Page 43 of Part of Your World

"Zane!"

Recognizing the voice, Zane drew to a halt and turned.

"I thought that was you!" Max Trimble excused himself from a group of young people that included Wilhemina Davis and a frowning Constance MacArthur. He jogged over and slapped Zane lightly on the shoulder. "I guess I know why you've been making yourself scarce lately. Why hang out with the likes of me when you have this lovely lady's company to enjoy?" He sketched a bow toward Muriel and offered one of his most charming smiles. And since this was Max, the smile was exceedingly charming. The rogue.

Zane managed not to roll his eyes, but only because Muriel seemed unaffected by his friend's efforts. She offered him a polite smile, but not the one that crinkled her eyes and lit her entire face.

"Max Trimble, may I present Miss Muriel Quinn? Miss Quinn, this unrepentant rogue is my good friend, Max."

Muriel inclined her head but did not speak. Was she retreating behind her wall of silence again? Did she think her accent would embarrass him?

Max displayed no such reticence. "A pleasure, Miss Quinn." He turned back to Zane. "We were about to head over to the roller rink for some skating. Why don't you and Miss Quinn join us?" He tipped his head in the direction of S.D. Flet's Roller Skating Rink on the other side of the hotel.

"Maybe another time," Zane said. "Miss Quinn and I have different plans."

"What plans are those?" Constance MacArthur sauntered over to invade the conversation and wrapped her fingers around Zane's vacant arm as if she had some claim to him. She aimed a pout in his direction. "Surely, whatever it is can wait an hour. We haven't seen you in ages, Zane. It's not like you to abandon your friends."

Zane could feel Muriel retreat, her hand sliding away from his elbow. He squeezed his arm against his side, trapping her hand before she could escape.

"Sorry, Constance. Not this time." Zane smiled to try to soften his answer, knowing Constance didn't take rejection well.

"Don't be silly," she insisted. "You don't mind, do you, Miss Quinn? Unless, that is, you don't know how to skate?" When Muriel gave no answer, Constance forced a laugh. "Do you know how to talk?"

Max frowned. "Constance, leave her be."

She waved him off. "Oh, don't be so stuffy, Max. She knows I'm teasing, don't you, Miss Quinn?"

Muriel offered a tight smile as her only response. Her eyes flashed, though, reassuring Zane that Constance wasn't succeeding in cowing her. Constance was succeeding in stoking his ire, however.

Zane pasted on a bland expression as he surreptitiously twisted his arm to try to break Constance's hold. Unfortunately, the woman proved as hard to shake as an attached ivy vine. What was her game? He'd never given her any reason to think he had an interest in courting her. Just because she was Wilhemina's friend and therefore made an easy fourth when Max invited Zane out didn't mean she had any claim on him. Did she suddenly feel possessive because Muriel was from outside their set?

"Have fun at the skating rink, Max." Zane shot him a pleading glance followed by a darting look to his arm where Constance's hand rested. "Stop by the house later tonight for a game of billiards."

"You got it." Max winked then took Constance's other arm. "Come on, Constance. Willie and the others are waiting on us."

Finally, the woman's fingers loosened their grip. But just as her hand slid free of Zane's coat sleeve, another player entered the scene. A freckle-faced boy of about nine or ten ran toward them, his face split in a wide grin. His trousers were rolled to just below his knees, and his legs were coated with wet sand. He waved an energetic arm above his head.

"Muriel! Muriel!"

A smile of equal width blossomed on Muriel's face as she turned to greet the youngster. "Fletcher!" She pulled her hand free of Zane's hold and jogged a few steps to meet her nephew, her arms spread wide.

The boy didn't hesitate. He flung himself into her arms, dislodging her shawl. Not that she cared. Muriel's sweet laughter filled the air as she hugged him tight and lifted him straight off the ground, heedless of the wet sand rubbing off on her aquamarine dress.

"Ah, Fletcher, but I've missed ye, me wee lad."

Zane's chest warmed at the exuberant display of affection, something that had been sadly lacking from his family for years. Except for the occasional half hugs from Grandpa Clem, his life had been rather sterile. How he longed for what the Quinns had. Open affection, demonstrative love, fierce dedication to each other instead of polite tepidness.

"Well, now we know why she's so reluctant to talk, don't we?" Constance's caustic tone scraped Zane's nerves raw. "Does your mother know you're stepping out with a common Irish tart?"

Zane jerked his face toward Constance, his glare so hot she stepped back. "There's nothing common about Miss Quinn. She's the most exceptional woman I've ever met, and anyone who dares besmirch her reputation with unfounded rumors will earn my scorn."

Constance's eyes widened for a heartbeat before they hardened. "Enjoy your summer fling with the help, Zane. Come see me when you're ready to grow up and marry a woman of standing."

"You dishonor us both with such talk," Zane said through a tight jaw. "I think it's time you rejoin Wilhemina and the others."

Constance stormed off. Zane turned to Max, who looked as shocked as he by Constance's vitriol.

"Sorry, Zane. I never meant to cause a scene. Wilhemina said something about Constance being under a lot of pressure to make a good match this summer. She must have thought she could bring you up to scratch."