Page 26 of Part of Your World

His breath caught in his throat and a leaden weight pressed upon his chest. He'd done this. He'd destroyed her voice. That passionate, glorious, God-given voice. Horror pulsed through his veins and threatened to drown him a second time.

Throwing himself out of his chair, he fell at Miss Quinn's feet and caught her hand between both of his as emotion choked him and made his own voice rasp with regret. "This is my fault, isn't it? I can't bear to think that my stupidity in the boat that day did this to you." He hung his head. "I'm so sorry, Miss Quinn. So wretchedly sorry. I should be the one to suffer. Not you."

"Zane." Mother's horrified whispered needled him in the back. "What do you think you're doing? Get off the floor this instant."

He ignored her. His need to atone overrode his need for propriety. Yet how could mere words atone for what he'd caused? What if she never sang again? Never spoke again? All because he'd failed to heed the position of the boom.

In his misery, it took a moment for him to realize that Miss Quinn was pulling her hand away from his grasp. Of course she was. He'd probably frightened her, making free with her person in such a manner. He dropped his arms, shrinking into himself. Why couldn't he act as a normal person around this woman? She must think him an emotional idiot.

He began to slink away, but before he could escape, she clapped his face between her hands and angled his chin upward. His eyes widened, and his gaze latched onto her face. Her ardently beautiful face. She didn't look at him with disgust or pity or even false politeness. Her hazel eyes sought his with desperation. She shook her head in a negative motion with such vigor, a tress of copper hair slid free to bounce beside her right ear.

She pounded her chest with her palm, as if trying to communicate that she was responsible. Which was utter rot. Then she raised a finger and dug around in the pocket of her skirt, squirming about on the sofa until she finally produced a small notebook and pencil. She opened it to a fresh page, scribbled a handful of words upon the paper, then handed it to him.

NOT your fault! She'd underlined not three times. My choice.

"You're an extraordinarily generous woman not to hold me responsible, Miss Quinn. Yet, there's no escaping the fact that had I been attending the sail as I ought, your injury never would have happened."

She returned pencil to paper. Silence filled the room as she wrote a longer note, the only sounds the scratch of the pencil and the ticking of the mantel clock. And Zane's heart. Though its pounding probably filled only his own ears. Finally, the scratching stopped, and she turned the notebook outward to face him.

If you hadn't fallen overboard, I never would have met you. Any temporary loss is worth that gain. Please don't worry about my voice. It will come back. I promise.

She promised? Zane wagged his head slightly as a smile found its way onto his face. He didn't know if that promise was based on a mighty faith or naive optimism, but he found he liked the positivity of it. Why not believe the best? He was starting to.

Did she really consider meeting him worth the price fate had forced her to pay? Rather extravagant in his estimation. He was no great prize. Yet he understood the sentiment, for nearly dying seemed to him quite a reasonable price to pay for meeting her. More bargain by the minute, as a matter of fact.

"Zane, please." Mother's pained tone pierced his conscience. "Retake your seat."

He pushed to his feet, his gaze holding Miss Quinn's as he stood. A smile brightened her eyes, stirring a tornadic whirl inside his chest that left him a tad lightheaded.

"May I call on you tomorrow evening? I know a great little ice cream shop."

She was nodding before he got more than half the invitation out.

He grinned, her overt eagerness delighting him more than any coy flirtation could have.

"Zane, really. We've barely learned anything about her."

His gaze remained locked on his siren. "I've learned plenty."

And he liked it all.

Chapter 12

Octavia practically purred as she settled onto the cushion inside her closed carriage. That couldn't have gone better had she scripted it herself. The Erickson heir had groveled. Right there on the carpet like a subservient whelp. How utterly glorious! The little urchin had performed better than Octavia had dared hope. She'd held her tongue for the entire meeting and had done an admirable job of enticing young Zane with her innocent enthusiasm.

An enthusiasm she might be laying on a bit thick. Octavia fought to keep her eyes from rolling as her charge thrust a hand through the lowered window on the far side of the carriage and waved at Mr. Erickson with all the subtlety of a foghorn.

The girl knew nothing of the delicate cat-and-mouse machinations required to lure men. She lacked sophistication, wore her every emotion on her sleeve, and couldn't even flirt properly. By all rules of engagement, she should have been politely dismissed. Yet she'd achieved the exact opposite. She'd finagled an invitation from one of the most sought-after bachelors on the island.

The carriage lurched forward, and Miss Quinn rocked in her seat, giving no indication that she planned to cease her ridiculous waving.

Octavia reached across and tugged the girl's arm inside the window. "That's enough, dear. Men appreciate encouragement, but they also like to be the ones to pursue. You might scare him off if you seem too eager."

She withdrew at once, flopping back against the padded seat as if to hide herself from view. Must the girl do everything with such . . . energy? Proper decorum was much less exhausting. Octavia sighed. Thankfully, Zane didn't seem to care much for proper decorum, so she supposed she would endure Muriel's penchant for exuberance. At least the girl had proven easy to manipulate, though she'd soon be operating outside of Octavia's supervision. Wild things could be unpredictable, and unpredictable could be dangerous to the one holding the strings.

"We have very little time together before we reach the academy," Octavia said as she moved her handbag to her lap and unfastened the clasp, "so I need you to pay careful attention to what I'm about to tell you."

The little twit had far too many stars in her eyes to focus.