Page 37 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

T he carriage lurched down the cobbled streets, the rhythmic clatter of hooves underscoring the quiet tension inside.

Stan adjusted the collar of his greatcoat, the chill of the night of the night lingering even within the enclosed space.

Across from him sat Wendy, wrapped in her pelisse, her cheeks flushed from the cold—or perhaps something else entirely.

Hopefully me.

She fidgeted in her lap before clasping her hands together, her excitement visible in every small action she made.

The way her foot tapped lightly against the carriage floor, the unconscious tilt of her head as she glanced at him with wide, sparkling blue eyes—it all struck him like a bolt to the chest. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to feel her warmth against him, but the weight of knowing he was skirting propriety held him back.

“I can’t believe my brother truly allowed this,” she said, her voice low yet teeming with energy.

A mischievous grin tugged at her lips as she sat straighter, her posture alive with confidence, as if the sheer improper nature of it had added to her daring.

Her shoulders rose in an eager shrug that made his heart clench.

That small, innocent motion undid him completely.

She trusted him implicitly, unreservedly, and this trust filled him with guilt that gnawed at the edges of his control.

Stan forced himself to look at the passing scenery, willing his thoughts to steady. Yet even as he did, her presence consumed him, bright and undeniable. He didn’t understand it fully, but he felt it deep and resolute. There was no one else, and there never would be. Just Wendy. Only Wendy.

He leaned back against the seat, his muscles relaxing outwardly but his thoughts anything but.

Nick’s blind trust in him wasn’t something to trifle with.

This wasn’t about duty or obligation to a fellow man—it was a brother-to-brother and friend-to-friend sort of trust, thus something far simpler and far more meaningful than what he’d initially envisioned, time alone with Wendy.

Yet, he didn’t even mind the implication of escorting her through the cool evening alone.

It just wasn’t as simple as that with a woman like her.

Although she didn’t have a title, she had class, honor, and a loyal brother.

Plus, others who were like brothers to her: Alfie, Andre, and Felix.

They’d kill Stan with something untraceable and quick—he mused—considering their collective knowledge of the workings of the human body—or probably stop it from working.

Not that they’d ever harm a man, but if anyone were alone with his sister, he and his brothers would be no less vicious than…

But there was one problem: He wanted to be here more than anywhere else in the world.

With her. Not as a patient grateful for her attention, but as a man cherishing the company of a woman. Wendy.

He sat forward slightly, considering her, and then said, quieter than before, “Perhaps your brother wanted to give you a moment’s happiness… as much as he wished to give me the same.”

Wendy’s hands stilled mid-fidget. She met his gaze, her brows pulling together before lifting her chin with quiet defiance.

“I’m fully aware of what’s proper,” she said, her tone measured but firm. “But propriety doesn’t dictate my choices. I didn’t need my brother’s permission, and I certainly don’t need a chaperone to sit in a carriage with you.”

Stan leaned back slightly, feigning contemplation. “If propriety doesn’t concern you, then I have no objections. But perhaps I should send for my sister to ensure appearances?” His voice was even, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward, teasing.

Wendy’s arms crossed, her expression unflinching. “If you think I need appearances preserved, you misunderstand me entirely.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Then Stan’s composed demeanor wavered as a low chuckle escaped him, growing into a warm, genuine laugh that filled the carriage.

Wendy dipped her chin, her expression somewhere between bewildered and bemused. “Care to share the jest?”

He leaned forward, his dark eyes softened with humor. “Only that I never doubted you. I simply wanted to give you an escape route, should you want one. Chaperones, I think we can agree, are unwanted here.”

Stan watched as her lips curved, the faintest smile disturbing her otherwise guarded composure.

She unfolded her arms but leaned back still, as though to keep her distance.

“Then we can agree on that, at least,” she said, her voice light yet laced with something unspoken.

The charged silence that followed pricked at him, filled as it was with truths too delicate to voice aloud.

He knew, clumsy though the exchange had been, that their hearts had chosen.

For him, it felt as right as air drawn into his lungs, wholly unbidden.

“But,” she added softly, her gaze falling, “I must discharge you. You’re healed enough to leave Cloverdale House.”

His brow rose slightly. “And so, I’m to pay my dues and be on my way?”

