Page 17 of The Hellion and the Captain (Scandals and Scores #2)

Chapter Fifteen

T he first game against the Manchester Athletics approached so quickly that it almost took Emmaline by surprise, especially when she and Rhys had been so busy enjoying one another.

This was nothing but a practice match, yet both teams’ underlying emotions were palpable, especially after last season.

Manchester Central had forced their rival to sever ties with their main club sponsor, although it was the sponsor’s fault for trying to sabotage Lord Harcourt’s mill and club.

That, plus Manchester Central having beaten them out of the FA Cup last season, was obviously not a truth that the Athletics were ready to accept, for the air crackled with tension as players from both teams lined up on the pitch, their gazes locked from across the field in silent challenge.

Emmaline took her place among her teammates, her heart pounding with anticipation and nerves.

Today’s match would be her greatest test yet, for not only would she have to prove herself to her teammates, the club committee, and their supporters, but she would also have to hide her true identity and ensure that no one guessed she was anyone but Emmett Williams.

After the Athletics captain won the coin toss, the whistle blew, and the game exploded into action. Players darted across the field, their boots churning up grass and mud.

Emmaline kept pace with the play, already feeling the success of Rhys’s training efforts. Her stamina and strength were greater than ever, and her focus was sharp.

Rhys and Colin connected and almost scored, but Colin shot the ball just over the crossbar — where he always missed whenever he didn’t knock it between the posts, and the ball went back to the other end, those watching equally split as roars were loud each way.

On the way back, Tommy passed the ball over to her, and Emmaline maneuvered it between her feet.

She looked across the field, ready to feed it to Colin, but before she could make a move, a bulky figure suddenly slammed into her from the side, sending her sprawling.

Wincing, she looked up into the sneering face of Victor Reeves, an Athletics forward she hadn’t liked watching, let alone play against.

“Watch yourself, pretty boy,” he snarled, his eyes glinting with malice. “Accidents happen on the field when you’re not careful.”

Emmaline gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain in her nearly healed ribs as she pushed herself back to her feet. Taunts were part of the game, as was the odd aggressive play. She refused to allow them to bother her. She had a job to do.

The match raged on, a fierce battle for dominance.

Victor made it his mission to target Emmaline as he continued to find ways to bump into her.

A few were small knocks, but he sent her flying off her feet more than once.

Each hit jarred her bones, but she refused to back down, meeting his aggression with skill and determination .

The last hit came with only a few minutes left in the tied game, and by that point, Emmaline was so tired and sore that it took a few extra minutes to get herself off the ground.

She looked up to determine what was happening across the field, but all she could see was Rhys storming toward her, his brow furrowed and his fists at his sides.

He veered from his initial path toward Victor, coming over to Emmaline instead, holding out a hand to help her to her feet.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a gruff, low tone, concern swimming in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she said, also noting Colin’s worried gaze as he neared but kept a fair distance away.

“Are you sure?” Rhys said. “No ‘offside’?”

He remembered their plan and the word she would say when she needed help. Why did that cause her to feel even more affection toward him?

“I’m fine,” she said. “For whatever reason, he’s taken a dislike to me, but I can handle it, Rhys. I promise.”

Rhys nodded, but when he turned around, Victor was nearing them again, and Emmaline knew in an instant there was no stopping Rhys from trying to protect her in one way or another.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Reeves?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Reeves smirked, unrepentant. “Playing the game, Lockwood. Not my fault if your boy can’t handle a little rough and tumble.”

“That was no accident, and you know it,” Rhys growled, squaring up to the forward who just about matched him in height, a rare occurrence. “Keep your hands off my player, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

The referee’s whistle pierced the air, breaking the standoff. Rhys shot Victor one last warning, pointing a finger at him.

“Stay away, Reeves,” he said, but Victor just continued to smirk back at him, and Emmaline felt her stomach churn, as she had a feeling that if the forward came after her again, there would be no stopping Rhys.

She had no idea if it was because of their growing closeness or if he would have protected any player in such a way. Still, while she appreciated his concern, she also worried that others might start to notice Rhys’s particularly protective instincts toward her.

She would just have to stay clear of Reeves as best she could.

For it was how she would protect Rhys — even if he didn’t know he needed it.

Rhys had noticed the mounting tension between Emmaline and Victor Reeves, one of the powerful forwards from the Athletics, and he had tried to hold himself back, allowing Emmaline to do things her way.

But when that last particularly vicious tackle had sent Emmaline tumbling, her cry of pain echoing across the pitch, Rhys had seen red.

It had taken every ounce of restraint within him to keep from sending his fists flying into Reeves’ face, for that would only have proven how much he cared about her well-being.

Even now, one more wrong move, and he didn’t care what anyone thought — he would make sure the man never saw a football field again.

Mickey had the ball on the back half of the pitch now, and Rhys could only hope he could make the pass up the middle toward Colin.

He did, and Rhys breathed a sigh of relief.

All Colin had to do was not kick it too high…

suddenly, he saw Emmaline st reaking up the far side of the pitch, no defender upon her.

Colin must have seen her at the same time, for he sent the ball flying across the pitch.

She caught it with her feet and began breaking toward the net.

She brought her foot back just as Rhys noticed Reeves sprinting toward her.

Not on his watch. Leaving his position, Rhys ran toward them, taking an angle so that he would cut between Emmaline and Reeves.

Just as her foot connected with the ball, he stepped in front of Reeves, who slammed hard into him, and they both went sprawling onto the ground, Reeves blurting expletives toward him.

“What in the bloody hell is wrong with you, man?” Reeves seethed as he pushed himself from the ground, shoving both hands into Rhys’s chest. “I didn’t even have the ball.”

