In Enemy Hands

by Linda Winstead Jones

  She was about to make a quiet escape when he stopped her.

  “Terrence,” the stranger chided the shopkeeper. “Surely you’re not going to allow this young lady to leave without first introducing us properly. I’m a newcomer here, and it can be so difficult to meet all the residents of your lovely town.”

  Lily took a deep breath, steeling herself, and turned with her vacant smile in place. He was staring at her—no, through her—and it was harder than ever to keep up her carefully crafted masquerade.

  “Quintin Tyler,” Terrence began, “this is Miss Lily Radford. Miss Lily, Mr. Tyler is a new resident of Nassau. He plans to stay for a while, I believe.”

  Quintin Tyler’s eyes widened, just slightly. He must have heard of her and of her scandalous relationship with “the Captain.” That moment of surprise passed quickly, and he stepped forward and took her offered hand in his left. Lily’s hands were gloved, as they always were when she ventured into town, even though the day was warm.

  He pressed that hand to his lips and held it there a moment longer than was necessary or proper. Lily could feel his breath on her skin, through the thin white cotton that covered her hand, and a faint tremor made its way up her spine.

  “How charming,” she managed to say as he rose to stare at her again. The man had no manners at all! “Have you met Mrs. Greene?” Lily smiled at the matron, who approached them anxiously. “She’s one of the very most important people in Nassau. Why, everyone who’s anyone knows Mrs. Greene.”

  As Tyler reluctantly turned to meet Mrs. Greene, Lily made her escape, spinning away from the man who had kissed her hand and held it just a bit too long. As she stepped out of the store and closed the door quietly behind her, Lily took a deep breath and sighed with relief. She hated these trips. It was easier to outrun a Union blockader than it was to paste that silly smile on her face and pretend to be the kind of woman she detested.

  Lily barely had time to open her parasol and take two steps before Quintin Tyler emerged from the shop. She wanted to run, but knew she could not.

  “Might I walk you home, Miss Radford?” He joined her, his steps matching hers, his limp not slowing him down as she increased her pace slightly.

  “That’s not necessary, Mr. Tyler,” Lily answered without looking at him.

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Lily resigned herself and slowed her pace. “How kind you are, Mr. Tyler.”

  “Quint.”

  Lily giggled. It sounded forced and inane even to her own ears. “Why, Mr. Tyler. We’ve only just met. I couldn’t possibly call you by your given name.”

  “Does that mean I can’t call you Lily?”

  She felt a sudden chill at the way he said her name. She liked it, and immediately regretted her weakness. “Yes, it does. What are you doing in Nassau, Mr. Tyler?”

  “Gambling, mostly,” he answered with an unconcerned shrug, watching her closely with those dark eyes. Lily tensed, and perhaps he saw it, because his wicked smile faded. “Unsuccessfully, if it makes you feel any better.”

  Lily smiled in spite of herself, and for a moment it was her own, true smile, unrestrained. Then she caught herself and it was gone.

  “Gamblin’ is a sin, Mr. Tyler.”

  “Not the only sin I’ve ever committed,” he answered cryptically.

  Lily gave him a sidelong glance. He had a strong profile, and his nose had apparently been broken at one time and had healed improperly, leaving a slight bump on the bridge of his otherwise perfect nose. It should have made him less attractive, but it suited him somehow, as did the dimple that appeared when he smiled. She knew it was time to mention “the Captain,” to make certain he knew that she was the Captain’s lady. But she didn’t.

  “You seem to have forgotten your cigars, Mr. Tyler.” She spoke to him in a lightly chastising voice.

  “I left in rather a hurry, Miss Radford.” He didn’t have to say that he’d left Terrence’s shop quickly in order to catch up with her. They both knew that and avoided the fact smoothly. “I’ll pick them up later this afternoon.”

  Lily took a deep breath and pulled her eyes away from his face. There was something very natural about walking home with Quintin Tyler.

  “Do you like Nassau, Mr. Tyler?”

  He smiled at her again, and her stomach did a funny little twist that she definitely did not like. She was not a silly little flirt, looking for an afternoon’s entertainment in this man’s company!

