Page 3 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

N o matter how many ways Stan dissected the threats posed by List, the danger remained the same.

He had spent the better part of the morning discussing it with Andre and Alfie, but the weight of it still pressed heavily on his mind.

Protecting his friends at Harley Street was non-negotiable, yet he couldn’t face this alone—he needed their help.

Even now, as he lingered in Andre’s treatment room with the only two people he could truly trust—the unease refused to leave him.

“If they insist on coming to the wedding, we have to make sure they’re safe,” Stan said, glancing over his shoulder at the small group who had become—to his surprise—what he could for the first time in his life call friends.

Truly. Until he’d met the doctors on Harley Street, he thought a prince couldn’t have real friends—not ones he dared to trust fully, at least. Too often, people had vested interests in his fortune, his title, and even the alliances he was expected to forge.

That’s why he’d sent for his brother, Alex, when the trouble with List started to escalate.

He needed someone he could trust.

Trust, for Stan, had always been a guarded currency, spent sparingly. He had been careful even during his rare indulgences with women on the Continent. No names. No promises. No lingering attachments, not in the heart and not physically. There wouldn’t even be a rumor to follow his trail.

It wasn’t until Wendy appeared at the Langleys’, that a woman took over his every thought.

And he’d never even touched her!

Except secretly, in the quiet of the night, Stan had entertained the treacherous scenes in his mind—where he untied those neat little ties of her bonnet, drew her into his arms, and kissed her until her blush deepened to a shade reserved only for him.

Yet even his errant thoughts couldn’t remain innocent.

No, he’d seen what her blushes were truly capable of, and they tugged at him—closer, always closer.

Stop it!

The command to himself was rough and unheard.

Someone cleared his throat. “Nick?” Alfie called, his voice pulling Stan out of his thoughts. Stan stepped aside instinctively, unconsciously situating himself nearer to her. “Nick?” Alfie’s voice echoed down the hall.

“I’m here,” came the calm baritone as the tall, fair-haired oculist entered the room. Nick nodded toward Stan, treating him to a brief but exacting gaze. “Your Royal Highness, how do you do?”

Stan almost snorted. “Drop the formalities. Please,” he added, a touch too dryly. “It’s hardly amusing, given the circumstances.” His gaze swept over the room. “We’re all in grave danger.”

“What happened this time?” Nick inquired, stepping to Wendy’s side with the protective air of an elder brother—a gesture Stan recognized all too well, having a sister of his own. But Nick furrowed his brow and studied Wendy for a moment too long. “Are you all right?”

The question, direct and inquisitive, lit Wendy’s cheeks anew. Her hands twisted together, and she cast her gaze downward. “I’m fine,” she murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

“Wendy, you seem flushed,” Andre chimed in, stepping forward. “Are you feverish?” He reached a hand toward her forehead.

Stan’s jaw tightened. She’s not a child. Leave her be.

“Here, allow me.” Alfie intercepted, taking a gentle but confident hold of her wrist to feel her pulse. His expression barely shifted, though he hummed softly. “A bit quick,” he noted.

“Perhaps you should rest instead of going shopping with the ladies,” Nick suggested, crossing his arms in that insufferably practical manner of his.

Stan had to fight back a bitter laugh. If his own sister came into the room flushed and flustered in such a way, he might well have chalked it up to summer heat or exertion—anything to avoid entertaining the presence of a suitor.

Of course, Nick likely didn’t see him as anything resembling a suitor.

Would he even allow it, though? Would Nick approve, knowing Stan’s rank, his known ties to danger, and his carefully veiled reputation as a man who left no traces?

Stan knew Nick was no fool, unlikely to be dazzled by a title or royal lineage.

He’d remarked—more times than Stan cared to recall—that being a prince was as much a burden as it was a danger and not something to envy.

Stan had no illusions about earning Nick’s blessing to court his sister.

