Page 51 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

T he morning before the ball, Wendy knew Stan would move out of Cloverdale House for he’d been officially discharged.

She missed him already, her chest aching with the weight of it, and yet anticipation prickled just beneath her skin—she’d see him again tonight.

Thus, she headed for the morning room to check on an elderly patient when low voices from the parlor tugged at her attention.

They weren’t the ordinary tones of visitors or staff; the cadence was sharper, edged with urgency.

Her slippers whispered against the floorboards as she approached. The voices grew clearer. One of them, unmistakably, belonged to Stan. Why was he still here? She paused, her fingers lightly tracing the wall for balance as she leaned closer.

“No, Alex, I have not,” Stan said, his voice controlled but tense. “And there’s no need to remind me what’s at stake. He’ll cause a rift that will bring about war. I know it.”

Wendy’s brow furrowed as she turned her ear toward the door. Another man, then, replied, “So what have you been doing here? Why aren’t you going back home? Why not appeal to the Emperor to send troops to protect our people?”

She dared a glance through the slightly ajar door, clutching the frame.

There, beyond the parlor threshold, stood a man whose features startled her.

He resembled Stan uncannily but with golden-blond hair, his face framed in sharper angles.

He stood an inch or two shorter than Stan but wore a posture just as firm and unyielding. Prince Alex.

Stan’s shoulders shifted as though bracing under an unseen weight. “Because I don’t want to give up trying to use diplomacy with List.”

“Diplomacy,” Prince Alex repeated, incredulity dripping from the word. “He doesn’t listen to reason.” He paced two quick steps before halting abruptly. “I’ll pen a note to the naval officers. We need to alert everyone back home.”

“I’m not willing to leave England.”

Wendy pressed a hand to the hollow at her throat, startled by the intensity in Stan’s words. She hardly dared to breathe lest the sound betray her. Her breath hitched. He wasn’t leaving. Not yet. But his brother wanted him gone—and for reasons Wendy had no power to touch.

“What’s keeping you here?” Alex’s voice dropped, sharp and pressing. “What could be so good that you’d stay even though List tried to have you and our sister killed?”

Stan hesitated, his gaze momentarily flicking toward the desk nearby, where the open letter from their parents lay. “Mother wrote that List is boasting again—that he’ll begin by targeting the women who stand beside the men. That he’ll erase them first, soften us, then strike.”

Alex’s breath caught. “That’s how he plays it now?”

Stan nodded once, jaw clenched. “It’s not just about politics anymore. It’s personal. Tactical. Ruthless.” Silence. “Brother, I’m afraid that Thea is not the only woman in my life whose loss,”—he paused—“would crush me.”

The silence that followed made her ears ring. Her chest tightened as her breath grew shallow, desperate not to draw attention. Just then, her heel caught against the unsteady edge of a floorboard. The muffled creak echoed louder than a pistol’s crack in the quiet corridor.

Wendy froze, her eyes squeezing shut as though the very act could render her invisible. She slid her back against the wall, trying to flatten herself into the intricate floral wallpaper.

She opened her eyes again only to find Stan standing just beyond the door, his dark, piercing gaze meeting hers.

“Wendy?” His tone was laced with a mixture of surprise and a tenderness that sent warmth creeping up her neck.

Alex followed, stepping into view, his expression shifting from curiosity to mild exasperation. Up close, the familial resemblance was even more striking, as though someone had composed an alternate version of Stan in lighter shades.

“Should I have asked who , then?” Alex straightened, raking a hand through his hair in a manner eerily similar to his brother’s.

Stan turned toward him, his jaw set. “I know you don’t think love is more important than duty, Alex. Spare me the lecture, for it is too late.”

Love. The word seared through Wendy with equal parts thrill and dread. He had said it aloud.

He stepped closer to Wendy, who was certain the heat from her face could have melted ice. With a measured gesture, he reached for her hand. His touch was steady, grounding her, and reassuring her whatever storm churned in that room, he stood by her.

“Please meet Miss Gwendolyn Folsham,” he said, his voice softer now. “Wendy, for short.”

Alex surveyed her with narrowed eyes, one brow arched as though silently questioning his brother’s judgment. Wendy felt a rush of self-awareness, her free hand instinctively smoothing her skirts under his scrutiny. Yet she did not flinch.

“Miss Folsham,” Alex said finally, offering the faintest inclination of his head. His tone held the detached politeness of someone indulging a frivolity they didn’t quite understand. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

“Your Royal Highness,” Wendy replied, managing a curtsy even as her hand remained clasped in Stan’s. Her voice cracked faintly, betrayed by the quickened beat of her heart.

“It isn’t fair to her, you know,” Alex muttered as he turned to his brother. “But then again, when has List cared for fair?”

Stan’s hold tightened slightly against hers, his stillness speaking volumes more than words would. Whatever ground he stood on, he stood firm, but Wendy couldn’t yet see the whole of it. Whatever war roiled beyond the walls of Cloverdale House, it wasn’t just Stan’s but hers, too.

*

Stan’s grip on Wendy’s hand remained steady, though the faintest tremor in her fingers sent an uneasy ripple down his spine.

