Of course, he couldn’t do that, not yet, but it was a nice dream.
He banged his cane against the red door persistently. If he had to push his way past Cora and seek out Lily himself, he would. He wasn’t leaving until he saw her.
“Mr. Tyler,” Cora said tiredly as she opened the door. “Miss Radford is not receiving this afternoon.”
“Tell her I’m here,” Quint demanded.
Cora’s eyes hardened, and her lips formed a tight, thin line. “It’s none o’ my concern, sir, but it seems you would tire o’ persisting where you’re not wanted.” She placed balled fists on her hips and glared at him. “Miss Radford does not wish to see you, sir. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
Quint leaned forward, placing his cane so that it would be impossible for Cora to close the door. “I want her to tell me that.”
Cora sighed, but she did not back away as Quint leaned forward insistently. “Perhaps she will, but not today.”
“I’m not leaving.” Quint stepped forward, and this time Cora did take a step back. She had no choice as he forced her to retreat. “You can tell Miss Radford that I’m here, or I can commence to shouting at the top of my lungs until she comes to me.”
Cora crossed her arms over her chest, as defiant as Quint, in her own way.
“Miss Radford is not feeling well today, sir. She’s resting.” She used a tone that should have been reserved for naughty children. Next she’d be slapping his hand.
“What’s wrong?” Quint asked softly. What if she was really ill?
Cora hesitated, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was an almost imperceptible softening of her eyes.
“Nothing serious,” she assured him in a voice that was a bit gentler.
A big man burst into the foyer, a chicken leg in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. “What the ’ell’s takin’ you so long, Cora?” He looked first at Lily’s servant, and then, with widening eyes, at Quint. “What in the devil are you doin’ here?” he exploded.
Quint studied the man from head to toe. A big man, much older than Lily, the man before him was rough, stocky, with hairy arms and broad shoulders. An untended moustache drooped over his mouth, and his hair fell, equally untended, to his shoulders. Was this Captain Sherwood?
Cora smiled at the consternation on his face. “Mr. Tyler ’as come to call on Miss Lily. I tried to explain that she’s not receiving visitors —”
“Then why in the devil is he still here?” The man’s voice was deep, and he roared the question, wielding the chicken leg as if it were a deadly weapon. “I’ll thank ye to stop sniffin’ around Lily, you bloody good-fer-nothin’ gambler. I could pummel your bleedin’ arse into the ground with one hand tied behind me back.” His voice was lowered, but still menacing, and he took two steps toward Quint. “You’ve been told that you’re not welcome ’ere.”
Quint stood his ground in spite of the threat. “I’d like to see Miss Radford,” he insisted. “I’ll wait, if necessary.”
“You’ll get your bleedin’ arse out of this ’ouse!”
Lily rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head. All that noise, and that bright light.
The Chameleon had docked just before dawn, and Lily had refused to leave until the cotton was unloaded and the crew was dismissed. After more than a week of long days and sleepless nights, surviving on short naps here and there, Lily was exhausted. Tired to the bone. She planned to stay in her big, soft bed for at least three days, if Cora would allow it. She lifted her head and looked across the room to the clock on her dresser, waiting and squinting until she could read the numbers.
There it was again. Tommy, no doubt yelling at Cora about one thing or another. Why wasn’t he asleep? He got little more sleep than she did on one of these runs. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, but he showed no sign of letting up, and Lily rolled reluctantly from the bed, running agitated fingers through her hair. After a brief moment of silence, she heard Tommy’s voice again and, still half asleep, Lily grabbed the emerald green satin robe that was draped over the end of her bed and slipped her arms into it. She didn’t bother to attempt to tie the sash; she didn’t think she was capable of that small task at this point. She blinked hard three times, trying to clear her mind as she grasped the doorknob and threw open the door, allowing the heavy door to crash against the wall with a resounding thud.
“Bloody hell!” she shouted as she stomped down the hallway and halted at the top of the stairs. “What the devil…. ” Lily stopped suddenly, looking down into the foyer. There were three upturned faces. Tommy’s. Cora’s. And Quint’s. Quint was the only one of the three who was smiling, that crooked grin that revealed his dimple.
