Page 54 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

S tan traveled to the ball with the Langleys.

The carriage creaked to a stop in the circle drive, its wheels crunching faintly on the gravel.

Stan tugged at his cuffs and shifted to allow Henry to exit first. The Earl’s silhouette paused in the lamplight spilling from Lady Ashford’s house as he turned back toward Violet.

“Are you certain about this?” Henry asked, his voice low but firm. His hand hovered protectively near Violet’s forearm, his concern evident in the sharp tension of his posture.

“I am,” Violet replied, her tone soft but unwavering.

She lowered her gaze to her belly for a moment, brushing her gloved fingers across the fabric of her gown as though to reassure both herself and him.

Then she looked directly at her husband, a small but determined smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“After tonight, I will yield to all your concerns and remain in confinement. But you know as well as I do—this evening is not one to miss.”

Henry hesitated, then released a slow sigh, threading her hand through his arm. “Very well.”

Stan stepped down from the carriage behind them, tugging his coat straight as he followed toward the glowing entrance.

Ahead, liveried footmen opened the wide double doors, and the instant they entered, the grandeur inside caught him off guard.

He’d visited Thea at Lady Ashford’s house when she’d moved in there a day ago but with the decorations of the ball, it looked even more splendid.

Inside, the light from an enormous crystal chandelier spilled across the hall, casting a golden sheen over polished marble floors.

An opulent staircase curved gracefully up to the next level, its balustrade gleaming with intricate carvings.

The walls, covered with silk panels and adorned with heavy gilt frames, showcased portraits of ancestors whose expressions seemed to watch the evening unfold.

Nothing new.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Yet, Stan’s heart flip-flopped like a bird trying to take flight for the first time as he searched for Wendy but couldn’t spot her among the guests.

Nick had promised they’d be there and yet Stan was restless with anticipation.

Voices hummed low, punctuated by bursts of laughter, and a quartet played softly from a side room, filling the air with a lilting waltz.

Violet turned her head slightly, her gaze wandering in quiet admiration.

Stan tried to focus on the splendor as well, but his mind was elsewhere.

He carefully scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face—her face.

Wendy. She wasn’t here. Or at least, if she was, she remained tucked away from view.

Disappointment prickled beneath his skin, but he ignored it.

Nick and Pippa weren’t visible either, suggesting they hadn’t arrived yet.

Lady Anna Ashford’s arrival pulled his attention forward.

She stood poised under the chandelier, her gown a deep crimson that all but demanded attention.

Thea stood beside her, the emerald of her dress accentuating her warm complexion.

On Thea’s other side, Alex shifted slightly, casting an uneasy glance toward the growing crowd.

“Have you seen him yet?” Alex asked, tilting his head sideways.

List.

Stan’s heart sank.

“Who invited him?” Stan asked.

“Nobody,” Alex said as he offered his arm to their sister. “Stay close.”

Thea nodded with a regal gesture that was befitting of their mother, but Stan caught the flicker of fear in her gaze.

“It is time,” Lady Ashford said and led them to the grand ballroom. “May I present Princess Theodora…”

But Stan didn’t hear the rest of what Lady Ashford said. Her voice rose just enough to break through the muted noise of the ballroom, and Stan smiled at the guests respectfully as gazes turned in their direction.

He felt Thea’s grip tighten on his arm—a silent plea for safety as she clung to both him and Alex.

The weight of curious, speculative glances pressed on him, but he kept his expression steady.

A stir of movement to the left caught his attention. Andre approached with effortless charm, his genuine smile accompanied by a slight bow. He murmured something to Thea, and though Stan couldn’t catch the words, her warm response was unmistakable.

Then came another figure: List. His presence slithered into the scene like oil on water, where stagnation had no business moments ago. He wove through the cluster of attendees, his tailored coat cutting sharp lines against the candlelight.

“Baron von List,” Henry greeted, his voice measured, his brow just barely lifting as he stepped slightly in front of Violet, adopting a subtly defensive stance.

“Henry,” List replied with a bow that barely tipped at the waist, his smile too quick, his gaze too cold. “And you, Stan.” It was uncanny that List always demanded the correct form of address and yet consistently chose to disrespect others by calling both an earl and a prince by their first names.

