Page 39 of Part of Your World

Father sputtered for a moment before grasping another argument. "She's a liar. She admitted it herself."

"Aye, I did." Muriel jumped in before Zane could offer a defense.

She turned toward him, apology thick in her gaze. Zane gave a small nod, letting her know all was forgiven as far as he was concerned. Her chin lifted a fraction as she swung her attention back to his father.

"I misled ye with me silence and failed to correct the false picture Mrs. Underhill painted when she spoke of me da, but it has nothin' to do with money."

"Everything has to do with money," Father muttered under his breath.

"I care about Zane. We might still be gettin' acquainted, but me heart is already threaded to his." She glanced Zane's way, and his blood pulsed twice as strong and three times as fast as it had a moment ago. "Zane, I'll tell ye the whole of it, and if ye want me gone after I've said me piece, I'll not bother ye again. But if ye think what's growin' between us might be real and lastin', I ask ye to give me the chance to prove meself faithful to ye."

Zane rounded the table and took her hand in his, ignoring his father's overheated glare that was trying to burn a hole in his shoulder. "I'll give you a hundred chances, if you'll give me the same."

She straightened away from the table as if she no longer needed its support. As if holding fast to him was all she required. He moved closer and murmured softly in her ear. "We can talk in my mother's sitting room."

Muriel nodded, her eyes brimming with trust and a touch of trepidation. Whatever secret she continued to harbor weighed enough to worry her that he might yet reject her. Nothing would cause him to reject her. The sooner he convinced her of that fact, the sooner they could get down to the serious courtship they both desired.

She placed her hand on his arm and let him lead her away from the table.

"I won't be a party to you throwing your life away, Zane," his father growled from behind them. "Go against my wishes, and I'll cut you off."

Zane flinched, but he didn't stop walking. Not until they reached the dining room doorway and Muriel paused. She turned back to face the table, but she, too, ignored his father. Instead, she addressed herself to his mother.

"Thank ye fer the fine meal, Mrs. Erickson. I'm sorry to have caused such disruption."

Mother, who couldn't have looked more stunned if a crew of pirates had just swung through the French doors and commandeered her supper table, managed to tip her head in acknowledgment. A verbal response appeared beyond her current capabilities.

Rather ironic that a working-class Irish girl displayed better manners than either of his parents.

When they reached the sitting room, Zane closed the door halfway. He'd not risk her reputation by closing it all the way, but he wanted to give them as much privacy as possible. He led her to a pair of pale green upholstered parlor chairs situated near the small hearth on the far side of the room. Her silk skirt belled around her as she perched on the edge of the cushion. He scooted his chair closer to hers, hoping to convey the message that he wasn't going anywhere.

Zane took his seat, his knees deliciously close to hers. "I'm so sorry about my father. He was completely out of line. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted nothing to do with my family or me after that fiasco." Who would want to marry a man knowing the future held nothing but scorn from his family? His breath hitched. Maybe the true danger was of her wanting nothing to do with him. "I promise that I don't share his views," Zane hurried to add. "I respect a man who works hard to provide for his family. I'd rather have honor and integrity than a big house and expensive things. That's one of the reasons I wanted to work for Mr. Clayton. Not only have I always loved building things and been fascinated by the combination of science and art found in architecture, but I also didn't want to be one of those indolent wastrels who lived off his parents' money. I want to make my own way in the world. Even if my father doesn't cut me off, I plan to separate myself from his provision. Get my own place. Live off my own salary. I had thought to do so after completing my apprenticeship and receiving a promotion to draftsman or assistant designer. However, if the need arises sooner, I'm prepared. I've been squirreling away my earnings for the last few years. Should I . . . uh . . . find myself with a wife to provide for, I'd be able to do so. Not at this level," he said with a wave of his hand to indicate the ornate furnishings around him, "but in modest form." Heat flushed his face. "So, if you were hoping to be part of this world, you might need to brace yourself for disappointment."

"Zane." She leaned toward him, her eyes round and glimmering with sincerity. "I don't want to be part of this world." She, too, gestured to the well-appointed room. "I want to be part of yer world. Wherever ye are, that's where I want to be. Whether that be here among yer father's people, in a small house off Avenue M, or even in a different city altogether. I just want to be with ye."

Warmth infused Zane's chest. How many young women of his acquaintance would make such a proclamation? Privilege was what they knew. What they expected. He couldn't imagine any of them being content with a small house on Avenue M. Yet he could picture Muriel smiling and laughing just as much there as anywhere.

"Before we go plannin' our future, though, I have a bit more confessin' to do." Her chin dropped, as did her lashes, hiding her vibrant eyes from him. "Ye may not want any part o' me once ye learn the rest of me story."

"I very much doubt that."

Her mouth turned upward at his words, but it was a cautious smile, not one of her unfettered grins that beamed like the sun.

She lifted her reticule to her lap and played with the drawstring holding it closed. "Do ye recall yer father sayin' that he'd taken matters into his own hands regardin' Mrs. Underhill?"

Zane thought back through all the harsh things his father had said and remembered how his mother had recoiled at something he'd said along those lines when she'd tried to soothe his temper. "I think so."

"Well, Mrs. Underhill claimed that he stole a journal from her, one in which she keeps all her business records. I couldn't afford to pay her to help me find ye, so she agreed to help me if I helped her in return. I'm to find the book he stole and steal it back." She pulled a brown leather journal from her handbag. "I'm supposed to replace it with this empty one. If I don't succeed, she'll reveal the truth about who I really am, which doesn't much matter now, but she also threatened to destroy me da's reputation. To whisper lies into the ears of important men, accuse him of skimmin' cargo and conductin' underhanded dealings. Not only that, but she plans to ruin me sister's husband, too. Accuse him of stealin' from guests at the Beach Hotel and plantin' evidence to make it believable. She'll destroy me family, Zane. All because o' me. I can't let that happen." Her voice cracked and so did his heart.

"We'll find a way through this, Muriel. I promise." But would they? He wanted to help her, yet helping her meant betraying his father. His loyalty was being torn down the middle. His father or Muriel? His father had stolen a journal to protect his family. Muriel agreed to steal it back to protect hers. He'd known his father his whole life. He'd known Muriel for less than a month. Which path was the right one to take?

Chapter 18

Muriel slipped the journal back into her handbag, hoping she'd feel less vulnerable when the proof of her guilt no longer stared her in the face. A sigh slid from her lips. Zane didn't deserve to be stuck in this impossible position. 'Twas unfair to ask him to go against his da. Mr. Erickson might be an ill-tempered crab with overactive pinchers, but he was still Zane's family.

"I'm so sorry, Zane. About all of this." She hung her head and picked at the fabric of her borrowed dress.

"I'm not sorry," he said as he reached for her hand. "Not about all of it, at least." He sought out her gaze. "I'm not sorry I have the chance to court you." The roguish wiggle of his eyebrows lightened her heart and caused her belly to flip. "I'm not sorry that you speak with an utterly charming accent. I could listen to you read a grocery list and be enamored."