Page 15 of The Lady and the Footballer
For the first man out the door who walked straight into her was the one who had struck her with the ball… and left an impression that had never quite faded.
Chapter Six
“Bloody hell,” Colin muttered as he reached out to catch the woman he had knocked over.
He had still been thinking about the game and hadn’t noticed the women walking by the bathhouse as he emerged from the doors.
When she turned around to face him, his hands still gently cupping her shoulders to make sure she didn’t fall over on him again, he blinked in disbelief.
It was her.
Again.
He hadn’t forgotten the bright blue of her eyes, as much as he had tried to. She was the woman he had told himself not to look for, though he had secretly hoped that she had watched his game today.
He wondered if she had seen his goal.
She looked down at where he still touched the dark blue wool mantle she wore over her shoulders.
The quality of the fabric alone was enough of a reminder for him to drop his arms, telling him that he had no business putting a hand on her, even if it had been in an attempt to rescue her.
“Miss Evans,” he murmured. “We meet again.”
“If one could call this meeting,” she said, running her eyes over him, and he was grateful that he had taken a few moments to clean himself in one of the wash basins before changing into fresh clothing. He would have preferred to have bathed, but he didn’t have time to wait as the more established men on the team had been first in line.
Leaving him to wait until he returned home.
“Did you watch the game?” he asked, cursing himself as he did, for it was a stupid question. She would have no reason to be here at the field if she hadn’t watched the game.
“I did,” she said, her lips turning up in a slight smile, and he suddenly desperately wished to see her expression filled with laughter, a genuine grin on her face.
Did people in her class ever give in to such emotions?
“You are Colin Thornton,” said the young woman standing next to her, the one to whom he hadn’t given much of a glance. He gave her his attention now, noting that she was also beautiful, although her looks were perhaps more subdued than those of Miss Lily Evans.
“I am,” he said, surprised she knew his name. “Have we met?”
“We have not, but I have been a Manchester Central fan for some time, and you are one of the few players I have never seen before,” she said. “I am Miss Emmaline Whitmore. You had a fine goal today.”
“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head.
It had been thrilling, yes, but even more so, it had ensured their win and meant another pound in his pocket.
“We’ll need more than one goal to find success in the FA Cup this year,” Miss Whitmore said, and he lifted a brow. “The team needs to work on finding their rhythm together. You all played like individuals.” The woman had a great deal of football knowledge, apparently.
“That we will,” he agreed. “I shall do my best to make sure we score more.”
“See that you do,” she said, turning back toward the pavilion but stopping abruptly, likely when she realized that the pavilion was empty. Even more so, most of the men who had exited the bathhouse after Colin were walking away, and his stomach was growling, reminding him that the plan had been to all have lunch at the local tavern.
“Lily?”
Miss Evans turned around to her father’s voice, and Colin swallowed hard, relieved, at least, that he was no longer touching her. He wouldn’t have wanted to face Lord Harcourt’s reaction if he had seen that scene before him.
“Mr. Thornton.” Lord Harcourt inclined his head to him. “Good showing today.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Colin said, turning to leave, but Lord Harcourt called him back.
“Since you are here, as is my daughter, I must speak to you about something.”
