Not anymore, he isn’t, Michael reminded himself. He was the new bare-knuckle champion.
Tommy tossed his drink back and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. His eyes shone like those of a man who’d just seen the divine, or better—a man whose hard work had just paid off. “I can’t wait to read the headline: Fancy Lad Takes Down Champion.” He hugged himself like a giddy, drunk child. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life!” His excitement plummeted, and he looked at Michael with alarm. “Mike, what do we do now?”
“You win,” Oliver answered drolly, refilling Tommy’s drink. “And then you do it again and again.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “And maybe one of those times, I might even bet on you.”
Maggie’s hand paused over Michael’s eye, and her skirts twirled as she faced the duke. Michael was in too good a mood to listen to their arguing or care about the familiar way they spoke to one another. His one good eye was planted on Maggie’s lovely hips as she unleashed her ire on the duke. A river of hair had fallen out of her bun, and it mesmerized him as it waved over her back. Michael couldn’t wait for the well-meaning bastards to leave. He needed to lie down, and he knew exactly where he wanted his head to go.
He thought it best to make Lord Oliver aware that Maggie would not be driving home with him that night.
Michael stood up, wrapping his arm around Maggie’s waist, pulling her to his side. She was in mid-rant, but she stopped instantly when he gave her a little squeeze. “I will take Maggie home tonight, so you needn’t wait for her if you want to leave,” he said, hoping his hint wasn’t that obvious.
Turned out it wasn’t. Lord Oliver lifted his shoulders, clearly bewildered. “Why would I want to leave? And why would I be waiting for Maggie?”
Maggie tensed. Michael eyed her curiously. “I thought you came with her?”
The duke scoffed. “I am not that woman’s keeper.” He took another sip. “God help the man who is.”
“I am,” Michael stated a little too possessively. “I am her keeper.” He slid Maggie in front of him, blocking the duke from view. “Maggie?” he said, waiting for her gaze to meet his. It took longer than he would have liked. “Who brought you here today? And now that we’re on the subject, I think it’s time you told me how you came to have that letter.”
Maggie’s shoulders bunched up toward her ears. “Does it really matter?” she asked. “Isn’t it enough to know that we have it and we’re safe?”
“No.”
Maggie frowned. She played with the buttons of his shirt, and it felt so damned good that Michael was certain she was trying to distract him.
“Maggie,” he prodded, “do you have something you want to tell me?”
“Michael, I have so many things I want to tell you,” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck. Despite their audience, she rose on her tiptoes and covered his mouth with hers in a savagely sweet kiss that Michael felt all the way down to his toes. She pulled away, gifting him with that sultry smile that he craved so much. “How can you expect me to settle on one? Do you want to know how much I love you? That I’m proud of you? That I can’t wait to be your wife and the mother of your children? Because I do, and I am, and I can’t. Will that do?”
Yes, that would do just fine. But she was missing something. “What else?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, yes. That you’re mine. Always and forever. Mine.”
Yes . That was it. Being champion was a good thing, there was no arguing with that. But being Maggie’s was infinitely more satisfying. He could be that for the rest of his life.
Michael seized her again, laying claim to her mouth, dying little deaths over and over again as her tongue mingled with his. It wasn’t until Lord Oliver coughed that Michael remembered they weren’t alone in the room and that he’d asked Maggie a once-important question that had completely slipped his mind.
He sniffed her neck to fill his lungs with the floral notes of her soap, but only came back with his father’s scent. The damned man practically soaked his letters in his perfume, and Maggie had clung to one for most of the night.
However, that hardly made sense. After all these years, the perfume on the letter couldn’t be that strong. Maggie smelled like she’d been in her father’s company… but how was that possible?
She was here with him, and his father was… his father was…
Standing in the doorway of Michael’s room at the Oyster Inn, staring right at him.
The Earl of Waverly coughed lightly and locked his hands behind his back. “I apologize if I’m interrupting…”
Maggie moved at once. She went to Michael’s father and kissed both of his cheeks. Christ, Michael thought, is the old man actually blushing?
She hooked her arm through the earl’s and towed him into the room, introducing him to Tommy and Oliver.
“It’s been a long time, Your Grace,” the earl told Oliver warmly. Perhaps his suavity sparked something in the duke, because he managed to straighten his spine and act like a gentleman for longer than a couple of minutes as the two chatted over their estates. Apparently, the earl’s had a badger problem.
When Oliver asked about the current state of the earl’s farms, Michael couldn’t take it any longer.
“What are you doing here?”
The duke raised his brow and slinked away from the conversation, joining Tommy by the brandy bottle. Maggie took his place by the earl’s side.
She raised her chin. “I asked him to come. He helped me find the letter.”
Michael nodded, keeping his focus on his father. “Is that true?”
The earl nodded in the exact same way. Once again, Michael was struck by their resemblance. “Maggie asked me for help, and I gave it.”
Michael glanced between them. “Maggie doesn’t like to ask for help.”
His father chuckled. “She doesn’t like to give up, either. And she didn’t. Not on you.”
Michael reached for his ribs. Harrison hadn’t broken anything, but he’d been close. And every time Michael took a deep breath, he paid for it.
His father watched him wince. He glanced at Maggie and forced a smile. “I think I should go. It’s a long way back to Leicester. I just wanted to say congratulations.”
“No, stay!” Maggie said, gripping his arm, but the earl merely gave her a kiss on the cheek and unwrapped himself from her hold.
“I’m glad I came. Thank you for giving me a chance to be a part of my son’s life. I will never forget it.”
Lord Oliver and Tommy nodded at the older man, raising their glasses as he took his leave.
Maggie whipped back to Michael, and he wanted to tell her to stop scowling at him, but it had been a long day. His muscles ached; his heart was bursting; his life was full. He only had the energy to ask his father one question, because it was the only one that mattered to him.
“Father… are you glad I won?”
The Earl of Waverly turned back to Michael with cloudy, loving eyes. “Oh, my son,” he said. “You have no idea.”