Page 19 of The Sound of Seduction
Her breath hitched as his hand slid ever so slightly over her back, pulling her closer. If she moved just a fraction closer, his lips would be…Dare she think it?
“Am I interrupting something?” Nick’s voice cut through the moment like a sharp wind, shattering the fragile tension. They broke apart as though caught in the act, the spell broken.
Nick stood in the doorway, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised, and his smirk equal parts amusement and suspicion. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your… dance lesson,” he added, though the warning undertone in his voice said otherwise.
She stepped back, breathless and flustered, avoiding both of their eyes. “Of course not, Nick,” she said quickly, her cheeks burning.
Prince Stan, however, didn’t even flinch. His gaze lingered on her for an agonizing heartbeat longer before he straightened, his expression unreadable. “We’ll have to finish this at the ball,” he said softly, meant only for her ears, before turning and walking away, leaving her heart racing for entirely different reasons.
Chapter Eight
Silvercrest Manor in Kent. One day later, at Alfie and Bea’s ball in honor of their wedding…
The ballroom wasa marvel of light and sound. Coffered ceilings adorned with chandeliers dripped with crystal, casting a kaleidoscope of brilliance over the parquet floor as the string quartet began its lively waltz. Every detail, from the sweeping drapery to the polished silver trays in the hands of the quick-footed footmen, was exquisite. It was a scene straight out of a fairytale, one Wendy felt she had absolutely no business being in.
She stood at the edge of the crowd, a fixed smile plastered on her face that she hoped appeared pleasant rather than pained. Her rose quartz gown shimmered under the gold-tinged light, the golden threads in the fabric catching every angle just as the modiste had predicted, making her stand out more boldly than she expected—or desired. The truth was, she felt like a pink cake—overly sweet, overly seen, and waiting to be devoured by aristocratic stares.
Her gloved fingers toyed nervously with the fabric of her skirt as Alfie, dashing in his evening wear, led a radiant Bea onto the dance floor. Alfie’s hand rested confidently at his bride’s waist, and Bea, in her summer-sky blue silk gown, was the picture of grace as they began their first dance. Around the room, delighted whispers and approving smiles followed their steps. A circle ofguests formed to admire the pair, champagne glasses clinking softly as onlookers leaned in for a better view.
Wendy shifted uncomfortably. The music swelled, spiraling higher, and her stomach twisted matching its rhythm. This was the moment she usually avoided. She would normally excuse herself discreetly, dodging the peacock parade of silk and shot silk before anyone could notice her absence.
But tonight, escape wasn’t so simple.
Pippa, hosting the happy couple for the evening, soon followed Bea onto the dance floor, her champagne-colored gown glittering with every step. She moved with her usual elegance, arm-in-arm with Nick, whose sharp black coat and tailored trousers made him look like he’d wandered off the pages of a painting. Wendy had often relied on Nick for an exit strategy at these grand events, but there he was, spinning across the parquet with his new wife—a vision so polished, they seemed to belong to another realm entirely. Although Wendy’s own gown shimmered in the candlelight, every facet catching the grandeur around her, the brilliance only made her feel more exposed. If she could vanish into the gilded walls, she would. But when her heel caught on the hem of her gown, she swayed—too visible, too exposed. She stayed rooted, not by choice, but by the sheer impossibility of escape.
The crowd around her had tightened, the guests whispering and shifting closer to see the spectacle of Bea and Alfie opening the ball. She couldn’t move. Glancing around helplessly, Wendy clasped and unclasped her hands as she tried to find a place to disappear quietly. Nick’s gaze found hers from across the room. He tilted his chin faintly, giving her a slight nod.
At first, Wendy thought it was one of Nick’s reassuring smiles, checking on his little sister.
But then Alfie did the same from the ballroom, which was a little odd, wasn’t it? Why would he, the groom, look to her during his first dance with his bride?
Then Bea—smiling mid-spin—caught her eye and tilted her head in the same direction.
What did they mean? Why were they nodding at her?
The dances will begin by rank.
Wasn’t that what Pippa had said at the shop?
Wendy looked for the Earl and Countess of Langley but couldn’t see them.
A low wave of whispers resonated through the crowd of guests, but Wendy couldn’t make out what they were saying as the music soared around her.
She blinked, and then her heart lurched.
The crowd began to part. Like ripples spreading outward in restless water, the space between the guests widened suddenly, leaving a clear path through the throng. A gasp caught in her throat as she recognized the man moving toward her.
It was him.
Her knees locked in place as Prince Stan stepped forward, the curling tails of his black evening coat swaying behind him. His cravat, pressed and folded with military precision, was as crisp and white as the snow-capped peaks in Alpine paintings. His dark hair, smooth and neatly combed back, gleamed under the brilliance of the chandeliers. Yet it was his eyes—those impossible, intense eyes—that struck her hardest. They locked onto hers as though no one else existed in the entire ballroom.
Wendy’s pulse jolted painfully. It couldn’t be. Surely, she was mistaken.
But then he came straight toward her, no hesitation in his stride, his tall frame commanding the sea of silk and diamonds that rippled away to make room for him.
Her heart stumbled over itself as the crowd around her began to murmur, and then he stood still.
Right in front of her.