“Good afternoon, Miss Radford,” he said, not even attempting to hide the amusement in his voice.
Quint looked up at Lily with amazement and growing confusion. The mere sight of her brought a smile to his face. She looked magnificent, her hair in disarray, her robe open so that he could see the plain linen of her nightgown and the way it molded to her body. Her coquettish accent was entirely absent, and until she saw him standing there her face had been flushed with anger. Now she was staring at him with her surprise and embarrassment evident in the way she glared at him, wide-eyed and silent. Finally, she regained her composure and gathered the robe at her waist, tying the long sash.
Cora recovered her senses first. “Did we wake you, miss?”
“Tommy woke me,” Lily answered, her Southern accent back. But there was an uncertainty in her voice and in her usually confident stance. “I heard him yelling.”
“Tommy?” Quint looked to Cora for an answer, and the housekeeper tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin.
“Me ’usband, Tommy.” She indicated the still angry man with a wave of her hand, and she smiled merrily at the relief that washed over Quint. “I told you Miss Radford wasn’t feeling well. Now you’ve disturbed her much-needed rest.”
Quint looked back up the narrow stairway. Lily stood very still, one hand on the banister, her eyes never leaving him. She looked tired, but her color was good. Nothing about Lily looked ill, or in fact anything less than perfect.
“Are you all right? I could bring the doctor…. ”
“No.” Lily tried to smile, but it faded quickly and was replaced by a look of indecision. “I’ll be all right. I just need to rest for a day or two.”
Tommy was still glaring, and Cora had a smug expression on her face.
“I’ll come by and check on you tomorrow,” Quint promised.
“That’s not necessary, Mr. Tyler,” Lily said. Quint’s gaze rested on the fingers that grasped the white banister. He was too far away from Lily to see those hands clearly, but they were uncovered. There was something odd about the long slender fingers that rested against the rail.
“I insist.” He bowed to her slightly, ignoring Cora and Tommy completely.
Lily watched Quint depart through the front door, her stomach in an unfamiliar knot, her hand grasping the banister too tightly. Why wouldn’t he simply leave her alone? Why did he insist on staring at her like that? As if he knew her better than anyone else in the world. As if he could see into her very soul, into that part of herself she kept hidden from the world.
“’E’s trouble,” Tommy insisted as soon as the door was closed.
“I agree.” Cora took her husband’s arm and together they faced Lily. “’E’s up to no good. I think you should ’ave a couple o’ the lads follow ’im for a day or two.”
“Whatever for?”
Cora pursed her lips. “I ’ave a feeling.”
Lily rolled her eyes, showing her aunt just how much credence she gave her feeling.
“’E’s up to something. I know it,” Cora insisted.
Lily relented. She was too tired to argue, and if it made Cora feel better, then so be it. “All right. But he’s not up to anything. Is it so hard to believe that a man might simply find me attractive?”
Cora’s stern face softened. “It’
s not that. But you know we must be careful.”
“Do it, then.” Lily waved her hand tiredly. “But no violence, Tommy,” she added curtly. “Have him watched for a couple of days. I’m going to sleep for at least that long.”
Lily knew it would be a while before she could make herself fall asleep again, even as tired as she was. He hadn’t given up on her. In spite of all that she’d said to him, Quintin Tyler hadn’t turned away from her. The thought that he actually cared for her gave Lily a warm, secure feeling, and she hugged it to herself like a treasured lucky charm.
He’d offered to fetch the doctor for her. He wanted to drop by tomorrow to make certain she was all right. She wished there was a time and a place in her life for friends, and even a man who would be more than a friend. But there wasn’t. That thought stole away a bit of the warmth that filled her, but even that hard truth couldn’t drive it away completely.
“He likes me,” she whispered into her pillow as she closed her eyes. “Quintin Tyler likes me.” She fell asleep with a small smile on her face.