“I know exactly what you were planning,” Rhys growled back. “I told you not again. Not on my watch.”

“You’ve taken quite a liking to your new pretty boy,” Reeves said, sneering at Rhys. “Perhaps?—”

Rhys wasn’t going to let him speak any longer. He wouldn’t allow the man to insult Emmaline, nor to give anyone else any indication that everything was not as it seemed. He brought his fist back and sent it right into the man’s gut.

Reeves’ eyes bulged as he stared at Rhys in disbelief before crumpling to the ground.

“What the hell?” Oliver Harrington, captain of the Athletics and actually a decent sort, came running toward them. “That was out of bounds, Lockwood,” he said, and Rhys knew he was one insult away from turning this into an entire brawl.

“He was out of line, Harrington,” Rhys said. “He deserved what was coming to him. You’re a good sort, but you must keep your players in check. ”

“Lockwood,” Harrington said with a sigh. “This doesn’t need to go any further.”

“I don’t want it to,” Rhys said. “As long as none of you make this into anything more, we can continue to be friendly rivals.” He held out his hand. “Are we good?”

Harrington reluctantly took his hand. “Good. For today. This shit can’t happen again, understood?”

“Tell that to Reeves,” he said, before finally taking in the cheering supporters and the elation on his own team’s faces.

“Oh, and Harrington?”

“Yes?”

“Good game,” he said, finally cracking a smile. “Better luck next time.”

Emmaline lay on the bench in the bathing house of Pomona Gardens, her eyes closed as she waited for the rest of the men to change and bathe and leave.

“You good over there, Williams?” Tommy called out, and she lifted her hand and gave him a thumbs up.

“Just collecting myself,” she said.

While she needed to wait to change until the rest of the men had left and would prefer not to see any of them in states of undress when she had to play side by side with them every day, she also needed the time to recover.

Her ribs ached as though someone had used her as a punching bag, while the rest of her body didn’t feel particularly pleasant either.

She would have to come up with quite an excuse for her maid not to question this.

“Good game,” she heard the men say to one another as they finally began to file out of the room.

“See you at the pub, Williams?” Mickey asked, his voice slowly fading, meaning he was leaving .

“Yep,” was all she said as she kept her eyes closed, until she finally heard Rhys say, “You can sit up now. They’re all gone.”

She slowly eased herself into a sitting position, although she rested her head against the wall behind her, finding both Rhys and Colin staring at her with worried expressions.

“You took some hard hits out there,” Colin said. “How are you doing?”

“Splendid,” she said, attempting some humor, but when she tried to laugh, she almost cried at the pain.

“I think we need to take a look at those ribs,” Rhys said. “Can you lift your shirt?”

“But—” Colin began, but Rhys shook his head.

“She has linen beneath.”

“Ah,” was all Colin said, but he still turned his head away.

She untucked her shirt and gingerly lifted it up until the place where her ribs ached was visible. Rhys’s swift intake of breath told her that they must not look good, and she cringed when he prodded them again.

“No practice this week,” he said, and her jaw dropped as her gaze swung around to meet his, disappointment filling her, for she knew what that meant.

“But—”

“Those need to heal, or you won’t be good for anything,” he said. “Understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” she muttered, causing Colin to laugh.

“Do you need help, Emmaline?” Colin asked. “I can ask Lily to come to you.”

“I think I might,” she said, hating to admit it, but she wasn’t sure she could properly raise her arms. “Please ask Lily?—”

“No,” Rhys swiftly interjected. “We don’t need Lily. I’ve got her.”

“But—” Colin began, and Rhys turned to him. Whatever was in his expression was enough to stop Colin, for he slowly nodded. “Very well,” he said, understanding more than just Rhys was willing to help her. “If Emmaline is fine with this.”

“I am,” she said, and Colin nodded again, although his gaze was bouncing from one of them to the other with interest.

“Well, I’ll see you both at the pub, I assume. Good game, Emmaline.”

With that, he shut the door, leaving the two of them alone, silent except for Emmaline’s swift intakes of breath as Rhys worked on helping her change.

He was so gentle with her, from the way he slid the fabric over her arms and legs, to lifting it over her head, making sure that he didn’t touch her in any way that would hurt as he wet a piece of linen and slowly slid it over her skin to wash her off.

His every touch had Emmaline hissing, some in pain, but much of it due to the way he was excruciatingly teasing her, even if he had no intention of doing so.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” she finally asked, her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Doing what?”

“Sliding that towel over me. Making me want you more than I ever have before.”

He let out a strained laugh. “I am not doing anything on purpose. I’m cleaning you off,” he said.

“Maybe you need to go lower,” she suggested, tilting her head down to where her knickerbockers were still tied tightly around her waist.

“Emmaline!” he scolded her. “You are injured.”

“Not all of me,” she said with a wicked grin, her exhaustion fading, and his brow furrowed as he stared down at her.

“What am I going to do with you?” he said.

“That is what I am waiting to find out.”

With his eyes on her face, he slid the piece of linen down lower until he was hovering just between her thighs, and she stared at him, challenging him to continue.

When he met that challenge, excitement flared inside of her, and she opened her legs wider toward him as she unfastened her fall, sliding the pants open just enough to give him access to what he needed.

He slid the cloth in, using it to swipe over her most intimate places as she watched him, a catch in her throat as he kept his eyes on her face.

When he found where she ached for him, her hips bucked up toward him, and while he didn’t stop, he threw the linen to the side and replaced it with his fingers, rubbing his thumb over her while his finger slid inside. When he began to thrust it back and forth, her head fell back against the wall.

“That is perfect,” she said as she had to will away tears that threatened to form at just how much she loved this.

“Just like you,” he whispered, and at that, she fell apart.