Stan shook his head, and Langley squared his shoulders.

“It’s a surprise to see you here. I was unaware you were on the guest list,” Langley began.

“I didn’t need to be to honor the evening with my presence,” List retorted.

Langley quirked a brow in Stan’s direction and Stan returned the look with a measured one of his own.

“Perhaps,” Langley interjected, his tone as smooth as polished granite, “you would join me for a game of whist? It’s quieter there and far more private.”

List’s response came too quickly. “Ah, the great Langley, luring me away already? Shall we discuss how our last game ended—or should we not? Surely the good prince recalls it better than I—for I’ve been poisoned?

” List turned his sharp gaze to him, voice lined faintly with menace.

Stan stared back evenly, tension coiling in his gut.

Could poison even kill a viper like List or would it nurture his venomous smugness?

Langley’s eyes narrowed, and there was a pause heavy enough to silence a nearby murmur of voices. The air between them felt like a taut wire, drawn tight by the unexplained challenge in List’s words. “Have you had… enough?” List added, his smile sharp.

Stan flexed his fingers inside his gloves, the soft creak of the leather grounding him as he glanced at Langley. Confusion mingled with unmistakable suspicion. Whatever List played at, it would not fester here. Not tonight.

Alex’s posture stiffened first, alert and certain, before Stan turned his head to follow his brother’s gaze.

A young woman stood before Alex, her hand extended like she meant to bridge a gap neither sibling seemed aware of until now.

She touched Alex’s arm briefly, her movements tentative, almost shy.

But then her expression shifted—a flicker of alarm or regret—and in moments, she turned sharply and walked away, her motions hurried, the crowd swallowing her up entirely.

Alex stood frozen for a beat, then darted after her, his stride purposeful and urgent. Stan watched his brother disappear into the throng, his own chest tightening. He couldn’t help but wonder who she was, what it was Alex had failed to say—or what he had said too much of to scare her away.

Across the room, Thea stood near a cluster of Harley Street doctors, looking poised yet approachable, like she belonged in every corner of the world.

Andre lingered closest to her, and though his attention was always amiably split between the crowd, Stan noticed how it returned to Thea time and again.

He couldn’t blame him, really. Everyone seemed to have someone to love, Stan thought, his chest aching with something undefinable.

Happiness—that unrelenting desire to see his siblings find their joy—did little to soften his own sharp-edged longing.

He turned his gaze toward the sea of dancers, of ladies laughing into hands half-hidden by gloves, of gentlemen all overly eager to charm or impress. Somewhere beyond this whirl of movement, he had imagined Wendy would be there.

A soft, familiar sound broke through his haze. Violet. She cleared her throat delicately and touched his arm. Her fingers were steady, calm—a reminder. Her other hand held a glass sparkling beneath the chandelier.

“Stan,” she began lightly, “you looked far too serious for a ball.” She smiled gently as she raised the glass slightly.

He furrowed his brow as his gaze dropped to the cordial in her hand. The liquid inside appeared vibrant, a ruby hue that caught every flicker of light in the room. He tilted his head, suspicious but careful in his tone. “What is that?”

“Oh,” she said, brushing it off with a quick glance at the drink.

“One of the baroness’s suggestions. Punch with something else, I believe.

She handed it to me before asking all manner of questions about Thea.

Quite interested in her, don’t you think?

Too much, though, considering she’s just as bad as her husband.

” Violet sniffed delicately at the rim of the glass and grimaced slightly but followed it with a light laugh.

“The smell is peculiar. I didn’t want to refuse her outright. ”

Stan’s gaze darted toward the punch table where he caught sight of Sofia von List. Her head leaned toward her husband, her expression unreadable but her lips moving with precision, as though each whispered word was calculated to provoke him.

It worked. List’s smile spread slow and deliberate until the man practically oozed satisfaction.

That can’t be good, Stan thought grimly, the unease settling deeper now. Sofia raised her gaze suddenly, and though her smile lingered, it didn’t reach her eyes when they landed briefly on him.

Henry’s voice cut through the moment, rich with affection as he addressed Violet. “If you truly plan to retire from these affairs after tonight, may I lay claim to a dance now?” He bowed slightly, his movement fluid, his smile reserved only for her.