“I think I’m falling in love with her.” Quint slapped his right palm over his heart as he whispered the confidence. “Isn’t that… horrible?”
“Aye,” Dennison agreed. “Horrible, indeed.”
“I can’t stop thinking about her,” Quint murmured. “Is that love?”
“Or lust,” Dennison said gravely.
Quint raised his eyebrows briefly. “That, too, but I don’t think that’s all it is. Not anymore. But she won’t see me. She doesn’t like me, and I can’t blame her. Why would she want a drunken, crippled… gambler.” Quint caught himself just in time. He’d almost said the word ’spy’. “… When she has the magnificent Captain Sherwood. Why doesn’t he marry her?” Quint asked angrily. “Dammit, it’s not right. Not fair to Lily.”
“Settle down, Tyler,” Dennison suggested. “Don’t get yourself all worked up.”
“Too late.” Quint rose, grasping the bottle in one hand and his cane in the other.
“Where are you goin’?” Dennison stood to follow, but he swayed slightly, closed his eyes tight, and fell back into his chair.
“You know damn well where I’m going,” Quint said as he walked in an amazingly straight line for the door.
“Lily!” Quint called, his voice a loud, harsh whisper as he looked up at the window that must be hers. In his drunken state, it had taken him several minutes to decipher exactly where her bedroom must be. It was the window he had seen a blur of lavender in as he’d sat in her garden that afternoon and waited.
Was Captain Sherwood in there with her? Damn it all, he didn’t care. Quint reached down, laying his bottle aside and grabbing a handful of pebbles and tiny shells mixed with grains of sand. He called her name again after the shower of debris had rained on her window, his voice gruff and much too loud.
He heard her lift the window pane, and he smiled as her head appeared above him. He opened his arms wide, cane in one hand, retrieved bottle of rum in the other. “Lily,” he whispered harshly. “Get down here.”
“Shhh.” She placed a finger to her lips. “Go away. You’ll wake the entire household.”
“I don’t care. If you don’t get… down… here, I’m going in to get you,” he threatened, his voice gradually growing louder. “I need to talk to you, Lily. Please.”
She disappeared from the widow, and he waited. Either she would join him, or Captain Sherwood would appear and demand his heart. Quint didn’t care. He had to see Lily.
“Mr. Tyler.” He heard her soft voice before he could see her face clearly, but she stepped into the moonlight and his heart stopped. “You shouldn’t be here.” Her voice was only lightly chastising.
Quint smiled at her. “Lily, you’re beautiful.” Her curling hair was loose and fell over her shoulders, and she was wearing that silky dressing gown she had been wearing when he’d seen her on the stairs.
“You’re drunk, Mr. Tyler,” Lily whispered.
“Quint,” he whispered, but his voice was still much louder than hers. “Say it, Lily.”
“Quint.” Lily breathed his name. “Now, you have to leave.”
“Talk to me, Lily,” he pleaded with her, and even in the dim moonlight he saw her features soften.
“In the garden.” She took his arm and led him down the stone path. Quint leaned against her, not for support but because he could. She was warm, and her hair smelled like sunshine and the sea itself. There was a warm breeze, light and fragrant, and it washed over them gently, the island’s own perfume. The moon lit their way, and Lily led him into the wild sanctuary of her garden.
Together, they sat on the wrought-iron bench, and Quint leaned against her.
“What is it that’s so important it can’t wait until morning?” Lily prodded.
“You won’t see me in the morning. You’ll send me away, like always,” he said petulantly, but his mood quickly changed, and he smiled at her. “So I threw pebbles at your window.”
“You threw pebbles in my window. It was halfway open, and now most of those pebbles are scattered all over my floor.”
“Good. It’ll give that hag something to clean up in the morning.” Quint narrowed his eyes at her. Why was she grinning like that?
“I imagined you mean Cora.”
Quint nodded. “Cora, that hag. Won’t ever let me see you, Lily.”
