Page 34 of Part of Your World

Zane bent his head and kissed his mother's hair. "Thank you." He stepped back. "Just think—tomorrow you won't have to ambush me at the door to know how the evening went. You'll already be privy to all the pertinent details."

Mischief lit her eyes. "I might ambush you anyway. Just to keep you on your toes."

Zane chuckled. "Thanks for the warning." He dropped his hands from her shoulders and edged backwards a pace. "Now, have I satisfied your curiosity enough to earn my freedom?"

"Yes, yes." She made shooing motions with her hands. "Run off and do whatever it is young men do these days to pass the time."

He didn't know what other young men did, but he intended to read a letter from a particularly fetching redhead. Muriel might not be able to speak with her voice, but she could speak through words penned upon paper, and he didn't want to wait a minute longer to hear what she had to say.

After collecting his hat, he took the stairs two at a time and closed himself in his room. He spared only enough time to remove his collar, tie, jacket, and shoes before slicing open the envelope and extracting the folded pages from their sheath.

Dear Zane,

Is it all right that I address you as Zane? I realize it's not proper on such short acquaintance, but that is how I think of you. How I've thought of you since the day I pulled you from the sea.

His pulse vibrated like a guitar string strummed by her words. Zane. She thought of him as Zane. Such a little thing on the surface, but it carried deep implications. Implications of intimacy. Of attraction. Of—dare he hope—affection?

Dropping the envelope onto the desk, he crossed to the upholstered chair next to his armoire, dropped into the seat, and propped his feet upon the matching ottoman. Tilting the page to catch the light from the gas sconce mounted on the wall above his head, he returned to her words.

You will probably think me foolish, heaven knows my father and sister thought me so, but I wish to explain my feelings so that perhaps you might not think too badly of me when you learn of my deception.

Deception? Zane's feet fell to the floor and braced his body as he straightened in his chair. The warmth that had been running through him cooled several degrees and caused his stomach to tighten.

That day on the beach, as I held you in my arms and prayed for the Lord to spare your life, something happened to me. I don't want to call it love, because how can a person fall in love with someone they've never met? But something shifted inside me. The best description I can offer is that it felt as if my heart recognized yours. Like combing through the sand and finding one of them fancy shatelanes with a key still attached and knowing without even trying that it fit the lock on the door of my heart.

Zane frowned. Her grammar had slipped, and she'd misspelled chatelaine. More than that, she talked about the waist chain as if it were a rare object, not something every housekeeper wore on her belt. Yet her analogy fit his experience. She, at least, had been conscious at their first meeting. He'd literally been half-dead, yet he'd still felt a pull to find her. Felt the mysterious connection binding them.

When I first saw you at your home, and you said that you had hoped to see me again, I thought . . . maybe you felt it, too. So perhaps you will understand why I did what I did.

Did what? Impatiently, he shoved the first page of her letter behind the others and poured over the second page.

I wanted so badly to find you, but I didn't know how. Until a friend of mine told me about the Matchmaker. This woman had connections all over town. She could help me find you. Better than that, she could convince your parents that I was a suitable candidate for your affection.

Mrs. Underhill did not wish to take me on as a client, however. I had to take extreme measures to convince her, and once she agreed, she made it clear that the only way she would help me would be if I helped her in return. I gave her my word that I would do so. Then she made me promise that I would follow her instructions to the letter. Those instructions included me pretending to be temporarily mute. I cannot give you the reasons. Not yet, anyway. I shouldn't even be telling you this much, but after your reaction to the news of my false injury, I couldn't let you go on thinking that you were to blame. My voice is not impaired. It's probably coated with a thick layer of rust by now, but you caused me no harm.

Zane – I'm in a tangle. I've involved myself with a spider, and now I'm caught in her web. You and I don't know each other well yet, and I understand that you have no reason to trust me, but I'm taking a chance by trusting you. Please keep my secret. Just for a few weeks. I'll explain everything after I fulfill my duty to Mrs. Underhill.

I pray that you and God both will forgive my role in this deception. As much as I would like to blame the entire scheme on Mrs. Underhill, I agreed to participate, and therefore bear equal responsibility.

I care for you, Zane. Honestly and truly. Please don't end our courtship before it begins. But if you feel you must, I will understand. If our positions were reversed, I would have a hard time trusting someone with my heart if he hadn't been trustworthy in other matters. I do promise that I will never lie to you from this point forward. Every word I write will be truth.

Forgive me.

Muriel

Zane's hand dropped like an anchor, the weight of her words suddenly too heavy for him to hold the letter aloft. He sank against the cushioned back of his chair, air expelling from his lungs on a quiet groan.

She'd deceived him. She'd come into his house and pretended to be something she wasn't. Why? To play on his sympathies? To trick him into offering for her? Was she like all the rest—more interested in the Erickson name and inheritance than in Zane himself? He felt as if he were drowning all over again. Lost and thrashing in dark waters, unable to determine up from down, truth from mirage.

Like a lifeline tossed into his murky sea, Grandpa Clem's words came back to him. Just because a woman is perfect for you, don't mean she's perfect. Best not expect her to be.

How had he known? Had he sensed something amiss about her? But wait. Why would he imply she was perfect for him?

Memories from their meeting in the parlor fed his gasping heart. Muriel's hands on his face, eyes imploring him to believe that her lost voice was her fault, not his. Her note insisting he wasn't to blame. Her insistence that her voice would return. She hadn't been completely forthright, but she'd not taken advantage of his distress either.

Recollections of Muriel singing to the Lord with all her heart, her spirit laid bare in every note, swirled through his mind. No one could worship like that without having an authentic relationship with the Father. She'd not been putting on a show. She'd been in a secluded place, singing only for the ears of heaven. He'd been the interloper.

Yet if she were devout, how could she also be a deceiver?