Quint’s frown deepened as he approached the crowded streets of Nassau. Bloody hell? In a voice devoid of her whining accent? And what was it about her hands that had caught his attention? Long, slender fingers clutching the white railing. Long, brown, slender fingers. Whenever he’d seen her she’d been wearing gloves, but her hands were as brown as her face.
Even her face seemed to have a little more color to it than it had before. Of course, she lived on a tropical island, and it was no surprise that her skin was honey brown. He looked down at his own dark hands. Her hands were not nearly so dark as his own, but neither were his continually hidden from the sun. If only she’d been closer, and he could have taken those hands in his own.
Quint shook his head as he re-entered the hotel.
Bloody hell? What kind of curse was that for a proper Southern lady?
Ten
Quint kept his promise. He was at Lily’s door early the next morning to inquire after her health. When Cora assured him testily that Lily was well, Quint thanked her, turned away, and left the stunned housekeeper standing in the entrance. He didn’t give her the opportunity to slam the door in his face or to summon her burly husband to pummel him into the ground. She was obviously disappointed when Quint accepted her assurances and left quietly.
Eleanor Slocum was expecting him. She was sitting at her desk, prim and proper, looking very little like a spy.
Quint had no information to relay that she hadn’t already received from another operative, and he related the tidbits he had collected with a cold impartiality. He’d already decided that he wasn’t much of a spy, even though what he’d accomplished so far was noteworthy. The information about the marine engines alone justified his presence in Nassau.
He hadn’t thought himself a soldier at heart, even when it was all he’d had, all he knew. But he was not a spy at heart, either. There was, at least, nobility in soldiering. He saw none in spying.
“John Wright is in prison, I suppose?” He sat in his chair and extended his leg, tapping the cane against the floor impatiently. What was left of his good humor left as Eleanor leaned forward, hesitating before she answered. Her face became suddenly stern, and in that moment she did resemble a spy, cold and heartless.
“Captain Wright is dead.”
Quint didn’t move, not a muscle as he studied the woman who imparted the news coolly, emotionlessly. “What happened?” he whispered in a low voice.
Eleanor leaned back, keeping her visage and voice calm. “He tried to escape and was shot.”
“Shot. Goddammit, that wasn’t supposed to happen.” There was a knot in his stomach that shouldn’t be there, and Eleanor’s unconcerned shrug only infuriated him more.
“He shouldn’t have run,” she reasoned.
Quint could barely move. The picture was so clear, so vivid. John Wright, that bear of a man, running away from his captors only to be shot. Probably in the back.
“It’s my fault,” Quint said, more to himself than to Eleanor.
“What’s the matter?” Eleanor asked, evidently irritated with the emotional effect the news was having on him. “Didn’t you ever kill anyone in battle?”
“Of course, but that was different,” Quint said in a subdued voice. “They were trying to kill me. They were faceless, nameless strangers in gray uniforms. Not friends. Not men I played cards with and drank with.”
“You have to put it out of your mind,” Eleanor ordered. “You saved lives by stopping those engines from reaching their destination. Hundreds of lives. Thousands, maybe. It’s done,” Eleanor said sharply. “You have to weigh the one life that was lost against the many lives that were saved.”
Eleanor leaned forward, and her face softened. “You can’t afford to allow emotions to rule you, Quintin. Winning is everything. Individuals aren’t important. Can’t be. If you don’t learn that soon, you’ll never make a decent spy.”
“I’ll never make a decent spy,” he said quietly.
“How are you progressing with Miss Radford?” Eleanor tried to change the subject.
“None of your goddamn business,” Quint spat. He didn’t want to drag Lily into this deadly game. She was innocent, but he didn’t think that mattered to Eleanor. The innocent suffered in war, maybe most of all. A soldier went into battle knowing he might never return, but civilians who were caught up in battle died just as hard, just as bloody.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve given up on Lily Radford,” Quint said coolly. “She doesn’t know anything that can help us.”
“But the Captain…. ”
“Is as invisible as ever,” Quint said as he stood. “Lily can’t help us. I’m leaving her out of this.”
