Page 24 of The Lady and the Footballer
“Would it really, though?” her mother said. “He would most likely leave you alone most of the time.”
Lily rolled her eyes before exchanging a glance with Emmaline. Thank goodness her father cared enough not to push it forward.
“We all know that you are not interested in Lord Nathaniel,” Emmaline said, leaning in and speaking softly to Lily. “But what about certain footballers?”
Lily shook her head furiously, even as her heart began beating faster, denying the truth of her words. “I am not interested in any footballers,” she said quietly.
“Not even a certain Colin Thornton?” she said, raising a brow. “Your exchange with him last game was rather heated, and I see how you watch him as he moves about the field.”
“He often has the ball!” Lily exclaimed.
“The lady doth protest too much,” Emmaline quipped once again.
“Emmaline, have you ever read Hamlet? You are not even using the quote in the proper context.”
“I was never much interested in my studies.”
Lily rolled her eyes. That was an understatement. The only studies Emmaline enjoyed were regarding football, most sports, and tall, broad, athletic men, who, she said, made her feel delicate and womanly in ways other men did not.
“Even if I were – which I’m not – it would never be an option,” Lily said. “My father would never allow it.”
“Even if he didn’t know about it?” Emmaline said, and Lily bit her lip, enjoying the idea more than she should.
“That would hardly be how to thank my father when he is protecting me from a most unfortunate circumstance,” she said. “He also allows me to work for the team against his better judgment. I wouldn’t want to cause him any concern at this point.”
“So, youareinterested!” Emmaline crowed, and Lily sighed.
“That is not what I said.”
“You didn’t have to,” Emmaline grinned. “Your face said it for you.”
Before she could tease her any further, however, there was a collective gasp in the crowd as the Ironworkers scored, tying the game.
“Blast it!” Emmaline hissed quietly enough to avoid censure from Lily’s mother.
It seemed that this would be a closer game than anyone realized.
Colin looked around the changing room of the bathhouse as the players were all moving much slower than before the game.
One thing could be said about the Ironworkers – they didn’t let up. Not for a moment.
They would all be nursing bruises tonight, that was for sure, although none would be in as much pain as Joey.
“What do you think, Rhys?” Colin said, turning to the captain, who was stripping to make his way to one of the bathtubs. “Will Joey be back?”
“I hope so,” Rhys said. “We need him. If he can’t return, we’ll need another player. The man also supports his wife and children as a cloth merchant. He needs to be on his feet.”
It was one reason many a talented footballer didn’t play any longer – because he couldn’t afford to get hurt. Colin knew that all too well firsthand.
“Will the club do anything for him?” Colin asked, and Rhys gave a short bark of laughter.
“I doubt it. This is the same club that always shorts us for our travel costs and our uniforms.”
“I haven’t heard of that before.”
“No,” Rhys said, flinging a towel over his shoulder. “You haven’t. I’ve taken care of it.”
He turned to go, but Colin called out his name. “You don’t have to do that. We’re a team, and we can look after this together.”