Lily laid her hand on Quint’s arm. “I told you I couldn’t see you again.” She whispered, even though they were too far away from the house for anyone to hear them.
Lily knew that if Tommy woke and found Quint here, in the middle of the night, drunk out of his mind and pressing himself insistently against her, there would be hell to pay. Tommy didn’t like Quint much as it was.
Quint ignored her protests and laid his hand over hers. He seemed fascinated with her hand, staring at it as he lifted it, twining his fingers through hers. Lily tried to pull her hand away, but Quint wouldn’t allow that. He lifted her palm to his lips and kissed it tenderly, than laid the palm to his cheek. Lily tried to draw gently away, but he held her hand firmly, and when he began to kiss each finger, one after another, she felt that undeniable churning in her belly, that fire that had been unknown to her until she’d met Quintin Tyler. She stopped trying to withdraw from him, even when he ran his thumb along the small calluses there on the ball of her hand. Calluses she had tried to hide from him with her gloves.
“I love your hands,” Quint said simply, holding them both and studying them intently, memorizing every line, kissing the short fingernails.
“You came out her in the middle of the night to tell me that?”
Quint shook his head. “Did you know John Wright?” His face was somber as he asked, and he continued to hold her hands, running his fingers over her skin as if he couldn’t get enough.
“Not very well. I… I heard what happened to him. Was he a friend of yours?”
Quint nodded slowly. “Yes. We played cards and had dinner together sometimes.”
Lily saw the pain in Quint’s face. He was taking his friend’s death very hard, and for some reason that pain had brought him to her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. With a little difficulty, she disengaged her hands from his, but instead of moving away, as she knew she should, she leaned forward and placed her arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry, Quint.”
She laid her head against his shoulder, telling herself that she was comforting him. But it was more than that. She liked the feel of his body against hers, and she’d use any excuse to indulge herself just this one time. She could feel his ragged breath in her ear, smell the rum on his breath and the smoke from his cigars that lingered in the fibers of the coat he wore.
And she belonged there. It was a searing and painful knowledge, as primal and undeniable as the physical cravings he stirred in her. This was her place in the world.
“Come away with me,” Quint whispered, his words only slightly slurred. “Tonight. Leave your Captain and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
Lily pulled away slightly so she could see his face. “You don’t mean that. You’re drunk and sad and feeling lonely because your friend died.”
“That’s not why I’m asking you to go away with me. I’m asking because I love you. I love you, Lily.” As he spoke the words, a small frown came over his face. “I love you.” He repeated the declaration, even though he was obviously none too pleased.
“You don’t even know me.” Lily laid her palm against his cheek, and he immediately covered it with his own hand and moved it to his mouth. The warmth of his lips made her tingle from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and when he flickered his tongue across her palm she almost faltered. “I… I’m not the woman you think I am. I…. ”
“I don’t care,” Quint vowed. “Come with me.”
Lily hesitated, but she knew what she had to do. “I can’t, Quint. And in the morning, you will care. In the morning, when you’re sober, this will all look different.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But I’ll still
love you.” Quint leaned over to kiss her, and she lifted her face to him to accept his mouth. It wasn’t the searching, probing kiss of the night of the ball, but a tender, sweet caress. Her heart was breaking. She could love him back, easily, if she allowed herself the luxury of that emotion.
“Good-bye, Lily,” Quint whispered as he pulled away from her. “I promise not to bother you again.”
But he didn’t get up. In truth, Lily didn’t think he was capable. He leaned against her shoulder, and in a moment he was asleep. She lowered his head so that it rested in her lap, and in the moonlight she could see his features clearly. Her fingers traced the small bump on his nose, probed the dimples in his cheeks, but he never stirred.
“Dead to the world,” she whispered. “I wonder if you have any idea how much trouble you’re causing, Mr. Tyler. I think not.”