  “It’s beautiful, of course,” he answered. “The weather is perfect, and at night you can smell the sea if you leave your windows open.”

  “I always do,” Lily answered too quickly. “I like the smell of the salt air.”

  They fell into a comfortable stride, silent much of the time, though Tyler asked Lily questions about the houses they passed before they turned onto the stone path. The path to Lily’s house was tree-lined and abandoned, shaded and fragrant. Lily found it discomforting to be alone with Quintin Tyler, really alone, though she knew that when they turned the bend and the house was in view, Cora would be watching from a window. Watching and waiting.

  Usually, Tommy was there also, but he and the Chameleon were on their way back from Cuba, freshly supplied with anthracite coal.

  Lily’s home was a small two-story house, painted white with dark green shutters and a red door. Blooming plants grew along the path and against the house itself, and lace curtains wafted through open windows. It was a warm and inviting place, a real home.

  “What a lovely house,” Tyler said as they approached, stopping on the walkway that led to the red door.

  “Thank you.” Lily gazed at the ground, purposely avoiding those dark eyes. He looked at her as if he could see through her disguise. But that was impossible.

  Tyler took her chin in his hand and lifted her face. He gave her the most devilish grin she had ever seen, then leaned just a little bit closer. Lily’s heart skipped a beat.

  “I should like to kiss you, Lily Radford,” he said in a low voice.

  “Well, you may not,” Lily answered, but there was a hesitancy in her voice. And she didn’t draw away. She wanted to know, just this once, what it was like to be kissed by a man like Quintin Tyler.

  Tyler lowered his lips slowly to cover hers. He still held her chin in his left hand, but his touch was light, caressing even. She could have moved away, but she didn’t. She was tense when his lips first touched hers, shocked at the intense sensation the contact stirred, but then she relaxed, and her lips parted slightly.

  Lily closed her eyes and marveled at the feelings the simple kiss aroused. The wonderfully soft pressure of his lips against hers. A tightening in her chest, a fluttering in her belly. And then he released her as gently and easily as he had taken her.

  Quintin Tyler was looking down at her with a slight frown on his face. “I’d like to see you again, Miss Radford.” His voice was low. Low and too intimate.

  Lily glanced to the ground. “I… I can’t.” She was a fool, even after all this time. She steeled herself, knowing what she had to do and hating it all the same. “You’ll learn soon enough, I suppose,” she said, raising her head to meet Tyler’s questioning stare. His eyes were a dark brown, almost black. Deep enough to fall into and get lost.

  “I’m involved with someone else. Captain Sherwood. It’s quite scandalous, I know,” she said in a chiding voice. “But that’s just the way it is. You’re a charming gentleman, Mr. Tyler.” She said the word gentleman as if it were meant to be an insult, reminding herself of Elliot and men like him. “I’m certain you’ll have no trouble finding yourself a young woman who will succumb to those charms.”

  “And you are immune?” He jested with her, a smile on his face and in his voice once again.

  “Most definitely,” she said too sternly.

  Tyler took her gloved hand in his and kissed it, allowing his lips to linger. She felt the heat of those lips through the gloves and pulled her hand away.

  “Good aftern
oon, Mr. Tyler.” Lily turned away from him and, silly hat in hand, entered the house without a backward glance. Once inside, she flattened her back against the door and dropped the hat to the floor.

  She waited there for several minutes before she went to a window, a window off the parlor. He was still there, staring at the red door as if she were going to appear there and request another kiss.

  “Bloody hell,” she whispered under her breath. He couldn’t have heard her, but his head turned in her direction and she spun away from the window, only to find herself face to face with Cora.

  “And who were you kissin’ on the front lawn?” her aunt asked testily.

  “Quintin Tyler.” Lily spat the name as she impatiently yanked off her gloves and tossed them onto a table. She stared down at her hands. They were not the hands of a lady. Her nails were filed short, and there were calluses on her palms. “Some degenerate gambler who’s hiding here the way Elliot is hiding in London.”

