Page 5 of The Hellion and the Captain (Scandals and Scores #2)

Chapter Five

“ Y ou are certain about this?”

No. He wasn’t certain at all. But he had made the decision, and he couldn’t go back on his word now.

Rhys shifted uncomfortably in one of the wood-framed spoon-back chairs that surrounded the long table in the club’s offices, where the club committee met monthly to discuss club matters.

As captain, he usually appeared for the first ten minutes of the meeting to provide an update on the team itself.

“Yes,” he lied. “The man has obvious skill and would be a good fit for outside right winger, which is Joey’s position.”

“And when Joey returns?” Mr. Nesbitt continued his questioning. He was technically the head of the club committee, although all knew that as the club’s main financial backer, Lord Harcourt, who was now Colin’s father-in-law, held most influence when it came to decision making.

“He will not return until next season, and at that time we can evaluate who is better suited for the position and who might need to be moved should everyone return,” Rhys said .

“Very good,” Mr. Nesbitt said, his reddish-brown mustache twitching as he pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “Well, thank you for your opinion, Mr. Lockwood. We will take that into consideration. Can you tell us about Mr. Williams’ profession?”

When Rhys had prepared for the meeting this morning, he had known that question would be coming and realized that he had never asked.

He looked it up on the form Williams had filled out upon arriving to the team.

It was the first time he had ever had to do so, for he usually came to know the men in the hours they spent together off the field.

It was why he had been reluctant to recommend the man.

“He works in shipping,” he answered.

“In what capacity?”

That was the problem. He had no idea.

“I believe he works in the offices.”

He had to. If he worked a manual job, he would be in much better condition and have a much harder look to him.

The only sign that he had any tenacity was the fact he had made it through all of the training and all of the testing Rhys had put him through without a word of complaint or a hint that he was not enjoying himself.

“Very good,” Mr. Nesbitt said. “Do you have any further reports?”

“Only that I have high hopes for this season and we are looking forward to the first match,” Rhys said.

His answer must have been satisfactory, for he was dismissed. It was only a few hours later, while sitting at his desk, that he received the missive. The club committee had agreed with his recommendation.

Emmett Williams had made the team.

And now it was up to Rhys to tell him so.

“Mama? I am leaving for Lily’s!” Emmaline called into the front parlor, where her mother usually worked.

Despite being married to a baron, her mother had been raised in a family that valued hard work, and she had taken to her efforts of feminine reform with dogged determination.

It worked well for Emmaline, for it meant that her mother’s attention was usually elsewhere.

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“I will take dinner with her.”

“Very well. We will be out at a fundraiser at The Free Trade Hall. You do not have to attend if you would rather not.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Emmaline said with relief.

As happy as Emmaline was for Lily, she also missed her companion.

Together, they would attend all of the dreary events and balls and social engagements that they had to endure.

At least together, it was possible to see them through.

Since Lily had married, Emmaline spent the entire night dancing, and yet, was completely alone.

She enjoyed dancing well enough, but with the football practices, she was utterly exhausted and had been finding herself opting out of them more often than not.

She was forever grateful that her mother was not overly concerned about chaperoning her every move and supported the decisions she made – unlike Lily’s mother, although she had slightly come around now that Lily was married and she had no other children to be concerned about.

Even so, there were a few things that even Emmaline’s mother would not quite understand.

Like wearing a disguise to play football.

Emmaline took off at a quick pace through the manicured grounds, which, in the late summer season, were a sea of emerald green, flowers of every color still dotting the landscape.

Her destination of the gardener shed was a small, weathered structure at the far end, barely visible behind a thick row of tall bushes.

Her footsteps pounded against the ground, the grass rustling beneath her feet, until she came to a stop in front of the far shed.

It was not used often, but it was also not completely abandoned, so she had to be careful.

Usually if one of the gardening staff were within, the door was open, but in an overabundance of caution, Emmaline placed her ear against the door. Hearing nothing, she pulled it open a crack, enough to peer inside, before opening it farther and slipping in.

It was dark, a few slivers of light coming in through slits between the boards that made up the shed.

In two steps, Emmaline was on the other side, crouched down on the floor to find the bundle of clothing she had hidden.

She changed quickly, sighing in relief when the corset bindings loosened around her middle and the breeches fit loosely around her waist. Mrs. O’Connor had done a fine job of sewing the side of them so they didn’t fall down, and her shirt hid the rest of it.

With a few deft strokes of charcoal, she darkened and thickened her eyebrows, giving her face a more masculine appearance.

She used a bit of soot from a container she had gathered it in to create the illusion of the faintest stubble along her jawline and upper lip.

She tucked her long, dark braided hair under a cap, completing her transformation.

