Page 3 of The Sound of Seduction
He’d seen her before, of course. Many times, in fact—often enough that her presence should no longer rattle him. As the oculist’s sister, she’d been part of the clinic’s daily rhythm. She was never insignificant. Her crisp white apron, her steady hands, her voice that calmly directed even aristocrats—she was not just a nurse. She was the linchpin of this place. It wasn’tjust admiration anymore. It was longing, and that made her dangerous. He had enemies. Loving her could destroy her.
Last month, when he’d begun staying at the Langley’s townhouse upon his arrival in London, she had flitted in and out as part of the medical entourage for the pregnant Countess of Langley. The apothecary and the doctors came as needed, their presence a matter of courtesy or necessity. But Wendy…Wendy was never just a formality.
At first glance, she appeared to be the epitome of modest utility—a pretty girl in her crisp white apron, her hands methodical and steady. From the beginning, he noticed her attractiveness. He wasn’t blind, nor was he immune to how her neat braid slipped loose by late afternoon, framing her face with a hint of chaos that contrasted with her precise movements. He contemplated how to tug at that neatly tied ribbon of her apron, envisioning various angles from which she would fall straight into his arms. The outcome existed only in his dreams at night, for he also imagined how he would unravel that ribbon and catch her—the best part. Still, he quickly dismissed the idea, much like one might disregard a glimmer on a distant horizon. It was there, yet inconsequential.
But then…
Then, he watched her work.
And that was when the glint became a beacon.
Wendy moved not with the clinical detachment he expected from someone assisting physicians but with a sort of quiet, unyielding purpose. She wasn’t merely present; she was pivotal. Her deft hands anticipated what each doctor needed before they even asked. Her voice, calm but firm, without hesitation, directed aristocratic patients twice her age. It was in the way she leaned over a patient’s bedside, her brow furrowed not in doubt but in determination, that he realized something startlingly simple yet irrevocably profound.
She healed.
People, objects, even his fractured patience as he waited hours in the Langley parlor for someone to tend to his hostess’ nausea—everything Wendy touched seemed to mend under her care. And it had struck him harder than any bullet that she wielded her expertise without the faintest trace of vanity. Wendy simply…did. Wasn’t that infinitely more compelling than any amount of artificial charm honed by the vain aristocratic ladies he’d been presented with for as long as he could remember? He may bear the title of prince, but that was only a courtesy of his bloodline; there was no kingdom nor principality he ruled over, despite the blue blood in his veins.
Now here she stood, blushing with a fury that seemed to set the room alight, and Stan felt something unravel within him. It wasn’t her fault. He knew that. She was probably not even aware of what she’d done. But her cheeks, pink and burning, betrayed something that tightened his chest to the point of absurdity.
This wasn’t admiration. Not anymore. Admiration didn’t lance through a man’s defenses and leave him raw every night—apparently now, also by day.
He should have looked away.
Should have folded this moment down like a military report—studied, filed, and dismissed.
For a moment, their eyes met again, and the air stretched thin between them. He was a soldier, a leader, a man trained to withstand harsher pressures than this.
But what training prepared a man to resist someone like her? Not when her mere presence could compromise his entire mission. And yet, here he stood, utterly unarmed in the face of a woman who didn’t even realize she’d already conquered him.
Chapter Two
No matter howmany ways Stan dissected the threats posed by List, the danger remained the same. He had spent the better part of the morning discussing it with Andre and Alfie, but the weight of it still pressed heavily on his mind. Protecting his friends at Harley Street was non-negotiable, yet he couldn’t face this alone—he needed their help. Even now, as he lingered in Andre’s treatment room with the only two people he could truly trust—the unease refused to leave him.
“If they insist on coming to the wedding, we have to make sure they’re safe,” Stan said, glancing over his shoulder at the small group who had become—to his surprise—what he could for the first time in his life call friends. Truly. Until he’d met the doctors on Harley Street, he thought a prince couldn’t have real friends—not ones he dared to trust fully, at least. Too often, people had vested interests in his fortune, his title, and even the alliances he was expected to forge. That’s why he’d sent for his brother, Alex, when the trouble with List started to escalate.
He needed someone he could trust.
Trust, for Stan, had always been a guarded currency, spent sparingly. He had been careful even during his rare indulgences with women on the Continent. No names. No promises. No lingering attachments, not in the heart and not physically. There wouldn’t even be a rumor to follow his trail.
It wasn’t until Wendy appeared at the Langleys’, that a woman took over his every thought.
And he’d never even touched her!
Except secretly, in the quiet of the night, Stan had entertained the treacherous scenes in his mind—where he untied those neat little ties of her bonnet, drew her into his arms, and kissed her until her blush deepened to a shade reserved only for him. Yet even his errant thoughts couldn’t remain innocent. No, he’d seen what her blushes were truly capable of, and they tugged at him—closer, always closer.
Stop it!
The command to himself was rough and unheard.
Someone cleared his throat. “Nick?” Alfie called, his voice pulling Stan out of his thoughts. Stan stepped aside instinctively, unconsciously situating himself nearer to her. “Nick?” Alfie’s voice echoed down the hall.
“I’m here,” came the calm baritone as the tall, fair-haired oculist entered the room. Nick nodded toward Stan, treating him to a brief but exacting gaze. “Your Royal Highness, how do you do?”
Stan almost snorted. “Drop the formalities. Please,” he added, a touch too dryly. “It’s hardly amusing, given the circumstances.” His gaze swept over the room. “We’re all in grave danger.”
“What happened this time?” Nick inquired, stepping to Wendy’s side with the protective air of an elder brother—a gesture Stan recognized all too well, having a sister of his own. But Nick furrowed his brow and studied Wendy for a moment too long. “Are you all right?”
The question, direct and inquisitive, lit Wendy’s cheeks anew. Her hands twisted together, and she cast her gaze downward. “I’m fine,” she murmured, barely louder than a whisper.
