Page 35 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

“Oh, they are,” Pippa said with mock indignation, lifting her chin. “But animals are rather fascinating, wouldn’t you agree? The world changes so at night—it belongs to different creatures entirely.”

Wendy glanced up at the moonlit sky. “Moths instead of butterflies, owls instead of sparrows…” Her voice softened, and her smile grew wistful. “And foxes, of course. I always imagine foxes darting through the shadows, quick as ghosts because they are crepuscular and usually seen at dusk or dawn.”

“You’re not far off,” Pippa said, her tone thoughtful as she brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “The foxes here are a regular sight, though they never linger. I’d wager they’ve caught wind of the hedgehogs, which is precisely why the workers have posted a guard.”

“Ever vigilant,” Wendy said warmly. “Though I hope the foxes find their supper elsewhere. The hedgehogs are, after all, under your protection.”

“That they are,” Pippa said, nodding. “And if you look closely, you might just find a badger nosing about as well. They’re less stealthy than foxes, but far too clever to discount.”

“But where’s the guard?” Wendy asked, her voice hushed as she glanced about.

The owl’s hoot from the trees above hung in the stillness, blending with the faint clatter of distant footsteps on the street.

The house behind them stood quiet, the windows dark, and the surrounding garden seemed to hold its breath.

Then, a twig snapped. The sound, sharp and sudden, made Wendy jolt, her heart leaping into her throat.

Pippa, however, crouched down without hesitation.

“They shouldn’t have left the nest yet,” she murmured, her hands gently parting the low bushes.

“The babies are likely close by, but I won’t disturb the nest. Mama hedgehogs are easily scared.

And the little hedgehogs are hardly adventurous at this age. ”

Wendy tried to steady herself, following Pippa’s movements and waited to see whether a hedgehog would snuffle out of the nest. But before either of them could look further, a sudden click sounded—a door opening behind them.

“What are you doing out here?” The deep timbre of a man’s voice broke the quiet with startling force, resonating like a clap of thunder.

Wendy straightened immediately, turning to Pippa, who rose in a swift, jerking motion.

All the color drained from her face as her spine stiffened.

Wendy caught the fleeting look of shock on Pippa’s features.

Then fear. Without a word, Pippa dropped into a hurried curtsy, eyes lowering to the ground as though she scarcely dared to breathe.

Wendy turned, her chest tight, to meet the source of the voice.

There stood Stan. His figure emerged from the dark with startling clarity, the simple white of his shirt and the pale beige of his breeches catching the faint moonlight.

Though stripped of its usual finery, the plainness of his attire did nothing to soften his commanding presence.

His expression was unreadable, his frame upright with an almost studied ease, but his gaze—his gaze made Wendy’s breath catch.

It wasn’t fury in his eyes. It wasn’t even frustration.

It was something raw, something unmistakable, yet buried like a hidden current beneath the cool surface of his demeanor.

Fear.

“I asked what you were doing out here,” Stan repeated firmly, though his voice had softened as he stepped toward them, glancing sharply around the garden as he spoke. He came to stand beside Wendy, a looming presence of authority and tension.

Wendy felt the chill in the air anew. “We—Pippa wanted to check on her hedgehogs,” she began, though her words faltered at the sight of him up close. His face was clear, expression tight yet veiled, but those eyes… They mirrored a memory, a flicker of terror she’d seen before. That night.

“Baby hedgehogs,” Pippa interjected, her voice rushing into the silence. Nervous but eager to explain, she stepped forward, clasping her hands together. “There is a nest, you see, right under the hedge. I was only ensuring they were safe. We meant no harm—”

“And the hedge will still be standing come morning,” Stan interrupted. He swept a hand toward the door in a brisk, no-nonsense motion. “Both of you—inside. Now.”

“But—”

“Inside,” he repeated, his voice carrying just enough steel to leave no room for further debate.

Wendy moved first, though the heaviness in her chest made her limbs slow.

Pippa hovered uncertainly, shooting longing glances back at the bushes before Stan gestured again, stronger this time.

They stepped through the open doorway, the warm light of the interior breaking the spell of the shadowed garden.

“The baby hedgehogs—” Pippa started again as Stan closed the door behind them, the latch clicking firmly into place.

