Page 1 of The Hellion and the Captain
Chapter One
Most things in life came naturally to Miss Emmaline Whitmore.
Dancing. Conversing. Kissing.
She had become more practiced at the latter than was proper for a young lady, but that was a secret she had no intention of sharing.
Nothing, however, made her feel more like herself than a game of football.
Dribbling was as natural as running.
Sending the ball flying between the goalposts.
Knocking over an opponent, which was all the more satisfying when it was one of her brothers.
But her brothers were grown, Richard preoccupied with his wife, children and his profession, Freddie at school, while Emmaline had been left behind, filling her days with social engagements, tea with her best friend Lily, and, unbeknownst to anyone else, kicking a football around a deserted green space on her family’s property.
But not today. Today, she was finally playing the game of her heart, against a better opponent thana tree.
“Quicker, Williams, on him faster!” came the deep, throaty encouragement from across the field.
Rhys Lockwood. Captain of Manchester Central and the most attractive man Emmaline had ever laid on eyes on.
An attraction that she had to set aside, for it had no place here on the football field.
And Williams? That would be her. At least, for today.
Emmaline pumped her arms and sprinted as fast as she could toward Colin Thornton, the team’s center forward and top goal scorer. She could have caught him. She was sure of it.
What prevented her from stripping the ball from him was that she didn’t want to stop too close to him. Her disguise was a good one, if she did say so herself, but Colin, her best friend’s husband, knew her better than any of the other men here, and there was still a good chance he might see through it.
Rhys – that’s what he had told all the players to call him, and Emmaline was a player now, wasn’t she? – whistled with two fingers in his mouth to call a halt to the play and waved them all in.
Emmaline knew her face was pink with exertion, her hands on her hips as she tried to slow the most unladylike pants to ever emerge from her mouth – not that it mattered at the moment, but she would prefer not to call any attention to herself.
They gathered around Rhys, all of them perspiring in the September sun, although none were as tired as Emmaline.
It humbled her, but then, ballroom dancing didn’t allow for quite as much conditioning as running up and down football fields.
Rhys called them all in a step closer.
“Thornton, good to see that your new sedentary lifestyle hasn’t slowed you down – much,” Rhys said, and while the rest of the team chuckled, Rhys continued on down the line of players.
“Joey, you’re improving, but you might need one more season to fully recover. Wouldn’t want you to injure your knee again so soon after the last one. Sorry.”
Joey looked crushed. He had been the victim of sabotage last season, resulting in a knee injury that had nearly ruined his careers, both in football and as a cloth merchant. Emmaline empathized but could understand the captain’s position. Rhys seemed truly apologetic.
“Mick, if you’re going to back us this year, we’ll back you, understood?”
Mickey nodded. He had succumbed to the lure of bribery last year to try to take down the team, but they had managed to come to an understanding moving forward.
“Hardy, as steady as ever in goal. Felix, good fast feet. Tommy, you are as talented as you have ever been, yet as reckless. Make sure you take your chances at the right moment. Emmett.” His eyes rested on Emmaline. “You have talent, but you need to work on your conditioning. You’re slow. Improve that, and maybe we’ll have a space for you on the team. In the end, it will be up to the club committee.”
Emmaline forced down the shame rising within her, even though she knew he was right. It just didn’t feel wonderful coming from someone else.
Rhys finished going around the circle, providing his notes for the returning players and the few others who were also hoping to make the team this season. “Good practice, everyone. Next time, we should tell you who will continue on.”
He clapped his hands, signaling the end of his speech, and began walking to the bench to prepare to return home.
