Page 41 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

Harley Street just after ten o’clock at night…

K issing in the carriage turned out to be the best sort of fun and yet it never seemed to be enough, Stan thought.

In front of her home, only a short distance from the practice, he helped Wendy down from the carriage, his hand steady beneath hers as they stepped onto the quiet street just down the street from the practice where she now lived with Nick and Pippa.

Wendy’s lips curved in that soft, determined smile of hers.

“The house seems dark; they are not home yet. Could we stop by the apothecary?” she asked, almost innocently. “I need to find something before I go home.”

“I think so.”

Stan froze as Wendy turned on two gas lights, his breath hitching involuntarily.

The sudden brightness flared against a memory—the night he bled out on this very floor.

Pain and duty, always intertwined. He said nothing, clenching his fists briefly at his sides to steady himself the shadows in his mind receding only as Wendy’s voice reached him again.

Wendy turned right and made her way to the apothecary, pushing the glass-paneled door open without hesitation. Stan followed, his broad figure brushing the frame of the door as he entered and leaned against the counter.

“What are you looking for?” He didn’t need to hide his curiosity.

“That—I’m not exactly sure.” Wendy began opening the small drawers along the wall, the light glinting off her golden hair as she focused intently on her task.

Stan crossed his arms, one brow lifting slightly. “Is it all right for you to take whatever you need?”

“Oh, yes.” She threw him a quick smile over her shoulder. “I just need to mark it in the ledger for Alfie to restock and set the pricing later.”

Stan relaxed a bit but kept his eyes on her. “Are you looking for a salve for me, then?”

She paused but didn’t meet his gaze, her tone unusually hesitant. “Not exactly.”

“And yet, you don’t seem to know what it is,” he pressed, half-amused, half-bemused.

“I know it’s here somewhere,” she replied, leaning down to rummage through another set of drawers. “I’ll recognize it when I find it.”

“Describe it. Perhaps I can help.”

Wendy straightened just enough to glance at him briefly before continuing her search. “It has to do with frogs.”

Stan arched a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Frogs?”

“Yes, something related to external fertilization.” The words left her mouth with such matter-of-fact certainty that Stan’s train of thought promptly derailed. He scratched his neck, trying to process her logic.

“What exactly does external fertilization in frogs have to do with me?”

Wendy didn’t look up, still engrossed in her search. “There’s something here that stops fertilization. Surely, it’s in one of these drawers.”

Stan frowned, pushing off the counter as he stepped closer, towering over her petite frame as she bent beneath the counter. “Wendy, I am trying, but I don’t follow.” He did, of course. But he needed to make sure she meant what had been on his mind for a while.

“It’s all biology,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.

“And which part of biology,” he replied, his voice dipping, “are we addressing?”

She straightened, still concentrating on the rows of tiny drawers. “I’ve seen babies born, helped the process even. Stan, I assisted with all kinds of pregnant patients. But I’m not ready for all that myself.”

“Birthing a baby?” he asked, as an unfamiliar heat rose in his chest and neck. A few kisses and ices and yes, he knew he was in love, deeply and irrevocably, but how did her mind trail to babies already?

“Not yet. Which is why I need this,” she said firmly.

Stan faltered. “Why are you suddenly worried about a baby?” Perhaps he was the frog prince since his voice resembled a croak now.

Wendy groaned quietly, tapping one of the drawers closed with more force than necessary before she finally turned to him. “Because… In the carriage.” Her cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink.

“The carriage,” Stan repeated, his voice thick with skepticism.

“Yes, the carriage. But there’s more to come, isn’t there?” she leveled him with a look, still not elaborating as her focus darted back to the apothecary shelves.

He folded his arms, studying her closely. “Are you—are you looking for a letter?”

“Yes, it must be an envelope or some folded paper,” she said triumphantly. “I expect it’s in French. You speak French, don’t you?”

Stan sputtered. “A French letter?”

“Yes,” Wendy said brightly, as if the revelation solved everything. “Alfie has some here, I know it.”

Stan drew a sharp breath, his lips twitching as he wrestled against laughter. “Wendy, you have no idea what a French letter is, do you?”

“Well, obviously you do,” she countered. “Have you seen them? Can you translate for me what it says, what to do? Where would he keep them?”

He almost choked unsure whether to laugh or cry. “Wendy…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice shaking with barely restrained laughter. “French letters are not for reading. And they are certainly not about external fertilization of frogs.”

“But they don’t let fertilization happen in humans. So, it becomes like with fr—” Her expression faltered, her brow creasing as she considered his words. “Then what—erm. How do humans avoid… prevent…” She wrinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes in thought.

Stan exhaled slowly, his voice softening as he stepped closer, cupping her face with an almost reverent tenderness.

“Wendy, please listen to me. There’s no need to rush toward any of this —babies, letters, or anything beyond what’s here and now.

And I would never—” his thumb brushed against her cheekbone with quiet promise, “—I will never take what you’re not ready to give. No matter what I want.”

Before she could reply, a sound broke the stillness—a faint click of the front door.

Wendy’s eyes widened, and in an instant, she turned off the gas light, whispering urgently, “Felix and Andre?”

Stan barely had time to react before Wendy grabbed his hand, pulling him through the hall as voices echoed from the entryway.

Before he knew it, they were rushing up the darkened staircase, her quick, determined steps leading them to a bedchamber.

She pulled the door closed behind them, her breathing soft but quick in the sudden quiet.

