Page 26 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

“O ne, two, three,” Wendy whispered, her voice fraying at the edges. “Don’t leave me.”

Her voice broke as she pressed the fresh compress against Stan’s brow, her other hand trembling around his wrist, with the faintest pulse kick against her fingertips. She leaned closer, her breath warm and feather-light near his ear.

“One, two, three,” her voice cracked now, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. “You’re so close.”

The words slipped out again, soft and desperate, her lips barely moving.

They weren’t just for him anymore. They were for herself, a thread to hold as everything else threatened to unravel.

“Fight this. Don’t leave me,” she repeated, her whisper growing louder, firmer, like a plea to the universe itself.

Before she could breathe another word, his entire body jolted faintly beneath her touch.

Wendy gasped, pulling back just slightly, her eyes darting to his face.

His chest rose with a sharp inhale. The tiniest flicker passed through his features—his brow twitching, his lips parting, his lashes trembling as if dragging himself out of the abyss.

And then—his eyes opened.

Wide and unfocused at first, they roved the room as though seeking something. Then they found her, and everything stilled.

Wendy’s breath caught in her throat. Her hand froze mid-motion, her damp cloth dragging to a stop against his temple. His hazel gaze was murky, shadowed with fever’s grip, but he was there. He was looking at her.

“One, two three. Don’t leave me,” Wendy murmured again, the words spilling out too easily now, her mind trying to catch up to what she was seeing.

“Never,” came his cracking voice—hoarse, barely audible, but unmistakably his.

The sound of it hit her like a blow, striking something unbearably tender inside her chest. All the tears that had been threatening for hours finally welled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks.

She had thought she might never hear that voice again, never see that gaze sharpen with recognition, and yet here he was. Broken, weak, but here—alive.

“Stan…” she whispered, her voice thick with relief. She pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, noting the persistent heat but relishing the way his skin shifted under her touch, no longer deathly slack. “You’re—You’re awake.”

His lips turned in the faintest flicker of a smile, weary but full of something warm, something steady. “You called me back,” he rasped, his eyes still locked on hers.

Wendy’s chest tightened, her pulse thundering in her ears.

“I couldn’t—I wouldn’t…” Her words tangled, her gaze falling to her lap for a brief moment before she met his eyes again.

“You’re too stubborn to leave anyway,” she added, trying for levity, though the shaky laugh that escaped her betrayed how close she was to falling apart.

His hand shifted weakly on the bed, fingers twitching as though trying to reach for hers. She noticed, and without hesitation, she clasped his hand between both of hers, and kissed his thumb, her grip firm despite the warmth that lingered on his fevered skin.

“Stay with me,” she said softly, her throat tightening, the words laced with everything she couldn’t say aloud in that moment.

His grip, faint as it was, tightened around hers. “Always.”

The single word, resonant and solemn, sparked something fierce in Wendy, something she couldn’t describe and didn’t dare try to name.

The storm of anguish and fear that had gripped her all night began to subside, leaving a fragile but undeniable hope in its wake.

For the first time since it all began, she allowed herself to believe. He might just make it.

And if he did… what then? How could she possibly go back to pretending none of this mattered—pretending he didn’t matter?

The door creaked open, and Wendy turned her head, startled by the quiet intrusion. Andre entered, his expression carrying its usual calm authority, though his eyes softened at the sight of Stan’s now-open ones. Relief flickered across his face.

“Oh good,” Andre approached and set a fresh basin of water on the bedside table. “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” His tone was light, but his hands moved efficiently as they examined Stan’s pulse and leaned closer to check his breathing.

Stan gave a faint chuckle—or was it a groan?

—and closed his eyes briefly, as if Andre’s words didn’t require a response.

Wendy, perched on the edge of her chair, felt torn between lingering, and leaving.

Her relief at seeing Stan awake weighed heavily on her chest, but a strange exhaustion began to creep into her limbs.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there, but now that Andre was present, she felt her knees weakening.

Or was it the effect of the moment between her and Stan rather than fatigue?

“Wendy,” Andre said gently, without looking up from his work. The use of her first name caught her attention more than his tone. “Let me take over a little. It’s four in the morning, take a turn to rest.”

Her hands twisted in her lap, reluctant to obey. “But—”

Andre glanced up then, cutting off her protest with a pointed look. Yet his voice remained kind, steady. “You’ll do him no good if you collapse. Leave him with me now.” He paused, cocking his head. “You look like you’ve been through a battle of your own.”

She opened her mouth to argue but saw the truth in his words. Her hands had lost their earlier steadiness, and her nerves were frayed to the point of snapping. She nodded slowly, rising to her feet.

Her gaze lingered on Stan’s face as if to reassure herself that he truly was awake—he truly was here.

His heavy eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment, landing on hers, and his lips curved into that faint, tired smile.

It was a promise disguised as gratitude, a reassurance that she could step away.

Andre distracted him, murmuring something technical as his experienced hands moved efficiently over the bandage at his shoulder.

With nothing left to do, Wendy slipped out of the room.

The corridor was dim, lit only by sparse sconces, and the quiet felt oppressive after the hours of tension.

She pressed her palms together, suddenly aware of how much they trembled now that the fear of losing Stan was no longer pulling her strings.

But what was she doing?

Her legs threatened to buckle as she took slow, cautious steps away from the door. She should be relieved—Stan was awake. But what lingered now wasn’t entirely relief, or maybe it was, only tinged with something deeper. Something that made her heartache oddly sweet.

Something had changed when his eyes met hers.

She was sure of it. They had shared… something.

A moment beyond words, one that sent ripples through her, deep even now.

Even in silence, it was an acknowledgment, like a confession—one neither of them had spoken aloud.

Yet she knew, with a certainty that made her cheeks warm, that it was there all the same.

Wendy paused by the staircase, gripping the banister to steady herself.

Could it be possible? Had Stan felt the same pull, the same raw connection that she had?

Unspoken though it was, it left her shaken.

She bit her lip, struggling to chase away the nervous trail her thoughts were beginning to take.

She had crossed a line tonight. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to cross back. Not now. Not when her heart beat in time with his. Not when she’d witnessed what nearly losing him felt like.

For now, she allowed herself a shred of hope, like a spark held carefully in her hands. Perhaps, just perhaps, she wasn’t alone in how she felt. But that thought would wait until morning.

With a quiet breath, she began her slow descent, her body craving the rest her heart would not yet grant her.