Page 32 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

Her free hand curled against the front of his chest. She couldn’t stop herself; it was instinctive, this need to be closer, as if the space between them was unbearable.

And instead of pushing her away as she thought he ought, he put one hand over hers, pressing her hand firmly down to his heart.

His lips moved against hers—patient, deliberate—and her nervousness began to melt.

She didn’t know what she was doing, but he made it easy, guiding her with steady tenderness.

He tasted faintly of tea, richer than anything she’d imagined.

Her cheeks burned, though she couldn’t say if it was from the kiss itself, or the realization of what they were doing.

A prince. Her prince. Not in the storybook sense, not a knight in shining armor come to rescue her, but Stan—solid, real, and undeniably human.

The man who had stolen glances at her over dinners, who had made her laugh when propriety dictated silence.

The man who now kissed her as though they weren’t bound by titles or expectations, as though the world outside this moment didn’t exist. It was intoxicating—headier than the strongest spirit—and she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so alive.

When he pulled back just slightly, her chest tightened, and she found herself leaning forward, unwilling to break the connection between them.

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his, and she drew in a shaky breath.

His expression was unreadable, though his gaze held her captive, searching her face as though committing every part of it to memory.

Her lips tingled, and she absently raised her fingers to touch them, the sensation as foreign as it was thrilling.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, her thoughts too scattered, still caught in the echo of his kiss.

He didn’t speak either—not immediately. Instead, his fingers skimmed down from her face, lingering for a moment at her jaw before falling to her arm until he let go, as if he, too, was reluctant to sever their connection.

She hated how empty she felt without his touch, how her body ached for the warmth of his hand once more.

But his lips parted, and a hint of a smile ghosted over them, tinged with uncertainty.

“Wendy,” he murmured, her name like a vow on his tongue.

His voice was low, rough with emotion, and it sent a shiver skimming down her spine.

“Are you all right? I fear I might have been…” He trailed off, his hesitation surprising her.

It almost made her smile—that this man, this prince who commanded rooms with his presence, could be so unsure about something as simple as a kiss.

“Yes.” Her voice wavered, quieter than she intended, breathless and unsteady. But when she saw the relief that flickered across his face, when she noticed the way his shoulders relaxed slightly, she cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean… I—yes, I’m all right. More than all right.”

It wasn’t enough, not even close, to encompass what she was feeling.

But how did one put into words the way her heart lurched?

Like it was breaking free of its constraints, the way her very soul seemed to shift and settle when he held her gaze like this?

Words failed, so she didn’t even try. Instead, she allowed herself the indulgence of simply looking at him—the prince who had just dismantled every carefully constructed thought she’d had about what a kiss would be.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand—she hadn’t even realized she was still holding onto his sleeve.

Her grip loosened, but as soon as she slackened her fingers, his hand caught hers, lacing their fingers together.

Her racing heart stumbled, then sped up again, the simple touch more intimate than the kiss had been.

If she hadn’t known before that her world had changed in those few minutes, she knew it now.

“I—” She started to speak, unsure of what she meant to say but desperate to fill the silence creeping between them. Yet, as soon as the sound left her lips, he squeezed her hand, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t.” His voice was soft but firm, and as her mouth snapped shut, she realized he understood her—understood the whirlwind of emotions she couldn’t untangle. The lines around his eyes softened, his smile returning, this time with genuine warmth, and she felt the knot in her chest loosen.

It struck her, as they remained there, that her life would never be the same.

Stan wasn’t just a prince; he was her prince now, whether she liked it or not.

Since that fateful night when she nearly lost him, as they counted together and he returned to her through sheer willpower and inner strength, even as his body was losing the battle against the fever, he was hers.

This was how he became hers, whether they’d talked about it or not.

Some truths can be felt long before they’re voiced.

When the prince’s life nearly ended, they had begun something new together instead.

And though she couldn’t say where this tentative beginning might lead, she knew one thing for certain.

“Please say something.” His voice was a plea of uncertainty that surprised her.

She hesitated, biting her lip. “I didn’t expect that.”

“That?” he echoed, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles as if he’d only ever be allowed to kiss her there again. His touch was gentle, yet it sent shivers rippling through her.

“The kiss,” she admitted, her head dipping. “I mean, I thought about it—wondered what it would be like—but I didn’t think it would happen.”

Stan’s free hand slid to her face again, his fingers warm against her skin as he guided her gaze back to him. “I didn’t plan it either,” he confessed. “But the thought of not kissing you, not knowing what it felt like to hold you this close… I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“I’ve dreamed about you.”

“Only at night or also in daydreams?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Both,” she replied, her cheeks warming as she dared to meet his gaze. “Somehow, you always find your way into my thoughts.”

I wish I could find a way into your heart, too.

Her breath hitched, her chest tightening but not entirely unpleasant. “You’re a prince,” she whispered. “You have duties, expectations. And I’m—”

“You,” he interrupted firmly before she could finish. “You’re Wendy. And all I want, all that matters. More than I ever dared hope for, but everything I ever dreamed of.”

She stared at him, her thoughts tumbling over one another. His words were so earnest, so unshakably genuine, yet the enormity of what he represented weighed heavily on her. “Stan… what if this isn’t enough? What if I’m not enough?”

His hand lingered against her cheek, tender and steady, as though grounding her fears.

“Wendy,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, “you’re already more than I could have dreamed.

You’re everything. But if you’ll allow me, I want to show you.

To woo you. To earn the right to kiss you, to fight for you, to make you believe what I already know. ”

Her breath hitched, her heart at war with her doubts. “And if I can’t believe it?”

He stepped back then, inclining his head in an unmistakable gesture of deference. “Then I’ll wait,” he said softly, his voice unwavering. “For as long as it takes, Wendy. Just grant me the chance to try.”

The prince bowed to the nurse with a tilt of his head, but she could tell that he put her above him and all the hierarchy of social standing.

But he never took his hand off her cheek.

Her throat tightened, the vulnerability in his words catching her off guard. She nodded slowly, her lips curving into a small, hesitant smile. “Yes,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Yes?” he echoed, his mouth lifting as though the simple agreement meant more to him than he could say. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them thick with unspoken emotion.

Finally, Wendy’s grip on his hand tightened just slightly. “Stan?”

“Yes?”

Her cheeks flushed, but she met his gaze head-on. “Will you kiss me again?”

*

Stan barely waited for Wendy’s words to settle, the sound still hovering in the air before he closed the distance between them.

Yes.

So simple.

And yet, it meant everything.

His lips met hers with the same measured gentleness as before, but this time, there was no holding back the urgency simmering beneath his restraint.

It wasn’t rushed—it never would be with her—but it pulled him entirely into the moment.

The kiss felt impossibly intimate, as though they’d done this a hundred times and yet were discovering it anew.

Her hands came up, hesitant at first, then firm as they anchored themselves to his shoulders.

That single motion made him forget to breathe.

She wasn’t retreating; she wasn’t uncertain.

She was holding onto him, pulling him closer, and that knowledge sent a jolt of something deep and searing through his chest. His hands cradled her face, fingers brushing softly against her skin, and a part of him swore her pulse fluttered under his touch, quickened and alive.

It felt like the most important thing he’d ever done, being here and kissing her like this.

Everything else—the duty and the expectations waiting for him beyond this moment—fell away.

His world, once dominated by rules and roles, now narrowed entirely to her.

She reset his perception because, from now on, there would be Wendy before anything and anyone else.

The warmth of her lips, the faint tremble in her grip, and the subtle scent of something soft and flower-soapy that clung to her—all of it held him in place, as though he had found the one thing he hadn’t known he needed even more than air.