Six

 

Quint rapped against the red door with the gold head of his cane. It was still a bad idea, but his brain hadn’t been able to transmit the message to his body as he’d walked from the hotel. He was excited about seeing Lily again. His heart was beating too fast, and he found himself nervously tapping his cane against the ground. He felt like an adolescent working up the nerve to speak to the prettiest girl in the county. How had she come to have this power over him? It irritated and puzzled him, but he couldn’t deny that the power was real.

The door was finally opened by a solemn and almost disapproving woman, fairer in coloring than Lily, but attractive in her own way. At least, she would be if she didn’t stare at him so sternly.

“Is Miss Radford in?” Quint asked when the servant maintained her stony silence.

“Whom may I say is calling, sir?” Her voice was cold, but held a trace of amusement, as if she knew perfectly well who he was.

“Quintin Tyler.”

The rude woman closed the door in his face, and Quint stood there waiting as patiently as he could. It was several minutes later before the door was opened again, and the surly woman grudgingly invited him inside.

Lily was in the parlor, seated on a loveseat with a serpentine back. She was wearing a simple dress made of green linen, and the color made her eyes look bright and luminous. To his consternation, she was also wearing plain white gloves. If he didn’t see her hands soon, he was going to go insane. It made no sense, to become obsessed with a woman’s hands. But he was.

“Mr. Tyler.” Lily greeted him sweetly, rising slowly and gracefully. Carefully, it seemed. “Whatever brings you here?” She was giving him her vapid smile, and it annoyed him. Where was the Lily he had kissed?

“I just happened to find myself on your path, and before I knew it I was at your doorstep. To be honest, my leg is bothering me, and I was hoping I might rest here for a while before starting back.” He hated to lie to her. It had taken him a full three days after his meeting with Eleanor to work up the nerve to face Lily. Three days since he’d found himself at her path and turned away. Three days in which he’d fortified himself as best he could.

“By all means, have a seat.” She directed him into a chair that was placed beside the loveseat and moved an ottoman so he could prop up his bad leg. She didn’t cluck and coo, didn’t offer any sweet sympathy, and for that Quint was grateful. The truth was, his leg was healing nicely, perhaps even better than the surgeons had anticipated. He would always have a limp, but he wouldn’t be carrying the damned cane forever.

When he was settled, Lily took the cane from him and propped it against the wall, and when she positioned herself on the loveseat, Quint found that he had the best seat in the house. The sunlight from the open window fell across Lily’s face, soft and warm, and the highlights in her hair shone like gold. All the promises he had made to himself over the past three days—promises to stay detached, to remain uninvolved, to keep his composure—went out the window.

“You’re more beautiful than ever, Lily.” Quint spoke in a low voice. The ill-natured woman who had so reluctantly opened the door for him stood on the opposite side of the room, a vigilant guard. He didn’t think she could hear him, but he didn’t really care.

“Cora?” Lily lifted her eyes to the frowning woman. “Would you please prepare a pot of tea for my guest? Some sandwiches, also, and perhaps some of your marvelous sweetcakes.”

“Miss, I don’t…. ”

A suddenly stern glare from Lily silenced the woman, and she left the room in a huff.

“Insolent servant,” Quint observed when the woman was gone.

“I despair of ever findin’ a decent housekeeper again,” Lily said in a sweet drawl. “Cora’s a simply marvelous cook, but her attitude —”

“Stop it,” Quint ordered.

“Stop what?” Lily turned wide, innocent eyes to him and pouted. “Mr. Tyler, you —”

“Quint,” he corrected her. “Call me Quint, Lily.”

He saw it then, the flash of intelligence in her eyes, the fire that told him she was not the simpering female she sometimes pretended to be. “It’s not proper, Mr. —”

“Proper? What do you care about proper, Lily? Is your Captain here? Is he listening at the door, or pacing upstairs waiting for a report from Cora?” His impatience made his voice sharper than he’d intended.

Lily sighed and looked away from him, gazing into her lap at folded, gloved hands. “The Captain’s not here.” Her smile had vanished.

Quint cursed himself. He was off to a bad start, but Lily had rattled him somehow. Start again, fool, he reminded himself. Start again. He began with a smile.

“Forgive me. When my leg is acting up, I can be quite a bear. I would, however, very much like for you to call me Quint.” That was true. He wanted to hear her say his name, just once. “Even if only when we find ourselves alone.”

“Very well, Quint,” she obliged. “What have you been doing with yourself since I saw you last?” There was a spark in her eyes as she asked, perhaps as she chastised herself for reminding him of the last time they had found themselves alone together.

“Everything that has happened to me since Saturday has been dull. You’ve spoiled me, Lily Radford.”

“I can’t believe that.” Lily tried to smile brightly, but didn’t quite succeed. That wariness he had come to expect from her was dimming her response.

“It’s true, Lily.” He couldn’t take his eyes from her face. “You hurt my feelings, you know, when you didn’t even say good-bye.”

“The Captain was ready to leave…. ”

“You didn’t want to introduce us?”

Lily sighed. “Not particularly.” There was an almost wistful resignation in her voice.

