Page 12 of The Hellion and the Captain
“Would you rather be doing something else, Tom?”
“No.”
“Then, this shouldn’t be too difficult a task, now, should it?”
Tommy sighed. “No.”
Williams himself was the only one who wasn’t protesting, who didn’t look completely dismayed.
At least, so Rhys could tell. It was always difficult, for the lad never looked right at him. He could see that his face appeared to be turning even paler than it had been before, which was saying something.
“Any questions?”
He should never have asked, for they were soon firing so many things at him, he threatened to leave.
“Will you do it with us?” Colin asked with a spark in his eye, and Rhys finally grinnedat that.
“Of course.”
Emmaline was going to die.
She was sure of it.
She had never been so pushed to the edge before, not like this.
But she would never give anyone the satisfaction of knowing what this was doing to her.
Most especially not Rhys Lockwood – who, at the moment, she hated with every piece of her heart.
She knew precisely why he was doing this.
He was doing this to test her.
And she refused to fail.
Sweat – she couldn’t even call it perspiration anymore – coursed over her entire body, was even dripping into her eyes.
She wasn’t sure how many times they had run up this stupid hill now. Ten? Fifteen? She knew it was ten times too many, and they could stop right about now.
She was about to tell Rhys that she would gladly quit the team if it meant she could stop more of this insanity, when a figure practically flew up the hill beside her.
It was Rhys himself. Of course. He had the body of a Greek god, like one of those marble statues she saw in the museum when she had visited London a few years ago.
Did he never tire?
She had seen him from afar charging up this hill the first time, and she had thought that he would surely lose his momentum after the first one, whereas she was stretching all of her stamina over the many times she would be doing this.
At least, that’s what she was telling herself.
To her horror, he slowed, drawing even with her.
She honestly had never looked worse. Besides the sweat, her breath was coming in the most ungainly pants possible.
“How are you doing, Williams?”
Did the man even sweat? He was speaking in fullsentences, his voice as even and clear as though he was sitting down having tea.
“Fine,” she managed between breaths.