  “Well, why didn’t you invite ’im in for a cup o’ tea?” Cora asked contemptuously, hands on her hips.

  Lily stepped back to the window, but stood far enough away that he couldn’t possibly see her. She could still feel the warmth of his kiss on her lips. He was a stranger, and she had allowed him to kiss her. Had wanted him to kiss her. Less than an hour ago she hadn’t known Quintin Tyler existed, but he had stormed into her life with the force of a hurricane.

  “God help me, Cora, I almost did.” Her voice was so soft, she wasn’t certain her aunt could hear her. They both watched as Tyler finally turned away from the house and walked slowly away from them, his limp more pronounced now. Some of his swagger was gone, and Lily was almost certain she saw a hint of defeat in the way he leaned against his cane as he disappeared along the shaded path.

  Quint stopped when he could no longer see Lily Radford’s charming house. He stepped off the stone path and leaned his back against the trunk of a tall tree, one of the many that shaded the walkway.

  He closed his eyes and saw her face. He saw turquoise eyes the color of the water that surrounded the island… an indescribable blue-green, clear and bright. He saw dark blond hair that refused to be completely tamed, those curls streaked as though bleached by the sun. He saw freckles, an unlikely sprinkling across her nose, and lips… lips that looked as if they’d been sculpted by a master.

  Quint brought his palm to his forehead. Damn it all, this was the last complication he needed. When he’d seen her in Terrence’s shop, he’d been entranced. In spite of her overdone dress and that hideous hat. In spite of a vapid smile that could not disguise the spark of intelligence in her eyes. She had been, during those moments, a bright spot in his dark life, solace of beauty and spirit.

  He hadn’t known, then, that she was Lily Radford. Dennison had been right. She was a beauty, but not like his sisters or their friends, or even Alicia, the woman he’d once been engaged to marry. Why couldn’t she have been someone else? Anyone else? Why did he have to remind himself that she was Captain Sherwood’s mistress… the enemy?

  She spoke with that Southern influence that reminded him too much of his sisters and Alicia—cloyingly sweet and insincere. That voice and her vacant smile didn’t fit her, didn’t fit with the flash of fire he had seen in her eyes so briefly. Had he imagined it?

  He hadn’t imagined that kiss. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she had never been kissed before… at least, not like that. Sweet and passionate. Simple and perfect. Lily had stood before him as if she hadn’t known what to expect. But that was impossible. She was the Captain’s mistress.

  And she was the enemy. Damn it all, what was he supposed to do now?

  Four

  Lily sat at the vanity table in her bedroom while Cora styled her hair, pulling a bit too roughly at times and muttering under her breath.

  “I didn’t make an appearance last time, Cora,” Lily defended herself unnecessarily. “We can’t have people getting too suspicious.”

  “Humph.” Cora coiled a strand of dark blond hair atop Lily’s head. “Your decision wouldn’t ’ave anything to do with that bloke who walked you ’ome the other day, would it?”

  Lily glanced over her shoulder at her aunt, momentarily halting the styling process. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t possibly afford to get interested in a—in a man at this point. It would be too dangerous.”

  Cora Gibbon was in her mid-thirties, several years younger than her husband Tommy, and was as frail and feminine-looking as any English lass could be. She’d made it clear on more than one occasion that she didn’t understand her husband’s niece. But Cora had taken her place beside Tommy, and that meant beside Lily as well. She’d tried to be a feminine influence in Lily’s life, while loudly bemoaning Lily’s lack of decorum. Several times she’d sworn that her husband’s niece was a lost cause and would never be a lady. Lily merely smiled at that insult. She didn’t want to be a lady. She never had.

  “I’m afraid one o’ these days you’ll make a mistake, and then where will we be?” Cora asked. “You won’t ’ave just the Yanks to worry about, but the people o’ this island as well. Do you think they’ll take kindly to the news that you’ve been making fools o’ them all this time? I think not. And if you’re so certain that going to this ball ’as nothing to do with that young fella, then wear the pink gown instead o’ the blue.”

