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 out an opponent, which was all the more satisfying when it was one of her brothers.

            But her brothers were grown and preoccupied with wives and children and professions, while she was 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 than a tree.

            “Quicker, Williams, on him faster!” came the deep, throaty encouragement from across the field.

            Rhys Lockwood. Captain of Manchester City 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 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. 

She turned from the group, found a football, and began dribbling it over the bumps and holes around the field that sat just outside of Harcourt Mill, owned by her best friend Lily’s father, who was the main sponsor of Manchester Central and sat on the club committee. If only he could provide her a recommendation – but if he knew who she truly was, it would end any hope she had of playing the game. 

So far, she hadn’t told Lily what she was up to. How could she, when Lily’s husband was such an integral part of the team?

“Williams.”

Emmaline bent to pick up her skirts, only to remember that she wasn’t wearing skirts but a pair of her brother’s trousers, held together at the waist with a belt cinched very tightly. 

“I can do better, Rhys, I promise,” she said, deepening her voice as much as she could without sounding like a puppeteer. 

“You’re young,” he said gruffly, crossing those corded, muscled arms over his chest. His shirtsleeves were pushed back to his elbows, revealing two of the finest forearms she had ever had the pleasure of seeing. “You have work to do, but you have heart and skill, two things that can’t be taught.”

With that, he jogged off the field. Emmaline was so busy watching him, his trousers tight over his honed bottom, that she didn’t notice who else remained.

Colin. Bollocks.

“Emmett Williams, you say?” he said, taking off his cap and running his hands through his hair while Emmaline could only pull her cap down even lower over her eyes.

She nodded, not trusting her voice enough to speak.

“You look familiar,” Colin said, peering closer at her. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Doubt it. Not from around here,” Emmaline said in the voice she hoped was disguised well enough.

“Hmm,” Colin said, scratching his head. “Well, anyway, just wanted to tell you that Rhys can be gruff sometimes, but if he’s providing you feedback, it means he believes in you, and he doesn’t believe in just anyone. Don’t lose heart, and keep coming back, you hear me?”

Emmaline nodded before lifting a hand to wave goodbye and continuing past the bench, starting down the road to find a hack home. She wasn’t scared of Rhys Lockwood. He was gruff and surly, but she had met him a time or two as Emmaline, and he had some soft spots.

She’d be back all right. 

No matter what she had to do to get there.

~~~~~

            “Well, what do you think?” Rhys asked as he sat at a small corner table at The King’s Head. Most of the team had left, but he had asked Colin and Tommy to stay behind. Colin might be new to the team, but he was the top goal scorer, had sound judgment, and had never given Rhys any reason not to trust him.

            “We’ll miss Joey. Feel bad for the chap,” Colin said as he sipped the ale before him. Rhys nodded, drinking from his own cup. He never had more than one. Needed to retain his rational thought. A man never knew what he was going to be confronted with.

            “I couldn’t let him continue,” Rhys said with a sigh, drumming his fingers on the table. “He’d only hurt himself or someone else again. You could see he wasn’t attacking, that he was favoring his left side.”

            “Of course he was,” Tommy said. “I couldn’t imagine coming back after the injury he took. Takes a lot of balls.”

            “That you don’t have?” Colin said, raising a brow as Rhys just smirked. Colin and Tommy had grown up together and didn’t mind the odd ribbing. Rhys was slightly jealous of how well they knew one another, could confide in each other, not that he’d ever let anyone know that.

            “I not only have them – I have even better ones than most men could boast,” Tommy said, and Rhys could only roll his eyes at that, even though he appreciated the humor Tommy brought to the club. 

            “It’s important we find the right fit,” Rhys said, bringing the discussion back to the moment. “This is our year. I can feel it.” He pounded his fist just once on the table to emphasize his statement.

            “We were so close last year,” Colin sighed, looking off into the distance.

            “We were. But it will make this year’s victory all the sweeter.”

            “You’re getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?” Tommy said. “I heard there will be over sixteen teams vying for the cup this year.”

            “Your point?” Rhys said, raising a brow, and Tommy nodded quickly.

            “Right, right. Doesn’t matter. We can beat them all.”

            “There you go,” Colin said, giving him a slight punch in the shoulder. 

            “What do you make of Williams?” Rhys asked. Something about the man was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He wasn’t conditioned; that was obvious, but there was more to it.

            “The boy’s got skill,” Tommy mused. “But it’s almost like…” he tapped his finger on his chin.

            “Like he’s rusty,” Rhys finally settled on. 

            “That’s it,” Colin said, pointing a finger toward him. “Would be good to know what’s kept him out of football, as it’s clearly been some time. Where does he come from? What’s his story?”

            “Does it matter?” Tommy asked, looking from one of them to the other. “We’ve all got a story.”

            Milton, the bartender, appeared with another drink for Tommy. 

            “Milton, you know everyone around here,” Tommy said. 

            Milton nodded and waited.

            “Do you know an Emmett Williams? A football player. Young. Clean-shaven. Dark hair, I think, but I haven’t seen him without a cap. Pale skin.”

            Perhaps that was it. The man was pale for a footballer. Most spent so much time in the sun that it showed on their faces.

            Milton scratched his head. “Can’t say I do. And I remember most names and faces around here.”

            “Well, if you hear or see of him, do let us know.”

            “Where was he tonight?” Rhys asked suddenly.

            “You mean, why didn’t he come for a drink?” Colin said.

            “Yes.”

            “Saw him leaving the field without speaking to any of the other men.”

            “Hmm,” Rhys said again, taking a last sip of his ale, refusing Milton’s offer to refill it. 

            “That’s it?” Tommy said. “That’s all you’re going to say about him?”

            “I’m thinking,” Rhys said, sending an annoyed look his way.

            “Of course you are,” Tommy said, leaning back against the seat. “Always thinking.”

            “Better than always talking,” Rhys muttered, causing both Colin and Tommy to let out laughs that nearly caused the ale to fly out of their mouths and across the table.

            He just needed to finalize his team. They had space for one more. It was going to be a good season. Rhys could feel it in his bones.

            He wasn't sure whether or not Emmett Williams would be a part of it.

            But they would soon find out.