“Well, my heart doesn’t have a mind of its own,” Lily declared stubbornly. “I am in control —”
“You’re always in control,” Cora snapped. “You seem to think the world would stop revolving if you didn’t give it a spin now and again. That ship, the war, those boys —”
“My crew is made up of men, not boys,” Lily insisted.
Cora raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “They may be men to you, but as far as I’m concerned, most o’ them are lads who should still be in knickers. Good boys, and loyal, but lads just the same.”
Lily didn’t argue. It was true. Most of her crew, with the exception of Tommy, the pilot, and the chief engineer, were young—seventeen, eighteen, not many over twenty-two.
None of them were men. At least, not like Quintin Tyler. He was a real man, tall and strong, a determined gleam in his eyes, a sureness in his lips against hers. His hands were brown and powerful, steady against the small of her back. There was no trepidation in those hands, no hesitation when he cupped her chin and stared into her eyes.
Maybe her heart did have a mind of its own, but that didn’t mean she had to allow it to rule her, to sway her in any way. It was just a kiss… two kisses….
“This never should have happened,” Lily snapped.
“What’s that, dear?” Cora had returned to her sewing and didn’t even lift her eyes.
“I’m supposed to be the Captain’s mistress, for God’s sake. I shouldn’t be invited to balls, or expected to socialize with the locals. I should be an outcast. No one should even want to acknowledge my existence.”
“A part o’ your flawless plan went awry?” Cora smiled knowingly. “People aren’t always predictable, Lily. Sometimes they surprise you.”
“Pearls of wisdom, Cora,” Lily said wryly, returning to the window for what could have been the hundredth time that day.
“Is ’e walking down the path this time?” Cora asked in a whispery voice.
“No. And that’s not why I’m… I just feel a bit restless, that’s all.” Lily sounded too defensive, and she knew it as she turned back to the window. “Bloody hell.” She breathed the curse.
“I ’eard that,” Cora accused. “It’s not fitting for a lady to use such language.”
“I’m not a lady,” Lily insisted. “I’m a sailor.”
“Humph.” Cora plied her needle swiftly. “You might not like the idea o’ being a lady, but you can’t ’elp being a woman. All the sailing and captaining and fencing in the world won’t change that, my dear. If your Mr. Tyler —”
“He’s not my Mr. Tyler,” Lily snapped.
“All right. If Mr. Tyler disturbs you so, you can ’ave Tommy and a couple of the lads rough ’im up a bit. Tell ’im that Captain Sherwood wants ’im to stay away from ’is woman.”
“No!”
Cora smiled contentedly. “Then sit down and relax. If your—pardon me, if Mr. Tyler comes calling —”
“He wouldn’t dare!”
Cora looked up and stabbed herself with the needle, pulling away a finger dotted with a drop of blood. “It’s becoming quite difficult to carry on a conversation with you.” She frowned and sucked on her injured finger. “And it’s rude of you to interrupt your elders.”
“You’re not my elder. You’re my friend,” Lily said, forcing herself to relax and take a chair close to Cora. “I don’t know what to do. I like him, Cora. I like him a lot. I’ve never…. He kissed me,” she confessed. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“I see.” Cora frowned. “Your father taught you swordplay and sailing and horseback riding, but your mother wasn’t around to teach you about… other things. You’re twenty-six years old. Old enough to be married and ’ave children, but you know nothing.”
“I’m not ignorant of what happens between a man and a woman, Cora,” Lily said, insulted and embarrassed at the same time.
Cora raised her eyebrows. “You’re not a virgin, then?”
“Of course I’m a virgin!” Lily blushed, a rare occurrence for her, but she had already felt that warm flush in her cheeks twice since her conversation with Cora had begun. “That doesn’t mean I’m ignorant.”
Cora set her sewing aside and folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve tried to be like a mother to you,” she said softly. “But you don’t make it easy.” She bit her bottom lip, and her arched brows came together.
“Some men are more… attractive than others,” Cora continued. “Attractive in… in an animal way, almost.” The look that crossed Cora’s face was one of consternation. “I don’t want you to be hurt. Women swoon over these men from the time they’re out o’ their knickers and don’t stop until the day they die.”
She shook her head dismally. “Your Mr. Tyler seems to fall into that category. ’E probably leaves broken ’earts wherever ’e goes. If you really like this man as much as you claim, I don’t want you to approach ’im blindly. ’E might be playing with you. ’E might simply find you attractive and challenging.” Cora sighed deeply. “Or ’e might like you as much as you like ’im.”
“How do I tell? How do I know?” Lily leaned back in her chair, more confused now than when the conversation had begun.
Cora shrugged her shoulders. “Be wary, my dear. The ’eart is fragile.”
Lily laughed. “Not my heart.”
Cora studied her with a frown. “Especially yours,” she warned, and then she returned her attention to the atrocious green dress in her lap. Her fingers flew furiously, and her frown deepened.
“Don’t worry about me,” Lily said softly, and Cora lifted her face. The frown didn’t fade.
