Page 23 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

“Thank you, Wendy,” Nick said. He stood at the back of the room, poring over a sheet of paper littered with calculations. Angles, lenses, equations. Usual work for the week’s cases, though his tone was preoccupied. “Have you seen the vial of belladonna that was on the small desk?”

Wendy furrowed her brows, glancing up briefly. How unusual for Nick to ask about the little bottle with the dropper, the one he used to dilate patients’ pupils for their eye exams. “No,” she replied, though her curiosity over the missing vial quickly gave way to the need to finish her preparations.

The instruments rested in neat rows on the tray, gleaming in the light. Her trembling hands stilled as she stood back, willing herself to push the gnawing anxiety aside. There was work to do, and that was where her focus needed to be.

“Do we have enough clove oil for tomorrow?” Nick looked over his shoulder at the half-empty bottle on the metal tray on the side table.

“I put a spare bottle in the cabinet,” Wendy said just as Pippa swung into the room with an exuberant energy Wendy both admired and envied.

“Did he say anything?” Pippa suddenly asked, breaking the clinical focus with the kind of indulgent and amused curiosity that was typical of her.

Wendy glanced toward her sister-in-law, who stood at the mirror, removing her gloves and unbuttoning her pelisse, her ochre gown catching the morning light.

Pippa’s expression was expectant, the beginnings of a smirk playing on her lips.

Wendy turned back to the tray, her throat tight. “Who?”

“Who indeed,” Pippa teased. “The prince, of course! What did he say while the two of you floated across the dance floor, wrapped in whatever enchantment he cast over the room?”

Nick stilled but remained silent.

“I don’t believe we floated,” Wendy snapped, her tone harsher than intended. “It was just a dance.”

“Oh, Wendy, don’t insult my intelligence,” Pippa said, her voice lilting with humor.

She stepped closer, scrutinizing her reflection as she patted her curls into place.

“Even with my diminished eyesight, it was plain. There was such tension between you. Everyone felt it. The way he looked at you—it was as though the rest of us simply vanished from the room. He didn’t say anything to you at Cloverdale House yesterday? ”

Wendy’s chest tightened, the boundaries she had so carefully maintained threatening to crumble. Her older brother stared at her with a completely new expression she couldn’t decipher. Not precisely bewilderment or shock, but something in the general range of fear mixed with anger.

Oh dear.

So, Wendy decided to focus on her chest, willing her lungs to fill evenly with air, steadily. “You’re imagining it.”

“I’m not, and neither were the other guests. By the look of half those matrons with unwed daughters this season, you may already have enemies.” Pippa clasped her hands together with glee. “You looked so beautiful in his arms.”

Nick recoiled, his eyes widening as though he’d just been told the moon had fallen from the sky. He sputtered, clenching his cravat as if it had turned into a noose, and then broke into a cough.

Pippa, suppressing both a grin and a sigh, hurried to his side, her hands gentle as she patted his back. “Do breathe, Nick,” she teased. “It’s hardly a death sentence to be the belle of the ball in the arms of a prince.”

He rubbed at his temples as if reason itself were slipping through his fingers, his voice low and half-muffled. “Perhaps this is my punishment for letting her waltz with a prince,” he murmured, his mouth pulling into a rueful grimace before sighing.

“Pippa,” Wendy warned, an edge creeping into her tone.

“All right, I’ll stop,” Pippa replied, though her grin remained as she kissed Nick on the cheek. “At least for now. Don’t think you’ve escaped me entirely, Wendy.”

“Shall I walk you home?” His gaze lingered on Pippa with indulgent affection.

“I’m afraid I have a long day tomorrow and need about another two hours to prepare and come back.

” He looked at Wendy, who gave a faint nod.

“The emergency from this morning will return tomorrow for a change of bandages, Wendy.” As if no further explanation were needed for Pippa, he added, “Have you seen the belladonna vial? The one with the dropper to dilate the pupils?” Nick searched the room, his gaze narrowing as he pursed his lips and eyed the spot on the exam table where he usually kept the brown bottle.

