“I understand the two of you are… very close friends,” she said.
Quint sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Not really. We’re just old acquaintances. That’s all.”
She didn’t believe him, though he lied very well. He stared at her for a moment, and then he began to smile.
“You’re jealous, Lily? If that’s true, then you must care for me, just a little.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Quint leaned toward her, pinning Lily to the back of the loveseat. His face was inches from hers, and his dark eyes delved into her soul. He was looking for answers—for himself and for her.
“There’s only one woman on this island—in this world—that I’m interested in, Lily Radford, and I’m looking at her right now. I knew it the moment I saw you, wearing that ridiculous hat and trying to palm me off on Mrs. Greene.”
Lily licked her lips nervously. He shouldn’t be able to do this to her. He shouldn’t be able to make her heart beat fast and her breath catch in her chest. It made her feel weak, and she didn’t like it. Not at all. Still, she didn’t push him away, as she very well could have.
“You knew what?”
“That you would be mine. I think I was destined to come here and find you, Lily. I think everything in my life up to this moment has been leading me here.” He laid his lips lightly over hers. “Leading me to you, Lily,” he whispered, and she felt his warm breath mingling with hers.
“That’s the most ridiculous statement I’ve ever heard,” Lily said softly. “I don’t believe in destiny. You’re just… you’re just a smooth-talking womanizer, and I shouldn’t believe a word you say.”
“Come away with me,” Quint whispered.
Lily looked up at him, and for a moment she considered what he was offering. He’d never said anything about marriage, and he’d only told her that he loved her when he was drunk. She couldn’t consider that reliable. But she did feel something for him. She didn’t know what to call it. Love, attraction, a kind of providence… and he must return some of those feelings. Damned if he didn’t look as confused as she felt.
Tommy could captain her ship. He would make a fine captain. Perhaps even a better one than she. No. She had rejected that notion long ago. This was her battle, and she would finish it. Even if it cost her dearly.
“I can’t, Quint,” Lily whispered, but instead of pulling away she pressed her breasts to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I want to, but I can’t.”
Her answer made Quint angry. He’d agonized for days over her, and she was ready to dismiss him without a second thought.
“Is it the Captain? Is this what you want?” He backed away from her and lifted his hand. “Are you afraid I won’t be able to give you all he can? A beautiful house, fashionable clothes? Well, I don’t know if I’ll be able to or not.”
“Quint, don’t —”
“Don’t? Don’t what? Am I making you uncomfortable?” He rose to his feet easily, the cane in his hand almost forgotten in his anger. “I suppose I should apologize, Lily, but I can’t. Why are you willing to settle for your Captain? Where is he, anyway? Dennison said Sherwood would cut out my heart and have it for breakfast if I didn’t leave you alone. If you were my woman, and some man came along prowling around your skirts, I wouldn’t hesitate to do that. But you’re not my woman, are you, Lily?”
“No,” she whispered.
“I’m wasting my time.” It was a statement meant as much for his own ears as for hers.
“Sometimes there are concerns much greater than what two people feel,” Lily said softly.
“Like what?”
“Honor. Duty. Obligation. Two solitary souls in a world full of people really aren’t very important.” Lily lowered her head. She couldn’t or wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Emotions change like the tides. You might regret —”
“Never,” Quint said, but he frowned. It was as if she’d read his mind and voiced his doubts. The only difference between them was that even though he didn’t know what solution he would find to the warring emotions that were tearing him apart, he knew he would find one. If only he could have Lily by his side.
But her words were as final and emotionless as… as Eleanor Slocum’s. The words were, in fact, quite similar. Two women who were willing to put their personal feelings aside for their beliefs. He knew what Eleanor fought for, but what of Lily?
As he watched, she stiffened her back, took his hand in hers, and sighed deeply. He didn’t know what drove her, but she was determined.
“You can’t come here again, ever.”
