Page 64 of The Sound of Seduction
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Stan’s head shotup, his heart slamming into his ribs at the distant sound of voices wafting up from downstairs. For a moment, his mind blanked before realization struck him like a cold slap. Nick was here. Oh no, Nick.
No, no, no!
He ran a hand through his already messy hair and scrambled for his shirt, the wooden floorboards cold beneath his bare feet as he began pacing. “I can’t get out unseen,” he hissed, glancing back toward Wendy, who was clutching a blanket so tightly to her chest that she looked ready to fuse with it.
“Yes!” she replied, not helpfully, her eyes wide and filled with an emotion he was pretty sure mirrored his own. Panic. Great, all-consuming panic.
They froze for a moment, listening. The muffled murmur of voices faded slightly, replaced by the heavy creak of wagon wheels and the clatter of boots. From the sound of it, one carriage had been loaded and left.
“Perhaps they’re waiting for the next one,” Wendy whispered, hovering by the window now, her toe sneaking out from under the blanket to lightly tap the floor. Hervoice wavered, betraying an optimism even she didn’t believe. “They’re probably inside now.”
He wasn’t willing to bet on “probably.” Stan peered past her, glancing out the window and noting the distance to the ground below. Not insurmountable. His gaze moved to the horizon, where his rented carriage was parked beyond the turn of the street, looking abandoned.
“I’m going out the window,” he declared, moving with purpose toward it.He’ll kill me just as I would a man who touched my sister.
Stan suppressed an inward smirk.But that touching, oh that was so good.
“Stan!” Wendy’s voice pitched higher, equal parts disbelief and exasperation.
“Look,” he said, swinging the window open and sticking his head out into the bracing morning air. The crisp breeze bit into him, but he waved it off. “My carriage is just around the corner. My driver must have fallen asleep. I’ll get his attention.”
She folded her arms, the blanket slipping precariously low on one shoulder, though she seemed not to notice. “Do you have much practice sneaking out of women’s rooms in the morning?”
He glanced over his shoulder with a cocked brow. “No, but I have climbed down from Bran Castle, which is perched on a mountain. This?” He gestured at the modest drop to the ground below, “is child’s play.”
Wendy opened her mouth—probably to argue—but he didn’t give her the chance. He swung his legs through the window frame. The slight groan of the wooden sill beneath him was the only hesitation he allowed himself. “One story up,” he muttered under his breath. “I can drop onto the horse. Probably.”
“Probably?!” Wendy’s disbelief followed him as he carefully maneuvered to the ledge, his fingers gripping the edge tightly.
But just as he adjusted his stance, a new voice reached his ears—soft but insistent. “I’m going with you.”
He craned his neck, blinking up at her in utter confusion. “What? Why?”
Her cheeks flushed, though she kept her chin high. “Because if I’m found here, it won’t matter what excuse I give. Do you think anyone will believe I came to your room to discuss the weather? Or that I simply got lost on my way to the library?” She sighed. “And I don’t want Nick to find out like this. I want to tell him about us properly.”
Stan opened his mouth, then closed it again. She had a point. “All right, fine,” he muttered quickly, now more concerned with the quickly collapsing timeline than with logic itself. “Wait until I bring the horse closer. I’ll catch you.”
Before she could counter with another protest, he dropped down, landing with a dull thud that shot up his knees but didn’t quite dampen his pride. He stood, brushing his hands off against his breeches as he scanned the area.
And then he froze.
Around the corner, stepping out into full, damning view, were four men. Felix. Alfie. André. And Nick.
Each of them stared directly at him, their expressions ranging from wide-eyed shock to pointed disapproval. Nick, in particular, looked less surprised and more sharply annoyed in a protective, big-brother sort of way.
Stan swallowed hard.
There it was—the look. That look. The one that said: You’ve taken what you shouldn’t have. And now you’ll answer for it. Not with swords, but with silence. With exile. With the cold severing of trust from a man who had always kept Wendy safe—Nick—and might now decide Stan couldn’t.
He cursed under his breath. He’d been caught.
For a moment that stretched a little too long, no one moved. Even the morning seemed to pause, holding its breath for what would come next.
“Good morning,” Stan said, his voice forced into a feigned and utterly unconvincing calm. He gave the smallest, most awkward of nods, which went unreturned.
Nick’s eyes narrowed. Alfie smirked. André crossed his arms and cleared his throat. Felix adjusted his gloves, looking like he was ready to start sharpening knives.
