Page 28 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

“Something on your mind, Nurse Wendy?” Stan’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin, and she froze, realizing she’d lingered too long.

“No,” she replied quickly, blinking away her wandering thoughts as she pressed the cloth gently to his shoulder. “You’re just…” she hesitated, her voice faltering. “You’re surprising, that’s all.”

“Surprising?” he echoed, his amusement growing. Beneath the damp cloth, his muscles flexed faintly, involuntarily, as though testing her resolve.

Her hand moved with careful precision, tracing the curve of his shoulder and down the well-defined planes of his arm. “You don’t look like a prince,” she admitted finally, her words almost shy.

Stan chuckled low in his throat. “I’ll take that as a compliment being that I’m half-naked,” he said. His gaze drifted to her face, and though her expression was composed—focused—the faint blush coloring her cheeks betrayed her. “Years in the military will do that to a man.”

Wendy glanced up at him, curiosity lighting her features despite herself. “What did you do in the military?”

He nodded, his posture easing slightly into the pillows as if the memory carried him somewhere far off.

“I served under the Austrian Emperor,” he explained.

“My training began when I was barely more than a boy. Day after day of drills, sparring, learning to endure.” His voice softened, though a hint of pride lingered.

“You’d be amazed how quickly a soldier learns his limits when frost covers your boots, but quitting isn’t an option. ”

Her hand slowed, and her expression softened. She hadn’t considered this side of him—the discipline, the effort shaping the man before her. “It must be difficult,” she said quietly. “Living that life.”

Stan’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the teasing glint faded, replaced by something contemplative. “It’s a life,” he said after a moment. “But I wouldn’t trade the lessons it taught me.”

She nodded, the intimacy of his admission lingering in the air between them. Her hands worked across his chest now, her fingers brushing against the ridges of his muscles as she cleaned away the last traces of the previous night’s fever.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly, his voice drawing her gaze back to his face. “How did you become a nurse?”

Wendy blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the directness of his question.

She hesitated, lowering the cloth to dip it in the basin again.

“It wasn’t something I planned,” she admitted eventually, wringing out the excess water.

“After Nick and I lost our parents, he took it upon himself to look after me. He studied medicine in Vienna. It meant long hours and then, during his apprenticeships, never being in one place for too long. I suppose I tagged along at first just because I didn’t know what else to do. ”

Stan tilted his head, his expression thoughtful as he listened. “But you stayed,” he said.

“Of course,” she confirmed, moving to the other side of him, her hands working methodically though her voice grew softer.

“When Andre, Alfie, and Felix joined us and they founded the practice, I… well, I just started helping wherever I could. They taught me everything—the basics, at least. Enough to be useful. I owe them more than I can say. They made me who I am.”

Stan frowned faintly, turning his gaze toward her even as her hands fluttered near his side. “You’re wrong about that,” he said unexpectedly firmly.

She paused, puzzled, her brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“They need you,” he said, and the way he spoke the words made her cheeks warm again.

“You’re the one holding them together. The practice would be in chaos without you.

Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” His lips curled faintly into a smile.

“How you hand them their patient cards each morning. I’ve seen how you keep track of every name, every appointment.

Those men wouldn’t last a week without you keeping them—how do I put this politely? —in check.”

Wendy gaped at him, a mix of surprise and indignation brimming under the surface. “That’s—” she stopped, searching for the right words to refute him, but they didn’t come.

“You’re too modest, just like at the ball,” Stan added, lowering his voice as if it were a secret meant only for her.

Her hand tightened around the cloth, the moment settling heavily in her chest. For a man who was supposed to be recovering, Stan had a remarkable way of disarming her—of peeling back the layers she wore as armor, leaving her exposed without her even realizing it.

“You’ve been looking after me all night,” he murmured, his gaze holding hers. “Who looks after you, Wendy?”

The question hung in the air, spoken so softly she might have imagined it. But the warmth in her cheeks and the fluttering sensation in her stomach told her she hadn’t.

Her throat bobbed as she attempted to speak, but no words came. Instead, she settled for dipping the cloth back into the basin, her fingers trembling faintly as she wrung it out.

“My brother…” she began, but her voice faltered. She had been worrying for a while about what would happen if Nick and Pippa had a baby. “But recently… Erm… I shouldn’t say.”

“Why not?” he asked, leaning back slightly, though his eyes never left hers.

“Because it makes me forget I’m supposed to be your nurse,” she replied quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn’t sure whether she intended for him to hear it, but the way his faint smirk softened told her he had.

He exhaled deeply, his skin warm beneath her touch as her hands moved again, this time slower, each motion stretching the space between them. Neither of them spoke. The tension did plenty of talking.

And somehow, amidst the quiet breaths and tender gestures, she knew that whatever it was had changed something between them. Would it last after he healed and left that bed behind?

She wasn’t sure she dared to find out.