Whatever he didn’t finish, Wendy gladly prepared. She’d be there for as many patients as possible. She clung to her need for distraction more than usual.

“Very well,” Pippa replied with mock submission.

Her hand brushed his as she prepared to leave, but she turned back once at the door, her gaze briefly meeting Wendy’s.

“I shall pay Violet a visit after I meet with the architects for the rehabilitation center. I will ensure that dinner will still be hot no matter how late you both come home.”

Wendy didn’t respond, locking her attention instead on the tray before her, but Pippa’s words echoed with unnerving weight.

When the door shut behind her, the room seemed emptier, though the sunlight and faint scent of Pippa’s perfume still lingered.

Wendy adjusted a scalpel slightly as Nick came to stand beside her.

His hand landed firmly on the back of the chair; she didn’t have to look to know his gaze had turned to her now.

“This is the first time we’ve been alone in a while.” he said with brotherly bluntness. “You’re moving like someone half-asleep.”

Wendy forced herself to smile. “I’m fine. I’ve assisted with surgeries on less rest than this.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His tone softened slightly, and when she glanced at him, the sharp, evaluating stare of a surgeon was gone. Replacing it was something harder to face—concern.

Her hands slipped. The tray tilted; metal clinked loudly against metal.

Wendy caught it before an instrument could fall but the tension snared her breath tight in her chest. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly, lifting the tray and crossing to the counter, desperate for distance. “I’ll—I’ll boil these again.”

“Wendy.” Nick’s voice was calm but steady. Unwavering. She glanced back reluctantly. He had moved to sit against the surgeons’ desk, arms crossed as he studied her.

“What?” she said—a little too defensively.

“I should’ve asked sooner,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “Do you have any affection for him?”

Her pulse thudded. The instruments lay heavy in her hands, too sharp, too cold. “I… I’m not sure what you’re after.”

“You know exactly what I’m asking,” he replied gently. “Do you like him? Prince Stan, I mean.”

Her throat tightened around the words she didn’t want to speak, words that crowded her mind with emotions she couldn’t untangle.

Like wasn’t the word. Not for the way her chest had warmed under his gaze or the fragility in her limbs when his hand brushed hers during the waltz.

Admiration, longing—just the memory made her want to step closer to some invisible warmth that lingered.

But then came the other side—the chill tether of reason.

She cleared her throat to break the tense silence. “It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s… a prince. I’m no one.”

Nick’s brow furrowed, his expression a study of disquiet. “Don’t say that.”

Wendy shrugged and dropped her head, suppressing a pout.

“Never say you’re less than what you are.” There was no heat in his voice, only a raw insistence that made her pulse falter.

She turned away, her gaze dropping to the polished wooden counter in front of her. “Nick, I’m a nurse,” she said softly, the words deliberate, as though each one carved the truth she’d resigned herself to. “I organize linens, clean instruments for surgery, and help you all. That’s all.”

“You’re more than that,” he replied, his tone sharpening with certainty.

“None of us could run this practice without you, don’t you know that?

” She shook her head, swallowing to try to rid her throat of the lump forming.

“Wendy, as much as it pains me to warn you that Stan is entangled in some very dangerous business, it is not because of your differences in stations that I think you should stay away from him.”

Her hands trembled as she gripped the rim of the counter, his words too much and too little all at once.

She wanted—desperately—to believe him, but doubt clung to her like a shadow.

“I know my place,” she whispered, barely loud enough for the words to escape.

“It’s here. With the doctors on Harley Street, not a prince. ”

Nick groaned, dragging a hand down his face as though his thoughts had settled there, and muttered, “It’s a cruel twist of fate, watching your sister cease to be a child right before your eyes.

” He sighed. “And yet I often wish Mother and Father could see you. They’d be so proud. At least as much as I am.”

