Page 27 of A Touch of Charm (Miracles on Harley Street #3)

T hea didn’t like Stan’s authoritative stance when he stood in the doorway.

Andre was firmly seated behind his desk, scribbling something in a ledger.

The room was in perfect order.

Of course, he could put one and one together—better, Thea and Andre, but that didn’t mean he could pretend to be her father. And if there was one thing Thea had learned for as long as she could remember, it was how to handle an older brother.

Andre looked ruffled. He sat at his desk, papers neatly stacked, his posture as straight as if carved from marble. Too straight. And Thea felt the thrill of it all because she’d done that to the handsome doctor, her Andre. When he spoke, his voice was calm—polite, even. “Hello Stan,” he said, his tone measured, “what’s the problem?”

Thea’s heart jumped at the sharpness of Stan’s reply. “You know exactly what the problem is,” he snapped, his words cracking through the air. “You were alone with my sister!”

Heat crawled up Thea’s neck, her cheeks burning as if all the sins of the moment were branded there for judgment. She wanted to speak—to defend Andre, to explain that nothing untoward had occurred—but the words stuck in her throat, a lump of fear and shame she couldn’t dislodge. And she didn’t want to lie about something so wonderful.

Andre, however, remained stiff. He gestured faintly to the desk in front of him, his fingers barely moving as he replied, “As you can see, I am seated at my desk, a respectable distance from your sister. Hardly the scandalous scenario you imply.”

Thea’s pulse thrummed like a drum as her gaze flicked between the two men. Andre’s expression didn’t shift, his dark eyes steady on Stan’s face, cool and undeniably correct. Stan, by contrast, seemed to falter. His frown deepened, his jaw clenched, a vein in his temple pulsing with frustration. He glanced her way, his brow furrowing further as though searching for evidence to back his accusation.

But there was nothing. Thea stood exactly where she had been moments before, her back near the window, feet planted firmly in place. Five solid paces separated her from Andre’s desk—a gulf that no amount of Stan’s bluster could overcome. She saw his anger waver in his eyes, his certainty unraveling like a loose thread.

The silence that followed was excruciating, pressing on Thea’s chest like a weight. She felt light-headed as if she were caught in the eye of a storm, waiting for it to spin her out. Stan’s mouth opened, but no words came, his shoulders sagging imperceptibly before he finally looked away.

“I needed to speak with him about something.” Thea gave Stan a piercing look, but he seemed calm, taking in the condition of the room.

“What?” Stan’s tone was grumpy, and Thea bristled at that.

“A patient.”

“You don’t treat any patients,” Stan said matter-of-factly.

“I still see them; one in particular caught my eye.”

Andre looked up for an instant, and Thea saw his mien falling when his eyes met Stan’s. Andre instantly looked down, dipped his quill in the ink pot, and scribbled more.

What was he writing, a novel?

When Stan pursed his lips in the same manner that Father did when Thea didn’t want to obey, she bristled, and indignation surged within her. She’d run away to find autonomy and surely didn’t come this far to exchange one authority figure for another. She’d decide who she’d fall for… oh, and she’d fallen, that was certain.

For Andre.

Oh dear.

She sighed.

She glanced at Andre again, and he looked at her for a moment, a black hunger flaring up in his eyes, and then he cleared his throat and blinked back down at the ledger on his desk.

Good.

“Thea, explain yourself,” Stan thundered.

“Why should I?” She folded her hands before her and stood in the simple dress as if she were in Bran Castle in a ball gown on the top of the stairs, about to descend for a grand ball. Yet beneath the surface, her heart hammered wildly. Heat bloomed under her skin, and she could feel the flush combined with the tingling awareness still lingering on her lips where Andre’s had been. She ached with a disorienting mixture of want and mortification, her body betraying the fierce restraint she maintained. The room felt too small, the air too thick, and though she held herself steady, as if carved from marble, inside, she was molten, trembling on the edge of unraveling completely.

My big brother interrupted my first kiss!

Thea was seething on the inside.

“Because I demand it,” Stan said, standing ramrod as if he were in military uniform again like he was all those years ago when his father forced him to undergo training and achieve a rank he could be proud of. Father had different demands from each of them and remained unhappy regardless of how much honor they brought back home.

Mary came in, her usual bubbly self, but around her waist was an apron. “I’m the assistant nurse.”

Behind her emerged a young woman who looked at Andre as if demanding to know what was happening. This must be the nurse he’d mentioned.

“Your Royal Highness,” the nurse took a bow. It was all wrong, but Thea appreciated the gesture and gave a friendly nod. More and more people knew that she was a princess. Even though Andre’s friends were probably not dangerous, Thea worried that there was danger still lurking somewhere.

*

Andre wasn’t pleased by the interruption either. A kiss like that—a kiss that left a man’s mind and body in utter chaos—deserved far more than the bubbly intrusion of Mary’s cheerful chatter. Still, he couldn’t deny a flicker of relief as her arrival dissolved Stan’s makeshift interrogation. Any reprieve from Stan’s suspicious glare was welcome, though Andre was sharply aware of why he had been so quick to corner him—he’d do the same in his place if his sister had been caught with… but one glance at Thea’s lingering flush, the soft bloom on her cheeks, and any fool could guess what had transpired. And as for himself—he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his body insistent on betraying him in a manner most unbefitting of a gentleman. Stiff didn’t begin to describe it; bracing himself was perhaps closer to the truth. But even now, despite the interruption and his predicament, he couldn’t bring himself to regret a single moment of what had just passed between Thea and him.

“Who needs my help?” Mary asked, ready to take a patient.

“Euhm…” Stan grimaced and shot Andre a look for help. “Miss Folsham is back. Nurse Wendy.”

Was Stan stammering her name as Wendy entered the room?

Andre narrowed his gaze.

Interesting, a moment ago, he could have threatened Andre.

“We should look at the stitches,” Andre said as he rose from behind his desk. “It’s good to have you back, Wendy,” he added, and she came to the treatment bed near the wall. “Stan?”

Andre seemed to purposefully not look at Thea lest he betray something.

“I need to see, I’m the assistant nurse!” Mary declared, twirling in her white apron.

Andre suppressed a chuckle and searched Thea’s face for help, but she had none to offer.

Wendy retrieved a bowl, a bottle of witch hazel, a few bandages, and a tray with other supplies from a cabinet. Then she paused and gave Andre a look.

He nodded in Stan’s direction. “Would you like me to clear the room for you?”