“Lily, I…. ”
She met his eyes then, and he could see the pleading in them. “For God’s sake, Quint. Stay away from me before you ruin everything.”
Before he could reply, Tommy burst into the room. He strode straight to Quint, his hands balled into meaty fists, his intentions clear.
Tommy was a big man, but Quint realized that he was also rather slow. Quint ducked as Tommy’s fist sailed through the air where Quint’s head had been less than a second earlier.
Quint was hampered by his bad leg, but he hadn’t lost any of his skill or speed with his fists. His left hook caught Tommy under the jaw, and the big man dropped to the floor with a thud. Before he could recover his wits, Quint’s cane was pressed against Tommy’s windpipe, the pressure so great that they both knew any upward movement on Tommy’s part would cause serious damage.
“If you intend to ever speak again, you’ll lie there until I’m quite finished,” Quint threatened.
Without lessening the pressure against Tommy’s throat, Quint turned his eyes back to Lily. “Do you mean it? Do you really want me to walk out of your life and not look back?”
“Yes,” Lily said clearly. “It’s for the best. For both of us.”
She was standing almost primly, with her hands clasped together in front of her, her plain dress molded to her torso and flowing about her hips and legs. She’d attempted to pin her hair up, but loose curling tendrils framed her sun-kissed face. He stared at her long and hard, branding her image in his memory; then he lifted his cane from Tommy’s windpipe and turned away from them both.
As he left, he heard Lily’s infuriatingly calm voice as she restrained Tommy. Quint wished she hadn’t done that, because he would love to stomp the burly man into the ground, but good. That, at least, would be a release from the rage that was building inside him. For the first time in years he felt the urge to pound another man’s face until he could no longer manage to lift his arms. The problem was, Tommy was the wrong man. It was Captain Sherwood Quint wanted to get his hands on.
And still, he knew that Lily was right. There were more important things than what two people felt. He knew what his obstacles were, but what were Lily’s? What drove a woman to speak of honor and duty as if she were a soldier herself?
Twelve
Tyler raked his winnings toward him with both hands. Dennison was frowning mightily, and the other three gamblers at the table looked as disgusted as he felt. Tyler had been winning big all week. He always had a bottle of rum or bourbon at his side, though he never again drank so much that he lost control.
Tyler’s usually readable face was stony and impassive, and his black eyes gave away nothing. No emotion. No spark of life.
Dennison was fairly certain he knew the reason for the dramatic change in Quintin Tyler. He felt sympathy for the man, though he was puzzled as well. One woman was much like another. Dennison liked them all—blond or brunette, tall or short, plump or thin. They were all soft and sweet, and each woman was possessed of her own beauty, be it remarkable eyes or a devastating figure. One particular woman he had known, long ago, had been considered plain by most, but Dennison had noticed that she moved with extraordinary grace. She was a wonder to watch, as were all females.
But Tyler’s problems could be traced to one solitary woman. Lily Radford. Dennison was not blind to Lily’s charms, but it seemed futile to dwell on them when another man
claimed her, and there were so many other fascinating women on the island.
It seemed that if he ever wanted to win again at cards with Tyler at the table, he was going to have to find a cure for the man’s ailment, and the cure, of course, was another woman. Lost in the inviting arms of a willing woman, Tyler would no doubt forget his obsession with Lily Radford. James Dennison definitely believed in love; he just didn’t believe it was necessary to confine that love to a single woman. He loved many women, and while he might have a particular favorite at one moment or another, he never forgot that the world was full of those marvelous creatures.
Quint studied the gold and silver coins on the table before him with no joy. His companions, all but Dennison, had deserted him, having lost all they could afford or were willing to part with. He knew that he should be losing, at least a few nights a week. He didn’t want to scare away all the potential sources of information. But in the week since Lily had sent him away, he’d approached each and every game as if it were a battle. He didn’t face opponents, he faced enemies. It wasn’t a game, it was war.
