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.

“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.