Lily remained on the bench for the better part of an hour, her fingers always in Quint’s hair or on his face. He was almost too handsome. He would have been, if not for the broken nose and the tiny lines around his eyes. He must have been an angelically beautiful child, before life had turned him into a devilishly handsome man.
This was dangerous, the feelings he stirred in her. Her life had seemed so clear to her before he’d come bursting into it. Running the blockade was the only way she could satisfy her burning hatred for the Yankees. She was responsible for the Radford family honor, and nothing else mattered. Not friendship, not comfort, not what most considered to be a normal life. And not love. Definitely not love. And then she’d turned around and there he was. He hadn’t been completely out of her thoughts since the moment she’d laid eyes on him. Love. Why now?
The noise was so faint that if they’d still been talking she never would have heard it. Lily turned her head in the direction of the sound and lifted her hand, waving the boys in. It had to be the crewmen Tommy had ordered to follow Quint.
They approached hesitantly, and Lily wondered how long they’d been watching, how much they’d seen. She ignored their obvious discomfort.
“Sorry, Cap’n,” one of the boys said, unsure of himself. “We was waitin’ up by the ’ouse, but it seemed a terrible long time…. ”
“He’s dead drunk, Sellers,” Lily said tersely. “You two take him back to the hotel. And be careful of his leg, for God’s sake,” she said when they lifted Quint a bit too roughly, each man taking an arm and draping it over his shoulder.
Quint didn’t make a sound as the two young seamen divided his weight between them. Lily picked up the cane from the ground beside the bench and handed it to Sellers with no word of instruction. She sat back down on the bench and watched the two crewmen carry Quint away, and she shook her head. Poor man. He’d probably have one hell of a headache in the morning. She wondered if he’d remember anything that had happened.
She wondered if he’d remember that he told her he loved her.
She wondered if he’d remember that he told her he wasn’t coming back.
Eleven
For the next several days, Quint kept to himself, taking his meals in his room and pacing the streets of Nassau after dark.
Hands. He had awakened the morning after his drunken escapade with a pounding headache, no inkling of how he’d gotten back into his room, and a memory of Lily’s hands. That was just about all he remembered clearly. He’d thrown pebbles at her window, and she’d come to him, and he’d touched her hands.
The charm of the island no longer seduced him. He passed enchanting cottages and fragrant foliage and barely noticed. His mind was possessed of one thought.
Captain Robert Sherwood.
Where the hell was the man? If he was as insanely jealous as Dennison claimed, why hadn’t he confronted Quint? Lily deserved better than a man who wouldn’t marry her, who neglected her and left her to defend herself against wayward gamblers with less than honorable intentions. Damn it all, he’d never felt possessive about a woman before, not even Alicia. Not the way he felt possessive about Lily.
But he hadn’t been sent to Nassau to save Lily from a man who didn’t deserve her, a man Quint detested even though he’d never laid eyes on Captain Sherwood. Quint would have hated any man who laid claim to Lily, and that was his dilemma.
He’d been sent to Nassau to gather information about the blockade runners, and that was what was tearing him in two. If he hadn’t been committed to the preservation of the Union, if he didn’t believe with all his heart that what he was fighting for was important, then he would have no qualms about his future. He would grab Lily and take her, by force if necessary, and they would leave Nassau together. West. A man and a woman could disappear out West, in a place where land was cheap and plentiful, and people had learned not to ask too many questions.
He didn’t think he would have to kidnap her. Lily didn’t love Captain Sherwood. If she did, she wouldn’t have kissed Quint the way she had. There was something strong between them, something more powerful than Quint had ever imagined. Whether it was love or lust or some spiritual attraction that he didn’t understand, it drew them together inexorably. She was his.
The problem was, he didn’t see how he could have Lily and do his job at the same time. He hadn’t left his home and joined the Union Army on a whim. There was a deep-felt reason for his commitment. A memory. A memory of one single person that had haunted him through the years.
If only his leg would heal enough for him to return to his company. Then they could leave this island and return to the States, together.