Alex’s gaze flicked between them, his sharp blue eyes assessing, dissecting, unraveling every unspoken thread with that infuriating precision only a brother possessed.

It was not the outburst Stan had anticipated, none of the scorn or fury he had braced for.

Instead, Alex tilted his head, his expression as inscrutable as always.

Wendy shifted beside him, and Stan’s focus sharpened.

Her face, the delicate pink rising across her cheeks, struck him as both endearing and troubling.

She sucked in her lower lip, trying to conceal that telltale blush, but it only sharpened his awareness of her discomfort.

He couldn’t blame her. None of this was fair—to her most of all.

For all her strength, her courage in tending the sick here, she’d never been exposed to a world like his.

A world thick with shadows, obligations, and danger.

If she stayed by his side, how much would she have to remake herself to fit into it—a world of shadows and strategy, where loyalty could be fatal and love an exploitable weakness.

A dart of guilt pricked at his conscience.

Then she shifted again, subtly at first, her fingers beginning to pull from his hand.

He felt the movement instantly, like the first hint of a door slipping open in a storm.

Instinct overrode thought. He tightened his grip, a silent command that she shouldn’t leave his side now—not in front of Alex.

He stepped closer, his other hand settling atop hers.

The gesture demanded nothing, only offered her reassurance, a promise of stability when things seemed most precarious.

“Is this serious?” Alex finally asked, his voice even, but with an edge that cut through the quiet room. His gaze met Stan’s, steady and unrelenting.

“Yes.” The answer came from Stan’s throat as firmly and easily as breathing.

His eyes lingered on Wendy, watching as her head dipped slightly. Her lashes swept down, her gaze averted. It stung to see her retreat into herself, though her stillness kept a tenuous thread between them unbroken.

There was no mistaking the flicker of reaction in Alex’s eyes.

His raised eyebrows conveyed more than his closed lips did.

His mouth parted as if to say more, but before he could, Wendy gave a soft tug.

It was nothing more than a gesture, an instinct to pull away and step back.

But Stan caught it as if she’d yelled. He responded with urgency, as if her departure would tip everything out of balance. I’m not letting you go.

“So, you two…” Alex’s words trailed into the stillness.

Wendy’s nod was barely perceptible, the faintest angle of her chin downward. Her silence stung more than Stan expected, though he knew she was trying. She didn’t look up at him, and yet she didn’t try to free herself again. It was enough for him.

Alex exhaled loudly, the breaking of the moment startling Stan. “Then you need to protect her from List.”

The words slammed into him, breaking the momentum of his thoughts.

His spine straightened without him realizing, and his free hand flexed briefly.

He hadn’t prepared for this—for Alex to see Wendy as…

as one of them. Someone who needed protection.

He blinked, his mind stumbling through the consequences of that realization.

Alex didn’t wait for an answer. “Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right. She’ll be in as much danger as any member of our family now.”

Stan forced himself to breathe, to catch the threads of this new, unexpected turn. His thumb shifted slightly over Wendy’s fingers, grounding himself in the contact. “Of course,” he said, though his voice betrayed him by faltering on the final word.

Wendy hesitated next to him, and he felt her withdrawing again.

This time, she moved away fully, her fingers slipping from his grasp with all the grace and inevitability of sand slipping through his hand.

His palm cooled where hers had been, the loss sending a pang straight to his chest. Her retreat felt purposeful, though there was nothing stiff in her walk as she stepped toward the hall.

He kept his eyes on her for a moment longer than he should before turning back to Alex.

“You mean to help?” Stan asked, his tone wary. Alex had a way of turning help into something sharper, something heavier.

Alex sighed, shrugging with uncalled-for ease. “I mean that you’ve tied yourself to someone who will be a target—not later, but right now. You’ve made this more dangerous for her. And for you.”

Stan squared his shoulders, locking his stance as though planting himself on solid ground. “I would never put her at risk.”

“You wouldn’t mean to,” Alex cut in, irritation bristling beneath his otherwise calm voice. “But you love her, don’t you?”

The question didn’t require deliberation. The answer had nestled deeply within Stan long before Alex had asked it. “Yes.”

The simplicity of the truth, spoken aloud, surprised even Stan. His pulse quickened slightly as the weight of the admission settled.

Alex’s gaze softened, just a fraction, as the tiniest crease formed near the corner of his brow. He exhaled, shaking his head faintly. “More than I ever thought possible,” Stan added, the truth folding out of him like a confession.

“I understand,” Alex said eventually, his gaze steady as though willing Stan to believe him.

Stan tensed, leaning slightly forward. “You? Understand?” His lips curved faintly in disbelief before his brow furrowed, startled by the sincerity in Alex’s voice.

Alex simply shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I? I’ve sacrificed for far less, haven’t I?”

Beyond the doorway, the faint echo of Wendy’s soft footsteps disappeared down the corridor. Stan knew she hadn’t heard Alex’s answer, yet there was no doubt she carried something new away with her. The silence she left in her absence was not empty but charged.

Stan loved her. And that love now lived between them, unshakable as stone, a truth with teeth and consequence.