Quint recognized her discomfort and relaxed his efforts. At least she had called him Quint. His gaze wandered around the parlor, a warm room filled with bowls of flowers and scattered books. He saw Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe and a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets. But there were also books on naval warfare and navigation, a dog-eared copy of Thoreau’s On the Duty of Civil Disobedience, Melville’s Moby Dick, and Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave. Quint was becoming more and more curious about this Captain Sherwood, an obviously learned man.

His gaze fell on the chessboard, the ebony and ivory men dusty and neglected. “Does Captain Sherwood play chess? Perhaps we could arrange for a game some evening.”

“No,” Lily answered quickly and sharply. “Actually, that’s mine.”

Quint lifted one eyebrow. “You play?”

Lily straightened her spine and looked Quint in the eye. There was a challenge there, a liveliness that she tried to hide. “I do play occasionally,” she drawled.

“I’ve never known a woman to make a decent chess opponent,” Quint said, knowing that would goad her on.

“Would you like to play, Quint?” She smiled, but there was mischief in her grin. He liked it.

Lily placed a small table between the loveseat and Quint’s chair, then set up the chessboard with nimble fingers, her white-gloved hands almost caressing the game pieces. She had the most graceful hands, with long fingers and delicate wrists. Her movements were slow, but strong and confident. It crossed Quint’s mind that she might remove her gloves to play.

He was disappointed in that respect, as she sat across from him and insisted that, as her guest, he move first. She had placed the ivory men in front of him and dusted her own black figures lovingly.

Lily hummed to herself and smiled vacantly. She giggled once and said she just didn’t know what to do next. Cora appeared soon after they began to play and laid out a table of tea and finger foods. She stopped near the doorway and resumed her guardian stance, but Lily shooed her out of the room with an agitated wave of her hand as she studied the board. Fifteen minutes later, Lily had Quint in checkmate.

“Well, look at that,” she said as she moved the black queen to complete her strategy. “Little ol’ checkmate.”

Quint laughed. He had been paying little attention to the game, instead concentrating on watching Lily’s face as she planned her moves. He didn’t even mind her exaggerated accent, not when she was having so much fun with it.

“I believe I underestimated you, Lily.”

She met his eyes then and managed to startle him. Those eyes were bold, daring, and vibrant. “Quintin Tyler, I do believe you’ve probably underestimated every woman you’ve ever met.”

“That may be true, but you’re the first woman who’s ever surprised me.” This revelation pleased her. He could see it in her face. “A rematch. I must regain my honor.”

“Is it dishonorable to be beaten?”

“By a woman?” he scoffed.

She took that as a challenge and they set up the board again. Lily insisted on keeping her black figures and allowing Quint to move first once again. This time he paid more attention to the game, and he beat her soundly.

“Checkmate,” he said, watching her face closely. He’d caught her off guard, and she twitched her freckled nose slightly.

“Bloody hell,” she said under her breath.

“I beg your pardon?” Quint leaned across the board, and Lily looked up, startled.

“Sorry. A nasty habit I’m picking up from... from the Captain.” She blushed, and he liked the color in her cheeks. But he hated being reminded of Captain Sherwood. “Would you like some tea and sandwiches now?”

“And leave this in a tie?” he asked incredulously, waving his hand over the gameboard.

“After we eat,” she said, standing suddenly. “I’m starving, and I don’t play well on an empty stomach.”

“All the more reason for me to insist that we finish the game immediately,” he teased.

Lily put a spoonful of sugar into her tea and piled two plates high with sandwiches and cakes. She cleared away the game and placed Quint’s plate in front of him, then sat on the loveseat with her own plate in her lap.

She ate slowly and without dropping so much as a crumb, but she didn’t pick at her food the way his sisters and Alicia had, as though eating was unnatural and distasteful. Quint liked that, the fact that Lily ate well. It didn’t fit her image as a brainless self-absorbed female. Maybe she didn’t realize that she was giving herself away.

For all their apparent distaste for food, none of his sisters had ever been as trim as Lily, a fact the gown he had seen her in that first day hid well. But her sapphire ballgown had shown him how finely shaped she was, and the simple green dress she wore as she sat across from him now molded to small, firm breasts, a tiny waist, and long, slender arms. She was taller than most women he knew, but no more than five-seven. At six-two, he could still look down at her. He remembered all too well doing just that.

Lily was eager to get back to the chessboard, and so was Quint. He liked the sparkle in her eyes, the challenge she accepted. He knew, no matter what front she presented to others, that she would not allow him to win simply to feed his male ego. She was an honest woman, beneath the facade. An anomaly. A mystery.

“Who taught you to play?” Quint asked as she removed their plates and set the game in front of him once again.

“My father.” A sweet sadness crossed her face as she answered him. “He said I learned quickly because I hate to lose. I suppose that’s true. He meant it kindly enough, but it’s not an admirable trait in a woman.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Quint spoke softly. He was afraid to break the spell that was revealing what he was certain was the real Lily Radford. “Your father sounds like a smart man.”