And who could blame him? To Nick, he likely seemed more a weapon to protect against, than a man worthy of his sister’s heart—a testament to Nick’s fierce love as a brother, even if it made Stan’s path to Wendy all the more impossible.

Stan knew that their parents were no longer alive, leaving Nick as her only family.

His wife, Lady Philippa Pemberton—Pippa for short—was the daughter of an Earl and an heiress with riches rivaling the Crown, though Stan was keenly aware of how carefully Wendy balanced her ties to nobility with her devotion to a simpler life among her patients, friends, and extended family.

As for protection, the beautiful, capable nurse had the unofficial fortress of the fine doctors stationed at 87 Harley Street—some of the best—and they all seemed to guard her with the same vigilance one might a precious heirloom.

And if Stan weren’t an intruder in her innocent and shielded world, he’d simply be happy that she was cared for.

The problem was, he wanted to be looking after her and taking care of her himself.

“Wendy, if you wish, I can brew some eucalyptus tea,” Alfie said gently.

“And I’ll fetch some ice to cool you down,” Andre added, already half-turning toward the door.

“No!” Wendy’s voice rose abruptly as she pulled her hands free from Alfie’s grasp.

Her blush deepened even more, and her eyes fluttered briefly toward Stan before shooting downward again.

“I said I’m fine,” she insisted, her voice firmer this time.

Too firm, perhaps—but necessary. If she lost her composure now, if anyone guessed why…

it wouldn’t just be her pride on the line.

It would be the practice. Nick’s legacy.

Everything that mattered in her life. Not me.

“Are you certain, little sis?” Nick pressed, clearly unconvinced.

“Nick!” she all but groaned, rolled her eyes, and shifted.

Her shoes scraped the floor as she stepped away, gaze fixed downward, her cheeks still flushed.

Each glance from Stan felt like exposure.

She couldn’t let anyone guess what stirred inside her.

Not when a scandal could ruin everything.

Still, her eyes didn’t leave the hardwood floor as she straightened, a flush still staining her cheeks, like ripe peaches he wanted to reach for and taste.

Stop pining after her!

Stan rubbed his forehead, as if the tension between them could be wiped away. But it lingered—thick, and dangerous. Without saying a word, she turned and strode toward the doorway, her skirts swishing with a defiance that felt aimed at him.

Stan’s eyes followed her, unable to look away. His chest tightened as he caught the smallest tremor in her hand when it brushed the doorframe for balance, her resolve strong but fragile in that fleeting moment.

Every part of him ached to follow—to close the space between them, pull her into his arms, and promise her the safety and comfort she deserved.

He could almost sense the way she’d fit against him, could already hear the steadier rhythm her breathing would find there.

But he stood frozen, his own reason bearing down on him.

It would only put her in harm’s way. The harder he held on, the sharper he’d carve her path into the danger that loomed always just behind him.

She vanished down the corridor, taking the warmth of the room with her, leaving in its place the cold certainty he fought to live with every day—he had to let her go to keep her safe. But it hurt to watch her leave.

He inhaled deeply—steadying himself before his own composure shattered outright.

Nick tilted his head, watching Wendy’s departure as he stood rooted in place. “Well,” he said, plucking at his cuff. “She’s somewhere between perfectly fine and completely overworked.”

“She must be worried because of the danger,” Andre said. “I warned you!”

“You can’t warn us from the storm that’s List because we can control him as little as the weather,” Alfie said and tapped his foot on the floor as if List would come and strike any moment. “And he could strike us with the force of a lighting strike at any moment!”

“We know he will seek revenge for what we did. We should never have given him that truth serum and forced him to give up half his secrets. Who knows what the other half bears?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as though bracing himself to deliver grim news he wished he didn’t have to share.

“And she knows it, too. List preys on women.” Nick swallowed visibly and glanced toward the door through which Wendy had just left.

“And this leaves us all vulnerable. Pippa, Bea, and Wendy are—”

“Don’t say it!” Alfie held his hand up. “I should have never listened to you and made the truth serum for him. It’s because of me that we are in this situation.”