Dennison leaned forward and smiled wryly. He didn’t seem to mind losing, but then, his fast little steamer had made him rich.
“Lady luck has been at your side this week, Tyler,” Dennison said with good humor.
“So it seems.”
“You don’t seem particularly pleased.” Dennison drummed his long fingers on the tabletop.
Quint didn’t want to discuss Lily with Dennison. He knew where the Englishman stood on the subject. Lily was Captain Sherwood’s woman, and off limits.
“I’m ecstatic,” Quint said woodenly. “It’s just that I’ve developed a good poker face.”
Dennison grinned. “Liar.” The accusation was delivered softly, and with a warm and friendly edge. “I know what your problem is, and I know how to fix it.”
He had Quint’s attention, and the grin widened.
“Come with me.” Dennison stood, unfolding his long and graceful frame slowly from the chair. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
She said her name was Marguerite, and she pronounced it with a decidedly French flair. The rest of her speech was definitely American, and even a bit uncultured. Quint decided she’d probably grown up as a Margaret, maybe a Meg. She looked healthy, for a woman of her profession. Prostitutes, in his estimation, seemed to age fast, as if their work sucked the very life out of them.
Marguerite’s hair was flame red, curly without being kinky, and it was her best feature. Her face was ordinary, and her eyes were pale gray. She had an hourglass figure that was shown off by the skimpy costume she wore, a brightly colored transparent gown that was cut so low, her nipples peeked over the neckline.
Dennison had presented her to Quint in the parlor downstairs, a large room filled with piano music and cigar smoke and other women of Marguerite’s profession. Women of every size and shape and color. Women quiet and boisterous. Quint had left Dennison as the English captain surveyed the scene around him, in what appeared to be his idea of heaven.
Marguerite led Quint up the stairs, taking his hand as if he were a child and coaxing him up the plushly carpeted stairway. She walked with a slow, practiced seduction, her hips swaying beneath the bright gown, the diaphanous material molding to her form as she moved.
Quint followed silently, his face impassive though his mind was reeling. Dennison was certain he would lose his passion for Lily in the body of another woman, and who was to say that was an impossible task? Marguerite was certainly tempting, and he didn’t intend to spend his life pining over a woman who didn’t love him, a woman who had bound herself to another man.
Marguerite pulled him into her room and closed the door behind them, bestowing upon Quint a seductive smile. The room was dimly lit; the bed that dominated it was garishly decorated in bright green and gold. Tassels hung from the bedposts, thick and gold.
She pressed her body against his, sandwiching him between her body and the door. Marguerite laid her lips against Quint’s throat, flicking her tongue over his skin. Talented hands roamed over his arms, down his sides, and finally rested between his legs. She got the response she was looking for, at least physically, but Quint pushed her away with a soft curse.
Marguerite tossed red curls and posed seductively a short step away. “I could lower the lamp,” she offered. “You can pretend I’m her. You can even call me Lily, if you like. I often fill in for a loved one who is far away, or unattainable. It’s part of the job.”
Quint grasped her upper arms, his hands gripping her soft flesh tightly. “Who told you about Lily?” he seethed. “Dennison?”
God, it was bad enough that Lily Radford had his brain and his body so confused that he cared nothing for bedding an attractive and willing woman. How many people on the island knew he was making a fool of himself over Captain Sherwood’s mistress?
“You’re hurting me,” Marguerite whined.
“Then answer my question.”
Marguerite’s eyes hardened. Gone was the seductive and willing temptress. “Eleanor. It was Eleanor who told me about you… Lieutenant.”
Quint released the girl abruptly. So, this was the redhead who spied on the captains and the sailors who sought comfort in her bed. He shook his head and dropped to the only chair in the room, a plushly cushioned wing chair. His legs were thrust out in front of him, and he scowled as he studied the tips of his boots. With that, Marguerite sighed and plopped onto the end of the bed, folding her legs beneath her and completely abandoning her seductive air.