But Lily was a Southerner. How strongly did she feel about the conflict? He discounted Captain Sherwood’s involvement in the penetration of the blockade as any sort of evidence of Lily’s loyalties. Most of the captains were involved in the venture for the profit, not out of a sense of duty. And was it fair to ask her to wait for him, not knowing if he would survive or not? He was willing to risk his life for what he believed, but was he willing to make Lily love him, and then leave her a widow?
Quint looked up and found himself at the foot of the path to Lily’s house. The sun was setting, a glorious sight of brilliance and breathtaking color, but he gave it only a brief glance. He followed the path, not knowing what he would do when he got to the end of it, but realizing the inevitability of facing Lily again.
He rapped the gold head of his cane against the door, and after a few moments Cora threw it open and glared at him.
“Miss Radford is not receiving…. ”
Quint ignored her and pushed his way inside, his cane tapping loudly against the tile floor, his scowl directed at the housekeeper who seemed so intent on keeping him away from Lily.
“Call her, or I’ll do it myself,” he threatened.
Cora backed away, two small steps. She opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut without uttering a sound. She hesitated just a moment too long, and Quint did as he had threatened. He lifted his head and bellowed Lily’s name, not once but three times, until she came running into the foyer.
“What’s wrong?” Lily looked first to Cora, and then to Quint. When her eyes lit on him, they hardened, and those fiery eyes turned as cold as ice.
“I don’t wish to see you again, Mr. Tyler,” she said crisply. “If you have once again wandered farther than your leg can bear, then you may sit on the front steps for five minutes. At the end of that period, I will personally see that you are on your way.” There was a threat there, and it wasn’t even thinly veiled.
“Give me five minutes alone with you, and if you still want me to leave, I will.”
Lily sighed. “And this time when you promise not to come back, will you keep your word?”
Quint frowned. Had he promised to stay away from her? “Yes,” he said, his voice calmer and more in control than it had been just moments before.
Lily led him into the parlor and sat in the middle of the loveseat. Her positioning left Quint no choice but to take the chair that sat at an angle to the loveseat. He would be close, but not close enough. Apparently it was her intention t
o keep him at a distance.
Her plans went awry as he sat next to her, his thigh pressing against hers until she drew sharply away from him.
“What do you want, Mr. Tyler?” she asked coldly.
“Back to Mr. Tyler, are we?” He reached out and took her hand, and even though she tried to pull away, he held her fast. She wasn’t wearing her usual gloves, and he was glad he’d caught her unaware. Quint lifted her hand to his lips, holding it tightly, his strong fingers gripping her slender hand as she continued to try to pull it away from him. He ran his thumb across the calluses on the palm of her hand and studied once again, in a sober state, the short nails at the tips of her elegant fingers. He wanted to kiss each one of those fingers, but there was so little time. Hell, he didn’t understand his own feelings. How could he hope to sort out hers as well?
He lifted his gaze from that hand to her emotionless face.
“I like to work in the garden,” Lily snapped, finally yanking her hand away. “That’s why I have calluses.”
“You could wear gloves when you work…. ”
“I like the feel of the soil in my hands,” Lily said sharply.
Quint frowned. Her garden was a tropical paradise, practically growing wild. He saw no evidence of any sort of work she could have done to get calluses on those lovely hands. She was hiding something from him, as she had been since they’d met.
“What’s the matter?” she whined artificially, and with a bitter bite in her voice. “Doesn’t Eleanor Slocum have brown, callused hands?” She lifted her eyebrows and gave him a simple-minded look that would have fooled him a few weeks ago. But not now.
“Eleanor Slocum?”
Lily narrowed her eyes as she glared at him, trying to convey her indifference and her iciness. But she was angry. She had no right to be angry. She had no claim to Quintin Tyler.
Tommy had been delighted to share the news. “Quintin Tyler is ’umpin’ the Widow Slocum,” had been his exact words to her just two days earlier.
In Enemy Hands Page 10