“He was.” Lily’s voice was low as well. A host of emotions flowed across her face. Anger. Sadness. A poignant look that broke Quint’s heart. “He... died a couple of years ago. A little more than two years ago, actually.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Lily lifted her eyes to him. He saw a moment’s hesitation, a fragment of time when she perhaps considered showing him something beneath her careful charade. He wanted to see more of the woman behind the mask.

“No,” she finally answered, but he had seen the warring emotions on her face.

The final game was the longest, the most fiercely competitive, but in the end Lily beat him fair and square, and the victory lit up her face. It was worth defeat, Quint decided, to see that look.

Cora’s continued and increasing interruptions reminded Quint that it was time to depart. He didn’t want to leave Lily. The thought of returning to his hotel room left him empty. The room would be cramped and lonely, and Dennison and Wright suddenly seemed poor companions for the evening. But he stood, and Lily handed him his cane.

“It’s been a most enjoyable afternoon,” he said sincerely. “I hope you’ll allow me a rematch.”

“Of course,” Lily answered with a smile.

Quint wanted to kiss her good-bye. It didn’t have to be a passionate kiss like the one on the hotel balcony. Just a brief touching of their lips—that was all he wanted. That would satisfy him.

Liar, he chided himself. Cora was hanging over her mistress, a warrior-like chaperone, so he couldn’t enjoy even that simple touch. But he knew it wouldn’t have been enough.

He wanted her. All of her. He wanted to kiss her hands, the hands she hid from him. He wanted to feel her breasts under his palms, in his mouth. He wanted to lock her in a room, any room with a bed, and make love to her until neither of them could move. His visit had done nothing toward ridding his thoughts of Lily Radford. If anything, he suspected his obsession with her was only stronger than before. He would dream about her tonight, again.

There was a stirring in his loins even as he walked away from Lily Radford’s house, and he cursed his own imagination.

He wanted her.

But he couldn’t have her.

 

Quint leaned back in his chair and studied the cards he held. He’d lost a fortune, but he couldn’t keep his mind on the game. Dennison was winning big, and John Wright had won a fair amount as the evening passed. The other two sailors had lost almost as much as Quint. Almost.

It was Lily Radford. She was forever in the back of his mind, smiling at him over the chess pieces, leaning toward him ever so slightly. He wanted to kiss her again, more than he’d ever wanted anything.

It was insane. He barely knew the woman, and she was another man’s mistress. It was scandalous, as she’d admitted, but Quint found that he couldn’t think less of her for it. She was beautiful, but not, Quint admitted to himself, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her mouth was a little too full, and her hair seemed to curl with a mind of its own. She was too tall, not at all dainty.

No matter how hard Quint tried to convince himself that Lily was not perfect, he couldn’t quite accomplish his goal. He liked her mouth too full, he liked her curling hair, and she fit perfectly in his arms, so she couldn’t possibly be too tall. He was drawn to her, and there was nothing he could do about that. Why couldn’t she be a simple shopkeeper’s daughter? Why did she have to be Captain Sherwood’s mistress?

It was the island. An island so beautiful, so enchanting, it would have been a wonder if he didn’t find himself entranced by some woman. After the years of fighting, of seeing death and bloodshed until he was sick of the sight, Nassau was a real paradise. He’d left behind the chill of the North for the balmy breezes of the island, the snowstorms and cold winds for gentle afternoon showers that fell to earth so softly, they seemed to be a gift from above, never a curse.

It was a good place to fall in love.

The thought shook him. He hadn’t imagined himself in love since he’d left his home and Alicia. He hadn’t imagined that he would ever find himself caught up in that emotion again. It was a trap that clouded a man’s thinking, and Quint didn’t want to fall in love... with Lily Radford or anyone else.

“Come on, Tyler,” John Wright prompted. “You can join us any time.” The burly captain leaned toward Quint and waved a big hand in his face. “It’s your bid.”

Quint tossed a coin absently into the pot and looked at his cards. There was nothing there. He was going to lose again.

Dennison was frowning slightly, and he leaned closer to Quint. “I seen the same look on your face as when I surprised you and Miss Lily at the ball,” he said in a low voice. “It’s a sad state of affairs when a man allows a woman to muddle his brain. I like you, Tyler,” he added. “I don’t want to have to bury you when Sherwood gets his hands around your bleedin’ neck.”

Quint ignored Dennison’s dire warnings.

He lost everything he had on him, then threw his cards onto the center of the table. Wright poured Quint a drink and slapped him on the back as he attempted to console the loser.

“Better luck next time,” Wright drawled, his Texas accent setting him apart from the British captains who frequented the hotel. “Have a drink on me, Tyler.”

Quint lifted the glass to his lips and emptied it in one toss. The other players, the other losers, had drifted away one at a time, and there were just the three of them remaining at the table. They hovered over their drinks in the smoke-filled room.

Quint tried to remind himself that this was why he was in Nassau. Not to get blindsided by a woman, but to gather information.

Dennison was moodily silent, as he sometimes was, but John Wright had had a bit too much to drink, and he started to talk in a loud whisper. Boasting. Telling secrets.

For the first time that evening, Quint was able to forget Lily, as he leaned forward and listened carefully to Captain Wright.