“I want you to be happy,” Cora said. “I’ve known men like Quintin Tyler all my life… before Tommy, o’ course. Pretty faces and wicked smiles, practiced ’ands and lips. Vague promises scattered among their sweet words. I don’t want this man to break your ’eart.”
Lily gave her aunt a bright smile that didn’t come naturally. “I know how to take care of myself.”
Cora sighed and returned to the chore at hand. “If ’e came at you with a sword, I wouldn’t be worried.” She turned a bright red. “What I mean is… be careful, Lily.”
Lily took the warning to heart. She was nothing if not careful.
Six
Quint rapped against the red door with the gold head of his cane. It was still a bad idea, but his brain hadn’t been able to transmit the message to his body as he’d walked from the hotel. He was excited about seeing Lily again. His heart was beating too fast, and he found himself nervously tapping his cane against the ground. He felt like an adolescent working up the nerve to speak to the prettiest girl in the county. How had she come to have this power over him? It irritated and puzzled him, but he couldn’t deny that the power was real.
The door was finally opened by a solemn and almost disapproving woman, fairer in coloring than Lily, but attractive in her own way. At least, she would be if she didn’t stare at him so sternly.
“Is Miss Radford in?” Quint asked when the servant maintained her stony silence.
“Whom may I say is calling, sir?” Her voice was cold, but held a trace of amusement, as if she knew perfectly well who he was.
“Quintin Tyler.”
The rude woman closed the door in his face, and Quint stood there waiting as patiently as he could. It was several minutes later before the door was opened again, and the surly woman grudgingly invited him inside.
Lily was in the parlor, seated on a loveseat with a serpentine back. She was wearing a simple dress made of green linen, and the color made her eyes look bright and luminous. To his consternation, she was also wearing plain white gloves. If he didn’t see her hands soon, he was going to go insane. It made no sense, to become obsessed with a woman’s hands. But he was.
“Mr. Tyler.” Lily greeted him sweetly, rising slowly and gracefully. Carefully, it seemed. “Whatever brings you here?” She was giving him her vapid smile, and it annoyed him. Where was the Lily he had kissed?
“By all means, have a seat.” She directed him into a chair that was placed beside the loveseat and moved an ottoman so he could prop up his bad leg. She didn’t cluck and coo, didn’t offer any sweet sympathy, and for that Quint was grateful. The truth was, his leg was healing nicely, perhaps even better than the surgeons had anticipated. He would always have a limp, but he wouldn’t be carrying the damned cane forever.
When he was settled, Lily took the cane from him and propped it against the wall, and when she positioned herself on the loveseat, Quint found that he had the best seat in the house. The sunlight from the open window fell across Lily’s face, soft and warm, and the highlights in her hair shone like gold. All the promises he had made to himself over the past three days—promises to stay detached, to remain uninvolved, to keep his composure—went out the window.
“You’re more beautiful than ever, Lily.” Quint spoke in a low voice. The ill-natured woman who had so reluctantly opened the door for him stood on the opposite side of the room, a vigilant guard. He didn’t think she could hear him, but he didn’t really care.
“Cora?” Lily lifted her eyes to the frowning woman. “Would you please prepare a pot of tea for my guest? Some sandwiches, also, and perhaps some of your marvelous sweetcakes.”
“Miss, I don’t…. ”
A suddenly stern glare from Lily silenced the woman, and she left the room in a huff.
“Insolent servant,” Quint observed when the woman was gone.
“I despair of ever findin’ a decent housekeeper again,” Lily said in a sweet drawl. “Cora’s a simply marvelous cook, but her attitude —”
“Stop it,” Quint ordered.
“Stop what?” Lily turned wide, innocent eyes to him and pouted. “Mr. Tyler, you —”
“Quint,” he corrected her. “Call me Quint, Lily.”
He saw it then, the flash of intelligence in her eyes, the fire that told him she was not the simpering female she sometimes pretended to be. “It’s not proper, Mr. —”
“Proper? What do you care about proper, Lily? Is your Captain here? Is he listening at the door, or pacing upstairs waiting for a report from Cora?” His impatience made his voice sharper than he’d intended.
Lily sighed and looked away from him, gazing into her lap at folded, gloved hands. “The Captain’s not here.” Her smile had vanished.
Quint cursed himself. He was off to a bad start, but Lily had rattled him somehow. Start again, fool, he reminded himself. Start again. He began with a smile.
“Forgive me. When my leg is acting up, I can be quite a bear. I would, however, very much like for you to call me Quint.” That was true. He wanted to hear her say his name, just once. “Even if only when we find ourselves alone.”
“Very well, Quint,” she obliged. “What have you been doing with yourself since I saw you last?” There was a spark in her eyes as she asked, perhaps as she chastised herself for reminding him of the last time they had found themselves alone together.
“Everything that has happened to me since Saturday has been dull. You’ve spoiled me, Lily Radford.”
“I can’t believe that.” Lily tried to smile brightly, but didn’t quite succeed. That wariness he had come to expect from her was dimming her response.
“It’s true, Lily.” He couldn’t take his eyes from her face. “You hurt my feelings, you know, when you didn’t even say good-bye.”
“The Captain was ready to leave…. ”
“You didn’t want to introduce us?”