Underneath the clothing was a small oval mirror, which she pulled out to check her face.

She carefully studied her reflection, taking in the transformation from Miss Emmaline Whitmore to Mr. Emmett Williams. She reached up to tuck a few stray pieces of hair under the cap, ensuring no errant locks escaped to betray her true identity.

With practiced movements, she smudged a bit of dirt across her cheeks and nose, adding to the illusion of a young man who spent his days toiling in the shipping offices.

Satisfied with her appearance, Emmaline gathered up her discarded dress and undergarments, bundling them tightly and stowing them in the corner of the shed. She couldn’t risk anyone discovering them and questioning why a lady’s garments were hidden away in such a place.

Taking a deep breath, Emmaline squared her shoulders and stepped out of the shed, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight.

She strode purposefully across the grounds, her gait changing to match the confident swagger of a young man.

It had taken time to perfect the mannerisms and movements that would allow her to blend in seamlessly with the other footballers, but they now came much more naturally.

As she hired a hack and made her way towards the football pitch, Emmaline’s mind raced with anticipation.

She had worked tirelessly to prove herself worthy of a spot on the team, enduring grueling practices and pushing her body to its limits.

Today was the day she would find out if it had all been worth it.

But even as nervous excitement coursed through her veins, Emmaline knew she couldn’t let her guard down.

The slightest misstep could expose her secret and shatter everything she had worked so hard for.

She would have to be vigilant, always on alert for any sign that someone might suspect the truth behind Emmett Williams.

As the football pitch came into view, Emmaline took a moment to steady herself.

She knew the challenges that lay ahead, but she was determined to face them head-on.

With a final adjustment of her cap, she strode forward, ready to take her place among the men and prove that she belonged there, just as much as any of them .

The pitch had only just come into view when it was blocked by a tall, strong, broad chest.

“Williams.”

“Yes?” Emmaline said, looking up. She was a tall woman, but she had nothing on a man like Rhys Lockwood.

“We need to talk.”

Here it was. The time when he told her that she hadn’t done enough, that he was going to choose someone else to join the team instead of her.

It had been good while it lasted, she told herself as she followed him over to one of the crude benches that had been set up beside the practice field, where sometimes those true team supporters would come to watch them practice.

“Sit,” he said, motioning to the bench, his face unreadable.

She did as he said, pausing and waiting for a second or two. Before he could tell her any more, she couldn’t stand the silence and opened her mouth to begin speaking.

“Listen, I know you said I needed to spend more time with the team, but you only said that last practice, so I haven’t had time to put it into place.

I know that both Anderson and Jones will be fine, but I could have helped the team.

I really could have. I’m a natural right winger, which is what you need, and the other two will not fit there as well.

I have watched the team for years. I know where Colin sits and waits for the ball, and I know how to feed it to him.

You’ve seen that. I can complement Felix when he’s on the left wing.

I know which side Hardy favors. If you haven’t talked to Jones or Anderson, whoever you chose, yet, I implore you to give me another chance. ”

She finally stopped, taking a breath, when she noticed the smallest quirk of the right side of his lip, one of his heavy brows raised.

“Are you done?”

She fidgeted back and forth.

“Yes.”

“Well,” he said, drawing out the word as though to make her pay, although for what, she wasn’t sure. “If you had given me the chance to speak, I would have told you that you are the player that has been selected to stay with the team.”

Emmaline opened her mouth to protest once more, until she realized exactly what he had said. “Pardon me?”

“I said you made the team. But the truth is, you just said more in the past few minutes than you ever have to me since you began practicing with us. Keep that up.”

Keep it up? She had just berated him for something he hadn’t even done.

“Ah — thank you?” she finally managed, not sure what else she could say to make up for her initial doubt in him.

“Thank me by winning us games. By showing up and making me look like a genius for recommending the committee keep you over the others.”

“I can do that.”

“Are you ready to practice?”

“I am, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Very well… captain.”

He sighed. “And after practice, we are going for drinks at The King’s Head. You will meet us there. Understood?”

She nodded. “Understood.”

She would have to keep to the shadows, but she supposed this would be a true test for her disguise, especially if she would be spending the entire season with them.

She practically skipped onto the practice field, holding back when she saw the gazes of everyone resting on her, likely because they were aware she had just discovered her fate.

“Ready?” Tommy asked with a grin, slapping her on the back so hard that she jumped. It didn’t hurt – she just wasn’t used to it .

“Of course,” she said, not meeting Tommy’s eyes. He and Colin knew her better than the rest of them. She would have to be extra careful around them.

All of this deception was taxing. But as the ball soared toward her and she deked out Jonny Tate, one of the fullbacks, a wide grin broke out on her face.

For every bit of it was completely worth it.