“Not even a little bit, Alfie,” Stan said. “I have it on good authority that he was already targeting Felix Leafley.”

“What does he want from a dentist?” Andre said.

“It’s not what but who.” Stan lowered his voice. “Felix’s suppliers are the Jewish jewelers. The Crown Jewelers. List is cutting their supplies off by stealing from my family and my people in Transylvania.”

“I thought he was exploiting the gold mines in your region without—” but Andre couldn’t finish. Nick slapped his forehead. “No! Please tell me that isn’t true!”

“Oh, but it is.” Stan cleared his throat.

“List is stealing from Transylvania’s gold mines and trying to blame it on the trade route of our Jewish friends!

How am I supposed to protect the people of Transylvania, preserve the trade route, and stop List from exploiting innocent people as scapegoats?

The Jews have done nothing wrong, and List has no right to embezzle the gold from our mines! ”

“So if he succeeds, then Felix will be seen as little more than a thief for the Ton.” Alfie lifted his chin as understanding dawned. “It would ruin us all.”

“But that’s a lie! Felix and the Crown Jewelers…I know them. They’re the most upstanding, honest, generous men I’ve met!” Andre’s voice rang with outrage.

Stan nodded once, grimly. “Which is exactly why they’re useful to List. He doesn’t care who he harms. He only wants to profit. And he needs a scapegoat for the collateral damage.”

His throat tightened. That phrase— scapegoat for the collateral damage —lodged somewhere deeper now.

It was too familiar. He thought of Wendy, of the fragile line between her quiet heroism and the noise List would make if he ever caught wind of her connection to him. She, too, could be used. Twisted.

And he was the one who brought that risk near her, he reminded himself.

“So, if he hurts any of us and we fight back, he’ll make it seem like we attacked him? And that’ll just draw even more attention to us?” Alfie asked.

“I don’t understand what he would gain from hurting us or the women we love.” Nick blinked toward the door again.

He had the most to lose—his wife, his sister. But it wasn’t just personal. If anything happened to Pippa, it would shatter Nick. If anything happened to Wendy…

Stan exhaled. Wendy was more than Nick’s sister. She was the quiet strength behind everything Harley Street stood for. If List touched her, he wouldn’t just be harming a woman Stan had come to care for. He’d be undermining the very heart of the practice. Discrediting her would discredit them all.

And Wendy would lose so much more than her reputation. Not just her safety. Her dignity. Her place. Her brother’s legacy. The work they’d built with their bare hands.

The doctors at Harley Street weren’t just a group of forward-thinking healers.

They were a family. And List, if given the chance, would destroy them from the inside out.

He had seen villages torn apart by threats like List—silent, creeping, cloaked in legitimacy until it was too late.

But here, there might still be time to act.

And it had to begin with protecting the women who carried their futures in hand and heart.

“They might be easier prey than we are.” Andre shook his head.

“So, we protect Pippa, Bea, and Wendy,” Nick said. “Right? We keep my wife, your bride, and my little sister safe.”

Alfie nodded, and Andre joined in synchrony as if no further words were needed.

“It is my duty to protect them, too,” Stan said. “I brought List closer than he might have come to you all…”

Nick and the others shook their heads, but Stan didn’t hear them anymore. Wendy had her own royal guard, and for the first time in his life, Stan became the potential danger to the people he’d actually wanted to protect.

“About the corrupt Baron then…” Andre started anew.

“We knew he’d retaliate for the truth serum,” Alfie added. “Where do we start building our defenses?”

But Stan said nothing. He couldn’t. Silence was safer.

His mind was far too occupied with reliving the moment Wendy stumbled over her words and glanced at him—the way she’d looked at him.

Because it hadn’t been the gaze of someone embarrassed by polite company or overprotective brother figures. It had been something else entirely.

Something aimed at him.

And he only hoped he could be worthy of what she had to give without endangering her.