Lily sighed. “Not particularly.” There was an almost wistful resignation in her voice.
Quint recognized her discomfort and relaxed his efforts. At least she had called him Quint. His gaze wandered around the parlor, a warm room filled with bowls of flowers and scattered books. He saw Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe and a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets. But there were also books on naval warfare and navigation, a dog-eared copy of Thoreau’s On the Duty of Civil Disobedience, Melville’s Moby Dick, and Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave. Quint was becoming more and more curious about this Captain Sherwood, an obviously learned man.
His gaze fell on the chessboard, the ebony and ivory men dusty and neglected. “Does Captain Sherwood play chess? Perhaps we could arrange for a game some evening.”
“No,” Lily answered quickly and sharply. “Actually, that’s mine.”
Quint lifted one eyebrow. “You play?”
Lily straightened her spine and looked Quint in the eye. There was a challenge there, a liveliness that she tried to hide. “I do play occasionally,” she drawled.
“I’ve never known a woman to make a decent chess opponent,” Quint said, knowing that would goad her on.
“Would you like to play, Quint?” She smiled, but there was mischief in her grin. He liked it.
Lily placed a small table between the loveseat and Quint’s chair, then set up the chessboard with nimble fingers, her white-gloved hands almost caressing the game pieces. She had the most graceful hands, with long fingers and delicate wrists. Her movements were slow, but strong and confident. It crossed Quint’s mind that she might remove her gloves to play.
He was disappointed in that respect, as she sat across from him and insisted that, as her guest, he move first. She had placed the ivory men in front of him and dusted her own black figures lovingly.
Lily hummed to herself and smiled vacantly. She giggled once and said she just didn’t know what to do next. Cora appeared soon after they began to play and laid out a table of tea and finger foods. She stopped near the doorway and resumed her guardian stance, but Lily shooed her out of the room with an agitated wave of her hand as she studied the board. Fifteen minutes later, Lily had Quint in checkmate.
“Well, look at that,” she said as she moved the black queen to complete her strategy. “Little ol’ checkmate.”
Quint laughed. He had been paying little attention to the game, instead concentrating on watching Lily’s face as she planned her moves. He didn’t even mind her exaggerated accent, not when she was having so much fun with it.
“I believe I underestimated you, Lily.”
She met his eyes then and managed to startle him. Those eyes were bold, daring, and vibrant. “Quintin Tyler, I do believe you’ve probably underestimated every woman you’ve ever met.”
“That may be true, but you’re the first woman who’s ever surprised me.” This revelation pleased her. He could see it in her face. “A rematch. I must regain my honor.”
“Is it dishonorable to be beaten?”
“By a woman?” he scoffed.
She took that as a challenge and they set up the board again. Lily insisted on keeping her black figures and allowing Quint to move first once again. This time he paid more attention to the game, and he beat her soundly.
“Checkmate,” he said, watching her face closely. He’d caught her off guard, and she twitched her freckled nose slightly.
“Bloody hell,” she said under her breath.
“I beg your pardon?” Quint leaned across the board, and Lily looked up, startled.
“Sorry. A nasty habit I’m picking up from… from the Captain.” She blushed, and he liked the color in her cheeks. But he hated being reminded of Captain Sherwood. “Would you like some tea and sandwiches now?”
“And leave this in a tie?” he asked incredulously, waving his hand over the gameboard.
“After we eat,” she said, standing suddenly. “I’m starving, and I don’t play well on an empty stomach.”
“All the more reason for me to in
sist that we finish the game immediately,” he teased.
Lily put a spoonful of sugar into her tea and piled two plates high with sandwiches and cakes. She cleared away the game and placed Quint’s plate in front of him, then sat on the loveseat with her own plate in her lap.
She ate slowly and without dropping so much as a crumb, but she didn’t pick at her food the way his sisters and Alicia had, as though eating was unnatural and distasteful. Quint liked that, the fact that Lily ate well. It didn’t fit her image as a brainless self-absorbed female. Maybe she didn’t realize that she was giving herself away.
For all their apparent distaste for food, none of his sisters had ever been as trim as Lily, a fact the gown he had seen her in that first day hid well. But her sapphire ballgown had shown him how finely shaped she was, and the simple green dress she wore as she sat across from him now molded to small, firm breasts, a tiny waist, and long, slender arms. She was taller than most women he knew, but no more than five-seven. At six-two, he could still look down at her. He remembered all too well doing just that.
Lily was eager to get back to the chessboard, and so was Quint. He liked the sparkle in her eyes, the challenge she accepted. He knew, no matter what front she presented to others, that she would not allow him to win simply to feed his male ego. She was an honest woman, beneath the facade. An anomaly. A mystery.
“Who taught you to play?” Quint asked as she removed their plates and set the game in front of him once again.
“My father.” A sweet sadness crossed her face as she answered him. “He said I learned quickly because I hate to lose. I suppose that’s true. He meant it kindly enough, but it’s not an admirable trait in a woman.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Quint spoke softly. He was afraid to break the spell that was revealing what he was certain was the real Lily Radford. “Your father sounds like a smart man.”
In Enemy Hands Page 6