Page 21 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

“You want Wendy as your private nurse?” Andre seemed to test the words with the protectiveness of a big brother. Stan understood why. Of course, he did.

His jaw tightened, but his expression smoothed into neutrality, save for the slight lift of one dark brow.

He didn’t need to say anything. Andre’s own stance answered questions unvoiced.

His shoulders were squared, feet planted firmly as if bracing against something unseen.

The message was clear—and Stan didn’t miss any part of it.

Andre’s closeness to Wendy wasn’t born simply out of respect.

It ran deeper, a connection strong enough to make any man cautious.

Stan didn’t falter under Andre’s gaze, though a flicker of heat crept across his skin from restraint.

He turned his attention inward, deliberately keeping his emotions penned tightly where they couldn’t betray him.

He liked Wendy, perhaps too much, and Andre would know it, even without Stan admitting it.

The pulse of tension hummed between them, filling the chasm of unspoken truths. But just as Stan began to settle into this unyielding exchange, another connection struck him—a thought so sudden it hit like a blow. Thea.

“You saved my sister.” Stan narrowed his eyes slightly, observing Andre with renewed scrutiny.

There it was again—that faint flicker, that hiccup of hesitation in the otherwise calm fortitude Andre carried.

It was gone as quickly as it came, but not before Stan noted it.

His brow arched a little higher, his expression cool, as if asking, Shall we talk about you and Thea, then?

Andre remained silent, his steady hands folding the used towel over and over until it was a lumpy ball, though his jaw flexed.

A crack in his control. That was all it took for Stan’s suspicions to slip into sharper focus.

Of course, Andre would never overstep, yet the thread of something lingered—proof etched in the slight shift of his mouth, the tension in his grip.

Stan tapped his fingers idly against his thigh, feigning nonchalance to mask the new string of questions unraveling in his head.

“When people need my help, I try to be there.” Andre reached for another cloth, his movements more clipped than usual. He settled the bandage in place with a final tug, firmer than before.

“Is that so?” Or, is that all ?

“You’re fortunate this hasn’t worsened,” Andre said, his voice steady but just a shade colder than usual. “It should hold for now, but only if you rest. No excursions. No lifting swords. No making life harder than it already is.”

Stan tilted his head, offering a slight nod as though acknowledging the words, but his mind lingered on the changes he’d seen in Andre. The moments were fleeting but all too telling, and not just about Wendy. He straightened, his posture sharper despite the dull ache settling deeper in his body.

It was laughable—the notion of him being scrutinized over feelings for another man’s sister. Yet, here he was mirroring Andre’s own exacting nature, shielding Thea as fiercely as Andre guarded Wendy.

Andre finally stood back, brushing his hands together as though shaking off the tension along with the task. “You should be sleeping right now,” he added, his voice far less pointed, though his stare hadn’t lost its sharpness.

“I’ll think about it,” Stan replied, his tone carefully neutral.

He rolled his shoulder, testing the bandage’s hold, but his thoughts collided inwardly.

The bond between Andre and Wendy might have been clear, but something stirred deeper—and just as quietly—involving Thea. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

With a slight shake of his head, Stan exhaled through his nose.

“Thank you,” he added, softer this time, though as he turned, a flicker of dissatisfaction curled in his chest. He wasn’t only thanking Andre for the care.

That unacknowledged respect simmered beneath.

Perhaps that’s why nothing more needed to be said.

Neither man wanted to dissect uncharted territory, not when it entailed too much.

Even so, Stan wasn’t blind to the deeper intentions wrapped tightly with their mutual silences. These threads—woven and unspoken as they were—wouldn’t unwind easily.

“I wonder whether it’s the safety that draws you,” Andre remarked airily, turning away to tidy his supplies.

Ignoring him, Stan stood on slightly unsteady legs. “I’ll arrange for more outside guards as well. Baron von List won’t just—”

“Rest,” Andre interrupted firmly, his voice sharp enough to cut. “It’s admirable to protect others, Stan. But remember, you can’t protect anyone if you can’t stand. You may think yourself invincible, but even princes can crumble.”

Stan wanted to argue, but his fever clouded even his stubbornness.

He nodded curtly, but inside, resolve churned with emotion he wouldn’t admit outright.

Wendy. He would see her again, heedless of his better judgment or the warnings coiled in the back of his mind.

Admitting it was dangerous. But not seeing her? That was unthinkable.