Her tone faltered. “No. I don’t want you to leave. Only… I am no longer needed as your nurse.” She paused, her voice barely a breath, the sadness woven through it unmistakable. “I’ve already told my brother you’re quite recovered. Pippa will see to the… financial arrangements.”

“So, this is to be a purely transactional affair?” he asked, his words quieter this time.

Her gaze lifted, and though her expression remained steady, there was a flicker of resolve beneath her words.

“It is necessary. For you to see me as I am—not merely a nurse, but a woman. I don’t want to be just an affair.

” She hesitated before continuing, drawing strength from somewhere deep within.

“And Nick and I have redirected all our wages to Cloverdale House. Alfie has invested his earnings to restock the apothecary for the rehabilitation center. We cannot afford stagnation, no matter the cost.”

“And how could I cause stagnation at Cloverdale House?” Stan pressed on.

“If you catch List, will you go back to Transylvania and forget me?” The words struck true, clean and sharp, and Stan found his throat too tight for speech.

Her fire—her fearlessness—both humbled and unsettled him.

He clasped his hands, resisting the urge to reach out, because if he touched her now, he might never stop.

I’d never forget you. I never want to leave you. But what if I don’t catch List?

He didn’t know where to even begin to answer. But his instinct guided him, and he leaned closer. “I think of you,” he began, his voice warm and teasing, “as a heroine of medicine. One of the most talented and caring women I’ve ever known.”

Her brows rose, a smile pulling at her mouth like a secret too pleased to keep. “And what makes you so certain of that?”

Oh, she’s playing coy. This will be fun!

His grin widened, bright and utterly disarming, as though meant only for her. “Several reasons,” he said, his voice dipping low enough to spark warmth in her chest.

“Such as?”

“You saved my life,” he said lightly, though his gaze said it meant everything. “You mend children with rickets. You’ve the sweetest lilt in your laugh…” He paused, watching her cheeks flush, then added with deliberate precision, “And you’ve never kissed anyone before me, have you?”

“And just what do you mean by that? Was I… was I so bad?” she asked.

Her voice tumbled out, rushed and pink-cheeked.

Stan’s grin spread farther, lighting his face in a manner that made her breath catch.

Stan leaned in just enough to catch her gaze fully, forcing her to meet him—no shields, no retreat.

“Worse than ‘bad’? W-was it because I’ve never kissed before? ”

She leaned forward, her lashes lowering. Stan felt the intensity of her gaze as her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. The world outside dulled to silence. It was only them now, in the hush between heartbeats.

*

Wendy’s heart raced, every beat loud and insistent as Stan’s voice dropped, each word curling between them like rising steam from a kettle—tangible, dangerous, impossible to ignore.

“I kissed you, Wendy. And you allowed me. But that’s different,” he murmured, his eyes tracing hers with unsettling precision.

“You haven’t yet kissed me back. Not properly. Do you wish it?”

Her pride straightened her spine even as her pulse stumbled. “How exactly does one ‘return’ a kiss?” She blinked, then tilted her chin with a hint of defiance. “I’m not giving it back!”

Stan’s brows shot up. Yet, Wendy’s expressions changed and slow grin replaced surprise, teasing glinting behind dark lashes.

“You’re asking me that?” His voice carried just the faintest incredulity, and his smile deepened, warm and maddening.

“Yes,” she said, her words clipped despite the soft flush warming her cheeks. “Show me!” The moment stretched unbearably taut.

“Now?” he asked, his grin widening. His teeth flashed, perfectly white, his charm spilling over with effortless ease. It was unbearably distracting, the effect he had on her—not that she dared admit it.

“Yes.” Her voice came small, trembling but resolute.

His smile lingered for a beat longer before quieting, softening. He tilted his head, studying her intently, and in that pause, the air itself seemed to hold its breath. “Hands-on learner, are you?” His voice dipped just enough to unsettle her composure.

Her lips parted as a steadying breath escaped her. “Always,” she whispered.

Wendy leaned in slightly, her heart threatening to betray her resolve every step of the way.

But this was her moment. If she had uncovered anything from the fairy tales of her childhood, it was that heroines did not shrink from their trials.

They were bold, even when the ground beneath them trembled.

And weren’t the best stories forged in courage?