Page 65 of The Sound of Seduction
And then—another sound. The faint scuffle of feet above. Wendy.
Stan’s head jerked upward just in time to see her climbing out the window, the blanket still tangled around her. He stepped forward instinctively. “Careful!”
Her hair tumbled into her face, the blanket slipping lower than was proper. Her face went white, then red, then white again as she looked down.
“Oh no!” Wendy said faintly from above.
Silence. Four very male, very judgmental stares.
Nick’s gaze moved from Stan to Wendy dangling from the open window above them. Then back again. Slowly. “You have thirty seconds to explain,” he said, his voice quiet. Which was worse than shouting. So much worse.
Wendy’s voice cracked as she tried to summon words. “It’s not—it’s not what it looks like.”
Stan, standing half in front of her now, glanced sideways at her, then back at Nick. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”
Nothing could possibly go right with this.
Absolutely nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The early lightrevealed too much—his unbuttoned coat, his disheveled cravat, and likely the flush of a man who had just climbed down from a lady’s window. He straightened his spine, meeting Wendy’s brother and his band of allies directly. There wasn’t much left of his dignity, but he’d spend every last scrap fighting for hers.
“I know what this looks like,” he began, his voice even, though his chest tightened with every second Nick’s cold, unyielding gaze stayed locked on him.
Nick tilted his head, his expression as clear as a loud sermon in a silent chapel. He wasn’t looking at Stan as royalty, a prince, or even as an equal. He looked at Stan like a common thief—one who had dared to enter his house to steal a treasure: his sister Wendy.
It was true, wasn’t it?
Stan dragged his gaze away from Nick’s hard stare to Alfie. He was supposed to be still basking in that warm newlywed glow of love that softened other edges. But no. Alfie’s mouth was a grim line, his eyes sharp and contemplative. It was a gaze Stan recognized all too well—the same look Alfie had the night he measured out drops of truth serum with chilling precision to extract information from Baron von List. Alfie had weighed that decision then, and Stan could sense he was weighing something now. Only this time, Stan realized, Alfie appeared to seehimas the threat.
Stan swallowed and looked next to Felix. Quiet, steady dentist Felix. Reliable, even soothing, until you put tools in his hands. The thought made Stan’s palms sweat. Felix looked as calm as always, though his lips pressed together tightly, his gloved fingers curling lightly at his sides. Stan didn’t need to guess what he was thinking—Felix’s gaze was sharp as a scalpel and full of warning. A man who carved teeth and hammered gold into them for a living clearly didn’t mind a bit of blood if necessary.
“I have a sister, too,” Stan said into the charged silence, his voice steady despite the tension curdling in his gut. “I know what you must be thinking.”
Andre, standing at Felix’s side, tilted his head and arched a single dark brow, as though to say,Do you now?Stan’s jaw tightened, but before he could try again, Nick cut in, his voice like a blade.
“Wendy didn’t come home last night.” He wasn’t speaking to Stan. He didn’t even look at him. Instead, he spoke to Alfie, Felix, and Andre as though laying out evidence in a courtroom. But each word hit Stan hard enough to stagger him. “I thought she was looking after patients at Cloverdale House.”
All four men turned their heads in unison, gazes snapping to Wendy’s window above. Stan’s pulse thundered in his ears. He followed their stares, though every fiber of his body told him not to.
Then he saw it.
A slender leg—perfect, undeniably feminine—emerged from behind the curtain, clad in nothing more than the sheer sheen of stockings. Her foot slid, audacious and teasing, against the brick wall as though searching for a steady foothold. His breath halted somewhere between his chest and throat, the sound catching faintly.
All at once, the air seemed to buzz with disbelief. Nick’s sharp intake of breath punctuated the moment like a musket shot; his boots scraped against the gravel, grounding him as though preparing for battle. Stan fought the urge to step back, the sound alone thick with the promise of judgment. But then Nick froze, motionless as a statue carved from righteous fury, and his eyes—all their eyes—stayed glued upward.
Stan knew better than to follow their gaze this time, though curiosity pulled at him like a fisherman’s net. He already half guessed what they were seeing. He just didn’t want to confirm it.
“Oh, bloody—” Alfie’s mutter cut the tension, sharp but low, his expression a half-step between alarm and exasperation.
Felix tilted his head, one gloved hand hovering near his face as though to shield his eyes—or perhaps his dignity—as the movement above caught the light. “Is she…?” he murmured, but his voice trailed off as Andre, too, leaned forward for a better view.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint scuff of silk on brick as Wendy—Wendy!—hooked her foot against the wall, the dainty toe of her stocking catching, slipping, catching again, refusing to stay still.
Nick’s hand shot out, jabbing toward the window, his face twisting as words finally boiled to the surface. “What in the devil’s name is she doing?!” It wasn’t so much a question as an accusation hurled at the group around him, as though he had somehow convinced his sister to clamber out of a second-story window.
“She’s climbing, I think,” Andre supplied dryly, his voice lined with equal parts amusement and disbelief. He crossed his arms and watched, almost intrigued, as Wendy’s other leg appeared, pressing against the brick in an awkward attempt at maneuvering. She wiggled farther out—too far, in Nick’s mind, judging by the controlled snarl that escaped him.