Wendy willed herself not to cry and shifted her stance. “Well, I’ll stay as long as I’m needed here—but once things settle, I’ll return to Cloverdale House to help oversee treatments.” Wendy tried to smile, but her lips wobbled, and she felt tears pooling.

Nick inhaled sharply and stepped closer, his presence firm but his voice quieter and calmer now. “Will you?”

“Of course. I’ll always be there for you just as you’re always there for me.”

Nick slumped his shoulders. “But I haven’t been there enough since Pippa and I…I mean…”

“Oh, please! I know you fell in love, Nick. I’m glad you did.

” Wendy wiped the tears from her face with one of the towels she’d just prepared for surgery, making a mental note that she’d have to boil and press at least three more for tomorrow morning.

“Pippa is wonderful, and she’s the sister I never had.

Don’t worry about me, I’m not a little girl anymore. ”

“Tell me this, Wendy—what would you have said to me if I had thought myself unworthy of Pippa? If I had convinced myself that her title or my lack of it defined us? Would you have told me I was right to believe that?”

She swallowed hard, biting her lip as emotion welled in her chest. She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, and shook her head.

Of course not. And yet…

He pressed on. “Don’t limit yourself,” but even though his voice was steady as a soft tide, it betrayed more than he seemingly intended. “Don’t look at him and see only what you aren’t, Wendy. That’s no way to measure anything.” He pulled each word from somewhere deep.

“You don’t think I should let him… allow him to…

um…” It was too difficult to tell her older brother, who had stepped into the role of both parents at such a young age and had always been present.

For him to get married meant that Wendy would move into a house with him and Pippa.

But if Wendy ever thought about marriage, she would have to leave her brother.

The idea of not living together for Wendy and Nick was absurd.

Other siblings certainly had no issue with it, but Wendy and Nick—Nick and Wendy—brother and sister; they were always together, committed to being there for each other since their parents died.

Thus, she couldn’t go and explore what these feelings were for Prince Stan. She wasn’t able to untie the chains of her life if those very chains kept her safe and tied closely to her beloved brother who had been the only man in her life.

Until now.

Her throat burned with unspoken words, but her fingers moved of their own accord, crumbling the tear-stained towel, and brushing lightly over the cold steel of the instruments she worked with daily.

They felt familiar—solid, grounding—but couldn’t quiet the wild, uncertain hope that had begun to stir deep within her.

The dance. The prince’s eyes on hers. The way he had spoken, as if the rest of the world had faded. It wasn’t supposed to matter, and yet it did. Too much.

Nick’s hand, firm but gentle, rested on her shoulder.

It was the only reminder she had of where she stood at that moment, in that room.

“Wendy,” he said, and his voice was kinder now, almost solemn.

“You’ve always been everything you needed to be.

Don’t forget that. Don’t be afraid to ask for more.

” Tears stung the edges of her vision, though she blinked them back.

Slowly, she managed a nod. “But can you do me a favor, little sister?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t let the prince’s sparkling smile and manners trick you into his world. He is in much danger, and I fear it has just begun. I just signed off on a contract for outside guards at Cloverdale House.”

“What if it’s too late?” Because she prioritized the prince’s safety over her own, it was too late for her to turn a blind eye, wasn’t it?

“Wendy?” With a long, theatrically drawn-out sigh, Nick raked his fingers through his hair and muttered, “You were supposed to stay eight years old forever. How am I supposed to survive this torment? What if something were to happen to you?”

“I won’t allow it.” It wasn’t an agreement not to let the longing for the prince take root, but an acknowledgment that she’d chosen her brother if ever faced with a decision between one or the other, a promise she wasn’t entirely sure she could keep, not yet.

But when Nick gave her shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze, she leaned into his touch, letting the faint warmth of his support steady her.

“So, you’ll be careful?” he pressed on.

She wasn’t ready to say yes—to choosing her own path, to leaving Harley Street, to following her heart—not yet. But for now, she could hold onto the words her brother had spoken and the love that had shaped them.

And for the moment, it was enough. It had to be.