Chapter Six

“Ithink I’m going to ask Samuel Everett to be my lover.”

Jennifer dropped her cricket bat to the ground.

Myfanwy, attempting to be nonchalant after her frank admission, kept her gaze forward and away from Jennifer’s astounded expression.

Eventually, she heard her friend issue a resigned sigh. “Can you at least wait to ask him until after practice is over?” Jennifer replied, mimicking Myfanwy’s casual manner. “I’m nervous enough as it is.”

As usual, Jennifer’s response was exactly what Myfanwy needed, and the two of them burst into laughter while biding their time for their first practice with Samuel to begin. With still a few minutes until they were scheduled to start, the entire team was already present and accounted for at the agreed-upon location—the vacant plot of land adjacent to the Flying Batsman. Samuel may have agreed to be their coach, but he wasn’t willing to travel far to do it.

Jennifer wasn’t the only one that had a touch of nerves. Most of the women fidgeted while they anticipated Samuel’s arrival, toeing their boots into the dirt and grass, issuing anxious smiles while fiddling with their bonnets. Myfanwy wasn’t immune to the jittery mood, recognizing it was most likely the cause of her outrageous—though truthful—admission.

Jennifer picked up her bat and rested it over her shoulder before turning to Myfanwy with a confused look. “But weren’t you the one who told me that now wasn’t the best time for men because they ‘weakened legs’?” Her gaze narrowed. “Or is that only when it applies to me?”

“Not at all,” Myfanwy replied breezily, keeping her nose high in the air. Captains needed to betray confidence on the field—even when discussing such delicate matters. “Men do weaken legs when you get all moony over them. That is not the case with me. My situation with Samuel is purely physical. My birthday is soon, and I’m set to be my own woman with my own money and home. Taking a lover wouldn’t be unreasonable.”

It was obvious that Myfanwy was desperately trying to appear worldly and matter-of-fact, and Jennifer wanted to keep pace. But her voice cracked, coming out noticeably high-pitched, when she replied, “Oh, and the fact that you’ve been in love with him since you were a girl has nothing to do with the decision.”

“Certainly not,” Myfanwy retorted, warmth creeping onto her cheeks. So much for being mature. She had a decided lack of knowledge of worldly women, but assumed they probably didn’t blush when discussing potential lovers. “And I haven’t been in love with him for all these years. I’ve been merely interested.”

“Ah,” Jennifer said, nodding, not even pretending to believe what Myfanwy was telling her. “And I suppose seeing Mr. Everett naked in his tub didn’t influence your decision either. Which reminds me, you haven’t told me nearly enough about that encounter.” She glued herself to Myfanwy’s side, dropping her voice into a breathy whisper. “How was he?”

Myfanwy elbowed Jennifer in the ribs with a giggle, sending her back a few steps. “He was…acceptable.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes, her mouth falling into a pout. “I’m so glad you’ve not taken up the pen. You’d make a terrible writer. Acceptable? That’s it?”

A small smile curled its way onto Myfanwy’s face as she threw her friend a look out of the corner of her eye. “He was…very acceptable.”

Jennifer’s lips twisted. “Ah.”

“Yes. Incredibly ah.”

Apparently content with that answer, Jennifer turned back to the field, where a sour-faced and late Samuel was finally making his way across to join them. His footsteps long and measured, the man looked as surly as a goat. He’d left his hat and his jacket behind and came to them only in his plaid waistcoat and white linen shirt, his hair blowing wild off his high forehead.

Myfanwy couldn’t stop her mind from traveling back to the night when she’d surprised him during his ice bath. In the week that proceeded, Myfanwy wasn’t sure if Samuel was actively avoiding her or if she was being sensitive. It wasn’t as if they’d existed in the same orbits before, but that hadn’t stopped her from hoping.

She’d never know what it was that spurred her to say those things to him that night. Maybe it was because he was incapacitated. Save for a fire (and even that was debatable), there was no way Samuel was going to jump out of that tub and run her out of his room, and that had helped loosen her tongue…and her desires.

Seeing him there, his tight, honed muscles on display, awakened a need in Myfanwy she’d managed to hide so well for so long. Even her father never had a clue as to the reason she’d insisted on going to all those cricket matches when she was younger. Yes, it had been for a love of the game, but it had also been for him. Samuel, in all his youth and vitality, had been such a marvel to watch. The fluid nature of his body as he ran the field—all childish vigor and unrelenting enthusiasm—had left Myfanwy transfixed from the beginning.

Now, standing on the field next to her mates, regarding Samuel as he frowned ferociously at all of them, she couldn’t help but wonder if asking him to come had been a bad idea. Everything felt so entirely personal. Myfanwy lived in two worlds: cricket and everything else. All of a sudden, mixing the two seemed perilous, almost heartbreaking.

“Well, for your sake, I hope he’s a better lover than a coach,” Jennifer whispered in her ear as Samuel continued to glower.