“Jamie’s already paid for you, you know,” she said, defeat in her voice. “And you’re a lot better lookin’ than most of the scum that comes in here night after night.” She lifted her eyebrows in a silent question. “I’m yours for the night, bought and paid for.”
Quint raised an eyebrow, and he actually smiled. “You could give Dennison his money back.”
Marguerite shook her head. “Honey, I never do that. I did my best.”
She rose from the bed with a sigh and headed for the door.
“Wait.” Quint stopped her with his sharp command. “I’d like to talk to you.”
She shook her red mane and returned to the bed almost reluctantly. “Paid to talk? That’s a first.” She sat cross-legged on the bed, seeming not to notice that her already daring gown had slipped, and one nipple was fully exposed. “What do you want to talk about?”
“What do you know about Captain Sherwood?”
Marguerite cocked her head to one side and studied him. She looked, for a moment, like a lost little girl, all innocent and sweet, the wonders of the world still ahead of her. It was that naive face, there above a wanton’s body, that made Quint close his eyes and shake his head.
“I don’t know much about Sherwood. Several sailors from his crew come to Madame Julia’s, and there’s this one boy in particular who always asks for me.” She grinned, obviously pleased with herself. “He’s a young fella. Just a boy, actually. Can’t be more than eighteen…. ”
“And how old are you?” Quint asked, too obviously disapproving.
Marguerite grinned, and her seductive nature was apparent again. “I’ll be nineteen my next birthday.”
Her smile turned into a frown at Quint’s disapproving glare. “Well,” she continued. “At least I’ve got a roof over my head and food on the table every day. That wasn’t always the case, Lieutenant Tyler. What I’m doing isn’t all that much different than what Lily Radford’s doing, is it?”
The question made Quint’s blood boil. He wanted to jump out of his chair and shout at her… but she was right.
“Have you ever met Captain Sherwood?” he asked calmly.
Marguerite shook her head. “Never. None of the other girls have either. But the crew of the Chameleon talk about him as if he were some sort of goddamn champion.”
Quint frowned. It had to be deliberate, the Captain’s reluctance to be seen. It was a small island, but Quint had met very few people who
actually knew Captain Robert Sherwood. Too few.
“He’s sailing tonight,” Marguerite added abruptly, as if she had only just decided to share that piece of information. “Soon, if he hasn’t already put out to sea.”
Quint thought about that piece of information for several minutes. Then he rose from his chair slowly, deliberately, his eyes focused on something far away, some distant point above Marguerite’s head.
Lily had tried, in the past week, to push all thoughts of Quintin Tyler from her mind. She wished she’d never met him, never laid his eyes on his dimple or his long lashes or that somehow attractive bump where he had broken his nose. She couldn’t forget him, no matter how hard she tried, and she was beginning to believe that she had made the biggest mistake of her life in sending him away.
But the Chameleon was making another run, and she had to turn her attention to the matter at hand. The blockade was tightening, and more and more of the fast steamers were being lost, captured, or run aground. Perhaps it was time to give the venture up. One more run, maybe two.
It made sense, but Lily knew she wouldn’t stop until the war was over.
She sat at the lone table in her cabin, charts spread before her, the room lit with a lamp that was secured to the wall. Tommy was at her right side as she sat in a straight-backed chair, and her pilot, Cyril, was at her left. He held another lantern over the charts, lighting the maps they studied.
All precautions would be taken this trip, and they even planned to deviate their route. It would take several hours longer, but they wouldn’t be approaching Wilmington directly. Hopefully, that would give them a better chance to slip by the blockaders.
That was the reason Cyril and Tommy were bent over the charts with her, as her fingers traced the route they would follow from Nassau to the mouth of the Cape Fear River.
“Captain!” Lily raised her head at the excited voice as one of her young crewmen approached, his footsteps growing louder as he practically ran into her cabin. She’d left the door open, so all he had to do was stick his head into the portal.
In Enemy Hands Page 11