Wendy barely registered Pippa’s words. Her attention was entirely on Stan now, the line of his jaw tight, his hands braced against the doorframe, his posture still drawn taut like a bowstring. He looked in control, yes. But she could see the cracks—cracks no one else might notice.

The same cracks she’d seen before, that night when the world had seemed to tip sideways, and the threat of danger had settled squarely on his shoulders. The same fear that had burned in his eyes then burned now, though tempered by his quiet resolve.

Pippa, bright and entirely oblivious, continued as though nothing were amiss. “I don’t see why we couldn’t simply check for a moment longer. Hedgehogs are quite nocturnal, you know. Anything could happen while we—”

“Enough,” Stan said firmly, though not unkindly. He turned to face her, his expression clearing into something gentler, though still touched with urgency.

“I didn’t mean to cause alarm.” she murmured.

“You didn’t,” he said, softer now, though his gaze lingered only briefly on her before flickering back to Wendy.

“This is your house, Lady Folsham.” But Wendy saw everything—his control, his struggle to mask what he truly felt.

While Pippa babbled apologies she hardly needed to give, slipping toward the stairs, Wendy stood rooted. She couldn’t look away from Stan.

Stan shut the door after he looked behind himself one last time, as if he wanted to make sure nobody had followed them. “And I mean no disrespect, but until Nick is back, shouldn’t I keep his family safe?”

Pippa arched her brows and cast Wendy a look.

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness. But it was merely some nightly invaders of the four-legged sort that we were after,” Pippa said.

“It’s not about who you’re after but who may be after you. Or me. They attacked my sister twice already. And since he knows I am here, I pose a risk to you.”

He turned to her fully, his composure reasserted, yet the echoes of his fear still lingered behind his eyes.

For a moment, neither spoke.

He turned toward her, his protective instincts etched in every line of his body. And Wendy, caught in the pull between duty and longing, could no longer pretend not to feel it.

“You were afraid,” she found herself saying softly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Stan’s lips parted—not in denial, but as though caught unprepared for her insight. Finally, he exhaled. “It’s late, Nurse Wendy. Go and see to your rest.”

“I shall gather the plans before Nick comes back to fetch us.” Pippa turned and left.

But far too much had passed unspoken to leave it there. Wendy hesitated, her heart warring with her sense. “No one meant harm. Truly.”

“It isn’t harm that you mean, that concerns me,” he said, quieter still, his expression unreadable once more. “Where is your brother?”

It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a dismissal, either. It was something heavier. Something that made her hesitate only long enough for the growing pull of everything yet to be understood.

“Wendy?” Stan’s voice was a low murmur, scarcely more than her name carried on a breath.

She blinked up at him, her pulse quickening as the space between them seemed to collapse. The air was thick now, charged with something unspoken yet unmistakable. Her hands trembled at her sides until, as if drawn by some unseen force, she reached out and brushed her fingertips against his.

He didn’t withdraw. Instead, his hand turned instinctively, his palm cradling hers with a tenderness that sent heat rushing to her cheeks. She felt the roughness of his skin, a silent testament to strength and grit, yet the way his fingers curled gently over hers spoke of care, of warmth.

The movement was slow, deliberate. Her breath caught as their fingers intertwined, slotting together as though they had done so countless times before—as though hours ago, in another fleeting moment, their hands hadn’t already whispered secrets of this connection.

His gaze held hers, unwavering, and in it she saw everything that words could not express. The moonlight filtering through the windows softened the angles of his face, casting shadows that only made his bright eyes seem more piercing.

Her heart swelled as his thumb brushed lightly across the back of her hand, a simple touch that made sparks dance beneath her skin. Neither of them moved closer, yet the unspoken pull between them was undeniable; every inch of space seemed to hum with the possibility of being closed.

“Stan…” she whispered, the name trailing off her lips like a prayer, her voice trembling with equal parts wonder and hesitation.

“I saw you through the window in the dark and was alarmed. If something happened to you… you and Thea—” He took a deep breath. “I need to know that you are safe.”

He leaned in slightly, his presence so near now that the faint warmth of his breath brushed against her skin. The world around them seemed to fade, and Wendy felt as though she stood on the precipice of something boundless and irrevocably beautiful.

Then—“Wendy?” The spell shattered as Nick’s voice called from the hall, clear and entirely banal against the fragile magic of their moment.