“He’s just getting his feet wet,” Myfanwy whispered back, hoping he’d prove her right and speak before night fell. “He’ll get there.”

“He better,” Jennifer replied doubtfully.

Anna, bless her heart, broke up the awkward monotony. “Is this really where we’re going to practice?”

Samuel’s hawkish focus immediately zeroed in on the woman, and Myfanwy was proud that her pint-sized friend didn’t melt under his harsh—and rude—perusal.

“I own it,” Samuel said, glancing over his shoulder at the field. This was news to Myfanwy. She had no idea he’d made the purchase or when. It was a decent-sized spot of land but needed work. Though it was large and open, there was more dirt than grass, and no fences or natural hedges that could work as a boundary for the pitch. “It’s free to use and available anytime we need,” he continued, catching Myfanwy’s attention with a knowing look. “We won’t have to wait or ask anyone’s permission to use it. It is yours and only yours for the foreseeable future.”

Joyous expressions lit up around the group. The team had never had its own field before. The ownership of this one—however limited—was a gift that would not go unappreciated.

A few of the players began to clap, but Samuel quickly quashed it with a flick of his hand. “We don’t have time for all of that. Just get out there.”

The women’s smiles were eclipsed by frowns. “What do you want us to do?” Lady Everly asked.

Samuel answered with a smirk, “What the hell do you think? Play.” He cocked his head. “And impress me.”

*

And they tried.They really did. For her part, Myfanwy ran faster, threw quicker, and swung harder than she ever had in her life. But nothing seemed to matter.

When Samuel wasn’t barking out barely coherent orders, he was always standing there on the edge of the field, studying—always just studying—with a horribly displeased look on his face.

It took no time at all for Myfanwy to completely give up trying to ascertain what was going on in that mind of his or why he was making certain decisions. Most of the practice was taken up by drills. Drills, drills, and more drills! Running drills, throwing drills, balancing drills, catching drills. There was no practice game, no strategy.

By the time the miserable, unrelenting sun was starting to decline, Myfanwy’s thighs were shaking from the overuse, and she was certain she wouldn’t be able to lift anything heavier than a teacup for days.

Perhaps that was why she stopped right in the middle of yet another interminable drill where Samuel had the ladies first catch a ball in the air and then throw it at the two bails lying across the top of the wicket as quickly as they could. Myfanwy simply stepped out of the line. She was tired, drenched in sweat, and ready for an uplifting comment from her coach. She couldn’t go on. She didn’t want to go on, and that made her furious at herself. She’d never had that thought before. And that made her furious at Samuel.

Her curmudgeonly coach didn’t notice the mutiny at first. Anna and Jennifer finished the drill before he spotted Myfanwy on the outskirts of the group.

The tendons in Samuel’s neck began to flare, and Myfanwy readied herself for another tirade.

“Get back in line,” he yelled.

Myfanwy shook her head. “I’m tired,” she called back. “We need a break.”

Samuel tilted his head to the blue sky as if asking the Lord for patience with dissident players. “I didn’t ask if you were tired. I know you’re tired. You should be tired. This is practice. So, get back in line and practice.”

The other players stopped the drill, not knowing what to do, but also not wanting to miss the spectacular argument that was surely coming.

To be honest, Myfanwy didn’t know if she had it in her to fight. She’d never been so exhausted in her life. “I don’t understand why we are doing all these drills. We came here to play cricket. This isn’t cricket.”

Myfanwy could see the muscles under Samuel’s bad eye twitch as if she’d just confessed to kicking his favorite dog. His arms locked to his sides, and his hands remained clenched as he started to come toward her. His gait wasn’t hurried or erratic, which made it even more terrifying.

The tips of his shoes were almost skimming hers by the time he spoke again. “You came here to play cricket?” he asked softly, causing the other ladies to bunch in closer to the couple. “Huh. Well, I came here to coach. And you will play cricket when I tell you to play cricket. Get back in line.” He glanced at their audience. “I didn’t tell you to stop!”

The others ran to restart the exercise, but Myfanwy held her ground. They continued their stalemate for long seconds. Samuel’s nostrils flared, and she wondered if he could smell her with the same ferocity with which she could smell him. He was sweaty and flushed, with a damp sheen over his upper lip. Myfanwy was thirsty (and clearly delusional), because a vision of licking it off him came to her, causing a cold chill to shiver up her spine. Actually, it had nothing to do with her physical thirst. It was an emotional need, pure and simple.

“If you don’t want to play by my rules, then you can leave,” Samuel said. “You asked me to make you better players, and that’s what I’m doing. I can’t have you questioning me every time you feel a little tired. Tired is good. Hard is good.”

Myfanwy was transfixed by Samuel’s mouth as he enunciated each and every word as if he were spouting Shakespeare. “I like hard,” she replied.