Stan stared at her in the faint moonlight streaming through the curtains, torn between shock, amusement, and an undeniable affection for the breathtakingly beautiful, innocent, and brilliant woman standing so resolutely before him— in her old bed chamber.

*

Wendy turned the doorknob with deliberate slowness, her heart pounding in harmony with the muffled voices drifting up from the lower floor. The faintest click of the door closing behind her was soundless to anyone but herself—and to Stan standing so close she could sense the warmth of his presence.

“This is my old bedchamber,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying as she tilted her head toward him.

“I know.”

Her brows lifted, curiosity chasing back the thrum of her heartbeat. “You do?”

Stan stepped closer, the distance between them narrowing until his body seemed to fill all the air around her. His lips curved faintly, but not with his usual teasing smirk. This was something else—soft, unguarded.

“I’ve been in love with you far longer than I’ve admitted, Wendy,” he murmured, his voice a low caress that seemed to settle onto her very skin, “but I waited—because wanting you is dangerous. And still I can’t stop.

I love you, Wendy Folsham. So much!” His breath brushed the shape of her ear, sending a shiver all the way down her spine.

Before she could gather a response, his hands settled at her waist, firm and steady, grounding her and igniting something restless all at once.

“But it’s only recently,” he continued, dipping his head closer so that her breath caught entirely, “that I gave up trying to resist you. I’d rather try to keep you safe than risk a safe distance from you that might imperil us both.”

Her chest seemed to tighten, not in fear, but in anticipation so sharp it almost ached. She barely had time to register the swoop of movement as his hands guided her gently but firmly, turning her to face him fully.

The closeness was intoxicating. Wendy felt her heart stumble, forgetting for a moment the delicate rhythm it was supposed to maintain. Her fingers brushed instinctively against his chest, and the strength beneath her palms was quietly reassuring.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked softly, his voice a mix of vulnerability and something darker she couldn’t quite name.

She shook her head, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

“Should I take you home?” he asked again, his tone carrying the same low intensity, though his lips pulled into a faint smile.

Again, she shook her head, her voice still refusing to cooperate. Her gaze, however, wandered to his lips, drawn there as if by an invisible force.

He licked his lips.

The motion was nothing if not simple, yet the effect on her was anything but that. Warmth unfurled low in her stomach, curling inward and spreading in waves that made her knees wobble.

A smile teased the corners of his mouth as though he were fully aware of the effect he had on her. He raised a hand, his palm resting against the back of her head, his fingers tangling lightly in her hair before guiding her toward him.

Wendy felt herself dissolve as his mouth met hers.

The kiss was patient yet consuming, like the slow pour of liquid honey.

Every brush of his lips against hers unraveled her composure, pulling her deeper into the moment.

Her hands gripped the lapels of his coat without thought, anchoring herself as her world narrowed to the soft sound of their breaths mingling and the steady press of his touch.

The floor creaked faintly somewhere down the hall.

Wendy froze, her lips hovering just a whisper away from his as voices filtered faintly through the doorway. Felix and Andre were still talking, their conversation indistinct but close enough to send a jolt through her.

Stan’s arm tightened around her waist instinctively, his body tense but unmoving. They stayed locked in place, barely breathing as Andre’s louder-than-usual laugh echoed through the quiet house.

Wendy pressed her forehead lightly against Stan’s chest, stifling the nervous, fluttery laugh threatening to spill out.

His hand traveled to her lower back, a silent reassurance that they remained unseen, unnoticed—safe, for now.

But the thrum of their shared moment, the charged current between them, didn’t subside.

“They won’t come in,” she whispered against his chest, the words more for herself than him. “I don’t think they know that I am here.”

Stan lifted a brow as he met her gaze, heat and mischief flickering in the depths of his dark eyes. Before he could say anything to tease or distract her, she reached up, grabbing the front of his coat and pulling him down closer.

Her lips sought his quickly, desperate to reclaim the kiss they’d so rudely abandoned. He responded instantly. There was nothing tentative now. His fingers slid into her hair as their movements became bolder, though still silent.

Footsteps stirred again beyond the door—retreating, then pausing.

Wendy’s breath hitched as she caught Stan’s gaze mid-kiss.

It burned with a challenge, one she couldn’t resist any more than she could resist him.

When the voices finally faded and a door clicked shut upstairs, Wendy dared to draw back just enough to whisper in his ear.

“Felix and Andre are in their rooms now. Nobody else is on this floor. They can’t hear us.”

Her cheeks flushed even as she said it, the intimacy of their stolen moment swelling in her chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be—but it was real. And it was hers. The moonlight sifted in through the thin curtains, but her resolve didn’t wane.

Stan didn’t reply right away. His gaze held hers, intense and unyielding, before he gave a slow, satisfied smile. The quiet depth of his expression sent a warmth running through her.

Wendy bit her lip and took a careful step backward. She tugged him with her, her lips never quite leaving his as each step lengthened the stretch between them.

He followed her lead anyway, his movements steady even as the tension thickened—that fragile, forbidden sweetness of their secrecy wrapping around them like morning fog.

Her legs hit the edge of the bed, she kissed him again, her hands lingering just a moment longer against his chest before sliding down.

“I won’t do anything even close to the things that require a French letter. But if you allow me, Wendy, I’d like to show you something I don’t think you know about the human body.”

Wendy arched a brow. “Truly?” She whispered.

“You know medicine, functions of physiology. But allow me,” he whispered, brushing her hair back, “to show you what it means to be desired—with reverence.”

She bit her lip when he said it. And for the first time in her life, Wendy couldn’t care less about what came next—only that it was him.