Page 51 of Part of Your World

"Ye're wrong." Muriel came to Zane's side and slid her hand around his arm. Zane instantly felt a foot taller. "I never wanted Zane fer his money. I only ever wanted him. Ye're the fool if ye cut him out of yer life. He's yer son. There's no greater treasure than family."

"Ha! Even now she's scheming. Hoping I'll change my mind. Well, I won't. Stick with him, sweetheart, and you'll end up with nothing."

"Nay." Her fingers tightened on Zane's arm, and he turned to see her eyes upon him, their hazel depths glowing with love. "I'll end up with everything."

"Not everything!" Father waved the journal then yanked open the door.

Zane lurched forward, intending to chase his father down, but Muriel held tight to his arm. "Let him go. He'll not be giving it up."

He glanced back at her. "But what about your family?"

Her shoulders slumped. "I'll plead fer mercy, I suppose, though I doubt she'll give any. 'Tis in God's hands now. I pray his mercy outweighs Mrs. Underhill's ruthlessness."

Zane cupped her cheek. "I'm sorry, Muriel. Father . . . he . . ."

What excuse could he give? None existed. His father had proven to be selfish, pitiless, and corrupted by greed. Zane's hand fell from her face, and he looked away, too shamed to meet her gaze.

Muriel took his face in hand and brought his chin around. "I'm the one who's sorry, Zane. Sorry to come between yer father and yerself. For the wounds he inflicted upon ye. I pray he sees the truth before it's too late. That his relationship with ye can be mended."

He leaned into her touch, thankful to have her by his side. To have her affection. Her support. Perhaps even her love.

"I'll pray for that, too. But I meant what I said. I'll be leaving his house. This week, if I can find a place to live."

She smiled. "Finally, I've got connections that can be of use to ye. We'll find ye a place. Don't ye fret."

His heart rate kicked up a level. "Would you . . . help me pick it out? After all, I'm . . . ah . . . hoping it will eventually be your home, too."

Pink flushed her cheeks, but her smile widened. "Zane Erickson. That wouldn't be a proposal, now, would it?"

Now he was the one with overheated cheeks. "Let's . . . ah . . . call it a declaration of intent. I'll need time to get my affairs in order and have a conversation with your father before I can make it official. But I love you, Muriel, and I want you to be part of my world. Wherever that world might be."

Her thumb stroked the edge of his jaw, and the shivers it produced drove his thoughts straight to her lips.

"Those're the sweetest words I've e'er heard." Her whispery voice set him ablaze. "And I declare me own intent . . . I intend to be yer wife, Zane Erickson. To love ye all my livelong days and let nothin' but death separate us."

As if she'd just said the vow before a preacher, Zane drew her against his chest, more than ready to kiss his future bride. But as he lowered his mouth toward hers, the sound of running footsteps in the hall restored his sanity. He lifted his head and backed away, regretfully losing the connection of her hand on his face as his arm uncoiled from her waist.

Vanessa, Mrs. Underhill's intrusive maid, ducked her head into the office. After spying them, she ducked her entire self inside and closed the door behind her.

"Did you get the journal?" The young woman was out of breath and wielding none of the condescending confidence that usually exuded from her countenance.

Muriel shook her head. "Nay. Zane's father has it still. He's made it clear he'll not be givin' it up. I'll find Mrs. Underhill and tell her."

"No!" Vanessa ran forward and grabbed Muriel's arm. "You can't. You have to give her the journal. Tonight."

"But I don't have it."

"Then pretend you do." The maid waved her hand in a jerky fashion. "Use the . . . the replacement journal."

Zane frowned as he reached into his coat pocket and fingered the leather of the blank notebook he carried. "What good will that do? The moment Muriel hands it over, Mrs. Underhill will open it and see that it's a fake. A stunt like that will only earn her ire."

"You don't understand." She didn't spare Zane more than a glance. Instead, she took hold of Muriel's other arm and gave her a little shake. "She'll probably ruin me for telling you, but I got brothers of my own, and I'll not be able to live with myself if something happens to him."

The color leaked from Muriel's face. "Happens to who, Vanessa?"

"Your nephew. Octavia's got him stashed on a boat anchored offshore about a half-mile west of the Beach Hotel. If you don't hand over the journal, she'll signal the smuggler she hired, and the boy will suffer an accident at sea."

Muriel reached for the desk behind her, her agonized gaze piercing Zane's heart. "God preserve us. She's got Fletcher."