Page 9 of The Hellion and the Captain (Scandals and Scores #2)

Chapter Eight

N ot much made Emmaline nervous.

Today was an exception.

She stood outside just beyond the Harcourt Mill where the team practiced, under the dark clouds that covered the sky and threatened rain, although not a drop had yet fallen.

That was not her current concern, however.

No, her every nerve was on edge, her stomach doing knots because of one man.

She had no idea how she was supposed to do this.

Approach Rhys as Emmett Williams, pretending that nothing had happened between them.

That she hadn’t enjoyed their conversation. Their very long conversation, about anything and everything.

That they hadn’t shared a life-altering kiss that had shaken her to her very core.

That she hadn’t spent the past two nights dreaming about him, feeling his strong, hard body against hers, picturing his angled, masculine features staring down at her, inhaling his intoxicating scent of musky, fresh-cut grass.

She stared out at the field in front of her, where a few of the men had started to kick the ball around. She knew that most teams did not have formal practices, but Rhys had decided early on that the only way to be better was to put it into practice, so here they were.

And she was part of it.

She wondered now if this had been a good idea.

If it hadn’t been for the connection she felt with Rhys, she would be exhilarated about the prospect of calling herself one of the Manchester Central club members, of playing a true game of football, beyond kicking a ball around her pathetic little clearing with only the trees for opponents and the birds for spectators.

This was all she had ever wanted.

Yet now, all she could think about was how Rhys would react if he found out.

Any connection that was building between them would be severed before it had turned into anything substantial. She couldn’t imagine him understanding, of him ever forgiving her for such a deception.

Never mind his likely thoughts on the place of a woman, which would certainly not be on the football field.

She took a breath. There was only one thing to do.

Avoid him.

She was well aware that wasn’t a long-term solution and that she couldn’t continue to do so for the rest of the season, but Emmaline had always preferred to concern herself with the issues currently in front of her. The rest was a problem for another day.

She would take this one day, one practice at a time.

Despite her concern, she couldn’t help but notice how her heart flipped over in her chest when Rhys’s large form appeared, as though she had conjured him in the middle of the pitch before her.

He had such a commanding presence that it was clear why he was so respected as a leader and easily filled the role of captain.

She would follow him nearly anywhere.

“Williams, there you are,” he said in that low, gruff tone of his that had her toes curling. “Family matters squared away?”

Oh yes. That had been her excuse for leaving the other night.

Goodness, but that had been quite the situation.

When she had arrived at the house of Lily’s former maid, the girl had been so enthusiastic about providing help that Emmaline hadn’t the heart to ask if this was the only dress she had to share.

She’d had to return today to exchange clothing, for she needed her practice gear.

The girl had obviously been curious as to what was happening, but Emmaline could not risk taking her into complete confidence, so she had provided a vague story about a costume party and had left the girl’s curiosity unsatisfied.

“Listen up!” Rhys began. “First, a gift from the club committee. The dressing area they have been working on is finally ready. After practice, you can change there. It’s nothing fancy, no baths or anything, but at least you have a place to prepare for practice and to change before returning home afterward. ”

Oh, no. Emmaline had seen the building under construction but had hoped it would not be ready for a time, at least until the end of this season. She hadn’t foreseen this challenge.

She’d have to focus on that particular problem later, however, for Rhys continued to speak.

“We play the Athletics next weekend,” he said, referring to their rivals, Manchester’s other team.

There was even more bad blood between the teams after all that had occurred last season, when their main sponsor had tried to sabotage Manchester Central’s club.

“We need to be ready. Today, no messing around. We are going to work on plays and make sure we have proper formation. ”

He proceeded to outline what he expected of them, drawing it out on a slate he had brought with him. Emmaline was impressed. Her brothers had played football, but they had never been involved in anything as well organized as this.

That was all Rhys.

For a man who seemed like he was made for physical prowess, his intellect was also to be admired.

She had to blink rapidly to change her focus, hopeful that her admiration wasn’t obvious. It was easier when he was being contrary toward her, when she could lash out against him.

But even then, she had been attracted to him, although she hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Rhys stepped back from the circle and put his fingers between his lips, blowing out a sharp blast of a whistle, commencing practice.

Emmaline threw herself into the drills, determined to prove her worth on the team.

She weaved between the other players, her feet deftly controlling the ball as she maneuvered across the field.

The exhilaration of the sport filled her veins, momentarily pushing aside her worries about Rhys and her secret identity.

By the time they began their scrimmage, Emmaline was tired, though she tried to hide it, not wanting to admit to any sign of weakness.

Soon enough, the ball was at her feet, and she feinted to the left, trying to dribble around Jonny. She was too slow, however, and he anticipated her move.

His elbow connected sharply with her ribs, sending a jolt of pain through her body. Emmaline stumbled, barely maintaining her balance as she fought to keep control of the ball.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed through the pain, refusing to show any weakness.

She couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself, especially not from Rhys.

Emmaline focused on her breathing, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in her side as she continued to play, although she hung back from the action more than she had before.

She looked from one side to the other, biting her lip when she saw Rhys, far too observant for his own good, watching her, brow furrowed in concern. She jumped back into the play, trying to distract him from any thought of injury.

Just when she thought she could grit her teeth and make it through practice without any additional discomfort, the dark clouds that had been threatening all day finally opened up, and water started falling in a deluge.

The field instantly muddied, and all the players slowed, wondering whether they would continue.

“A few more minutes!” Rhys called out, collective groans answering him. “We’ll play in games like this, so push through it now!”

While a small part of Emmaline wanted to run from this field as fast as she could, no longer interested in seeing this practice through, she grounded her feet and allowed her determination to grow.

She pushed herself harder, her passes crisp and accurate despite the mud and her pain and fatigue, her shots on goal powerful.

She refused to give anything less than her best, making no excuses.

Not rain. Not injury. Not lack of conditioning.

When Rhys finally, mercifully, blew out a whistle signaling the end of practice, a mixture of pride and relief rushed through Emmaline.

She had survived her first real practice with the team, even if it had come at a cost. The men practically sprinted toward the new building, but she hung back, stopping outside so that she was standing beneath the roof’s overhang, out of the rain.

She looked down, grateful that she had wrapped her breasts, though with the wet clothing clinging to her, it might still be obvious to anyone who looked closely that there was more to her chest than that of a typical man .

She had to get out of here.

She would slip out once they were all within. This was the first day the dressing shack was available. She could be forgiven for not being prepared.

She thought she was the last one off the field, that no one would notice her hesitation.

She thought wrong.

“Good work out there today, Williams,” came a gruff voice behind her and she cringed. “You took a hard hit,” Rhys continued, his voice containing both admiration and concern. “All well?”

Luckily, he was busy collecting footballs and wasn’t scrutinizing her as intently as usual.

Emmaline straightened her shoulders, ignoring the twinge of pain in her ribs as she kept her body angled away from him, finally bending to unlace a shoe. “I’m fine, Captain,” she assured him, deepening her voice to maintain her masculine disguise. “Just a little knock. Nothing to worry about.”

Rhys paused for a long moment as if trying to discern the truth behind her words.

Emmaline didn’t meet his gaze, knowing that if anything would give her away, it would likely be her eye color, so rare it was, but still she refused to let any flicker of discomfort show on her face.

Finally, he seemed to accept her answer.

“Very well,” he said. “But if it starts to bother you more, tell me. We don’t need you pushing through pain only to be hurt before the season begins.”

“Of course not,” she said.

“I’ll follow you in,” he said, gesturing to the door, and Emmaline fumbled over her words as she tried to find an excuse.

“I didn’t bring anything to change into today as I didn’t know we had this building,” she said. “I’ll just be on my way home. ”

“Lord Harcourt provided us additional clothes in team colors,” he said. “He’s become rather generous since Lily married Colin. Come in.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What is with you, Williams? Why do you want nothing to do with the club? Think you’re too good for us?”

Emmaline froze, for once, finding nothing to say. There was only one thing she could do.

“Very well,” she said. “Lead the way.”

She tried to slip in quickly after Rhys, darting around to the corner, keeping her gaze down, although she couldn’t help but lift her eyes now and then to the men in their various states of dress.

None were bare before her, thankfully, and she turned around, once again focused on her shoes as she kept her gaze lowered and her attention away from the rest of them as best she could.

She especially wanted no glimpse of Colin, her best friend’s husband.

Fortunately, no one seemed intent on staying around, and quickly cleared out of the room. Even Rhys walked out with Colin, talking intently about a goal scoring strategy, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she was finally, blessedly, alone.

She shouldn’t take a chance to change here, but the truth was, she was freezing, and she worried that if she travelled all the way back to Ellesmere Park wearing wet clothing, especially with the bruise she knew would be growing over her ribs, she could catch cold, which she most certainly didn’t have time for.

She hid behind the corner wall as she quickly changed her pants into a pair from the pile. It had a drawstring, which she tightened as far as she could, then had to roll it over a few times so that they wouldn’t be too big or too long.

She began to peel off the shirt that had molded to her body, though she wouldn’t touch the binding that was wrapped around her chest, holding her breasts close against her. It was constricting, but it was nothing for a woman who was used to a corset nearly cutting off her airway half her life.

She was still wrangling the wet shirt over her head, one arm half-trapped, when she heard a creak behind her.

She whipped her head around as far as the material allowed to see who had entered, her eyes connecting with Rhys, who stood staring down at her, blinking.

She had been caught.

But could she still save herself?