Samuel blinked. She thought his lips inched up on the side before he clamped them back in their tight grimace. “Then do as I say and get back in line—”

“And I like questioning you.”

Samuel palmed his face and groaned.

“This isn’t a dictatorship, Samuel,” Myfanwy went on. “I’m the captain of this team. If I don’t speak up for us, then no one will. I just want to understand—”

“You don’t need to understand,” he roared, sliding his hand down his haggard face. “You just have to listen!”

In an instant, he swiveled his neck to the side like a hunting dog who’d just gotten a whiff of a fresh scent. “Wait, you there! Brown-haired girl!”

Samuel snapped his fingers and hurried over to a tall, reedy young lady who held the ball at the side of her body, paralyzed as she was ready to throw it.

“Her name is Ruthie,” Myfanwy called out in indignation. Samuel answered her with a rude flick of his hand over his shoulder.

“You…you…” He scratched the back of his neck as he came up to the girl, who now looked like she was ready to pass out from the attention. “What’s your name, again?”

“Ruthie!” Myfanwy growled, sidling up to the pair. She nodded to Ruthie encouragingly. Don’t let him bully you!

Ruthie clutched the ball nervously in front of her chest, digging her nails into its seam. “I’m Ruthie,” she mumbled, casting her attention down at the pathetic grass.

“That’s fine,” Samuel said dismissively. “You were just about to throw the ball. Show me again.”

Ruthie gnawed at her lips for long seconds before she gained the courage to do as he asked. Then, slowly, painstakingly, she lifted her arm to the side of her body and tossed the ball—in the same fashion that well-wishers would toss rice after a wedding—causing it to land a dismal few feet in front of her.

Samuel’s jaw clenched, and Myfanwy readied herself to defend the young woman if Samuel decided to lose his composure. She knew that Ruthie needed work, but for all her trouble, Myfanwy still had not found a way to help her. Myfanwy wasn’t even sure why Ruthie had asked to join the team this year. The poor girl was always too stiff and self-conscious to enjoy herself, and never laughed and joked with her teammates during breaks.

But Myfanwy refused to let Samuel harass her. Not only might Ruthie leave—and the team desperately needed the numbers—but the shamed lady might also never pick up a cricket bat again, and that was unconscionable.

Myfanwy decided to strike first, patting Ruthie’s upper arm consolingly, but Samuel’s sudden movement killed all action and thought.

In a flash, the insane man reached out with both arms and grabbed at both of Ruthie’s shoulders. He fisted his hands on the fussy muslin fabric and…yanked. He yanked like the devil trying to keep a man out of heaven.

A collective gasp rang out from all the ladies as Samuel tore off Ruthie’s sleeves in one fell swoop, leaving her arms completely bare.

And completely unrestricted.

Ruthie’s mouth dropped open, but she didn’t even let out a squeak.

Myfanwy realized her mouth was in the same gawking position. “What in the world do you think you’re doing—”

“There,” Samuel said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the ruined pink fabric and then tossed it on the ground. “That’s better. Now you can throw the ball. Show me again.”

Myfanwy couldn’t believe her eyes. No one said a word. No one balked at their coach’s unorthodox and Neanderthal-like behavior. If anything, the other ladies appeared curious and studied Ruthie with genuine anticipation.

Ruthie squared her body to the wicket and gripped the ball with renewed determination. She lowered her forehead to the target and brought her elbow back and high toward her ear.

Samuel nodded, his concentration fixed on his player, like she was the only person on the planet. “Good. Now, step and throw and sail the arm through. The elbow leads and the arm follows. Go on.”

Myfanwy almost couldn’t believe it. Samuel sounded almost…encouraging.

And it was exactly what Ruthie needed, because she did as he asked and the ball soared in the air, just shaving the wicket on its right side. The bails didn’t fall, though they did teeter.

Ruthie clapped her hands together, hopping up and down. “I did it,” she squealed. “I did it. I’ve never done that before. I didn’t think I could.”

“Of course you could,” Samuel sneered. Was he trying not to sound cheerful? “Only your ridiculous clothes were in the way, and you didn’t have the right form. Now you do. Let’s move on.”

He turned to Myfanwy and graced her with a pompous smile. “Now, you, back in line. Unless you have anything else you need to get off your chest.”

Myfanwy thought her teeth might crack, she was gritting them so hard. But she had to give credit where credit was due. The incorrigible man had seen what Ruthie needed and given it to her. That was more than Myfanwy had been able to do.

“Well?” he taunted her when she continued to stare, slack-jawed.

Myfanwy was just about to get back in line when Lady Everly stepped forward. “I have something to say,” she said sternly.

Samuel groaned, rolling his eyes while he muttered something that sounded an awful lot like damn women. “What?” he barked.

The lady lifted her covered arms out in front of her as if she were waiting for someone to put her in handcuffs. “Do it to me next?”