  Lily faced front and Cora resumed styling the locks that were usually left unrestrained. Her aunt had all but issued a challenge. Lily, when in public, made it a point to wear bright, fussy clothing. People tended to look at the gaudy dresses instead of her, and she was better able to play her part. Bright pinks and lavenders were her favorites, and the more rosettes and flounces, the better.

  “I wore the pink last time. Even in a time of war, a proper young lady must not be seen in the same gown twice.” Lily used her whining voice for that last statement, and her aunt burst into laughter.

  But there were other gowns to choose from—gowns gaudier and fussier than the sapphire blue Lily had laid out for the evening. And, though she would never admit it to Cora, she did wonder what Quintin Tyler would think of her in the fashionable gown.

  In the days since he’d walked her home, she hadn’t been able to close her eyes without seeing his dark eyes and that dimple in his cheek. She was becoming obsessed, and she couldn’t afford to let that happen. Not now. Maybe later, when the war was over and her days as captain of the Chameleon came to an end, she could think of marriage and a family. If she could find a man who wouldn’t mind being married to a woman who dared to throw herself into the thick of a war. Lily knew she wouldn’t marry any man without telling him the truth. All of it.

  Marriage. The idea had popped into her head so easily, but in the past Lily had never stopped to think of it for herself. The men her father had presented for her inspection hadn’t interested her at all, and in truth she realized that she interested them even less. They wanted women like the Lily Radford she pretended to be, sweet and not too intelligent. Willing to be led. Decorative and ultimately useless, in Lily’s opinion. Of course, that was the woman Quintin Tyler believed her to be. That was the woman he had kissed.

  She leaned closer to the mirror, studying the freckles that were sprinkled lightly across her nose. “Should I powder my face to cover these freckles, Cora?”

  Cora clucked and rolled her eyes. “You’ve never thought it necessary before. This must ’ave something to do with that —”

  “Don’t say it,” Lily warned, meeting her aunt’s eyes in the mirror. Cora chuckled and laid her hands on Lily’s shoulders.

  “You’ve a beautiful complexion, Lily dear. Don’t cover it with ’eavy powder just to hide a few freckles that are, in fact, quite lovely.”

  “Men don’t like freckles.”

  Cora raised her eyebrows. “And since when ’ave you given a fig for what men like?”

  Since Quintin Tyler kissed me, Lily thought, but she didn’t answer her aunt. It was just a kiss, for God�
�s sake. A kiss from a gambler who was too much like Elliot for her tastes. Were some people just better kissers than others? She’d never thought of that, but no kiss had ever stirred her the way his had. She could close her eyes and almost feel his mouth against hers, and it was frustratingly real. All she had to compare it with were a few clumsy and awkward attempts from young beaux, and her response to those kisses had been mild, to say the least. Perhaps Quintin Tyler was just a well-practiced womanizer, skilled in the art of seduction.

  Damn his eyes! Why had he kissed her?

  Lily stepped down from the carriage in front of the hotel. The sounds of the ball that was already in progress wafted through the doors and filled the dark night with echoes of laughter and music. As soon as she was safely down and clear of the carriage, it pulled away, before anyone had a chance to study the cloaked figure inside. It was only Tommy, of course, but anyone who caught a glimpse of the figure would believe that it was Captain Sherwood.

  The ballroom was awash with bright light, and a sight to behold with the ladies in their fine gowns and the gentlemen in their evening wear, black and blue and burgundy. The musicians were playing a waltz, and brightly clad figures whirled across the floor, laughing and spinning, full skirts floating around the dancing ladies as they smiled up at their gentlemen.

  Lily stood in the wide doorway and searched the room quickly, looking for Quintin Tyler. She saw many familiar faces, but not the one she was hoping, was dreading, to see. A wave of relief mixed with regret washed over her. Perhaps he wouldn’t even attend.

  “Why, Lily Radford.” She was approached by a young woman whose name escaped Lily, a flighty girl with pale hair and white skin who always commented on how much she admired Lily’s taste in clothes. “Where is that Captain of yours?” she drawled. “I was so hopin’ that we might have a dance this evenin’.”