“We know now that Lily Radford is vulnerable. I’ll just assign another operative to take up where you left off,” Eleanor warned.
Quint turned and gave her a dazzling smile. “Go right ahead. Wish him luck for me. He’s going to need it.”
Quint slammed the door behind him and headed back for the hotel. What if Eleanor hadn’t been bluffing? What if she really did assign someone to work his way into Lily’s life, to try to seduce her? He didn’t think anyone would get very far, but what if he was wrong? What if Lily fell in love with a man who was spying on her? Who cared nothing for her? That would be devastating for her. And, he decided quickly, devastating for him as well.
There was something different about Lily, and the thought had plagued him for days. She was no idiot, no silly girl who passed all her time reading poetry and stitching samplers. She was hiding something.
By late afternoon, word of Captain Wright’s death was all over the hotel, and the occupants, mostly seamen themselves, were hushed and thoughtful. It might have been any one of them. The blockade was tightening, and the odds of a successful run were not what they had been in the past. John Wright had been a popular man, and everyone mourned the passing of a friend.
But they were living in a time of war, and every man knew the risks he took when he ran the blockade.
Quint didn’t feel like playing cards, but neither did anyone else. He declined dinner and bought a bottle of the hotel’s finest rum. Captain Dennison joined him, and the two commiserated silently. Quint felt like a traitor. Hell, he was a traitor, in the eyes of the men who surrounded him. If Dennison knew that Quint was responsible for Wright’s death, Quint figured he’d be dead before he hit the floor.
Dennison, almost as drunk as Quint, leaned forward, his elbows on the fine white tablecloth. He was as tall as Quint, but reed thin. His slender form made him appear even taller than he really was, and he handled his height and slight form with a masculine grace. He shaved irregularly, so that he always seemed to be in the process of growing a beard, and he rarely trimmed his fair hair. But his clothing and his manners were always impeccable, and the women loved his easy smile and blue eyes.
“You haven’t been chasing after Miss Lily again, have you?” Dennison frowned drunkenly.
Quint nodded his head. “I have, actually, but I’m going to give her up.” His words were only slightly slurred. “She’s too good for the likes of me, anyway.”
“You got that right,” Dennison said, nodding. “Smart move. Captain Sherwood would cut out your heart…. ”
“… and have it for breakfast,” Quint finished. “I know. Hell, if I thought I had a chance, he could have it.”
“Got it bad, eh?” Dennison nodded sympathetically. “Sorry to hear that. But there are plenty of other ladies in Nassau. There’s a whorehouse right across the street, and there’s this pretty little redheaded lass…. ”
Quint started laughing. Eleanor’s operative must be a fountain of information.
“What’s so funny?” Dennison furrowed his brow.
“Nothing.” Quint made himself stop laughing. “I’m drunk, that’s all. I haven’t been this drunk since… since… hell, I’ve never been this drunk.”
Dennison hadn’t yet succumbed to the temptation to drink straight from the bottle, as Quint had. He was still drinking from a glass, and he stared at the amber liquid as Quint lifted the bottle to his lips.
“I’ll miss John.”
“Me, too,” Quint said sadly.
Quint listened as Dennison told tales about Wright, some that might have been true, others that were clearly exaggerations of the dead man’s abilities at sea. All the while, Quint continued to drink from the bottle, hoping to find comfort in the fiery liquid, but finding only confusion.
The room, a room that was usually lively and boisterously loud by this time of night, was hushed and subdued. When Dennison had told all he remembered of John Wright, the two men sat in silence for a while. Finally, Quint listed over the table and glared at the English captain.
“Are you married?”
“No,” Dennison answered soundly, vaguely horrified.
“Have you ever been in love?”
Dennison returned the drunken stare. “Many times. Are we talking about Miss Lily again?”
Quint nodded and lifted the bottle. There was barely an inch of the amber liquid remaining. He frowned at it, and decided, too late, that he should have had something to eat before he’d consumed so much of the island’s favorite drink. When he banged the bottle against the table, Dennison jumped.
In Enemy Hands Page 9
