Page 7 of The Sound of Seduction
Wendy sighed, a quiet and sorrowful sound that softened the air. Stan’s gaze lingered on her profile as she bit her lip as if carefully choosing her words. A curl had slipped loose from the pins holding her hair up, brushing her cheek in a way that made Stan’s chest tighten. “Look at me,” she said finally, her voice threaded with calm authority and a trace of playfulness. “Thanks to this invention, you can walk. Your sister doesn’t understand that this is temporary. Temporary means it won’t last forever, do you know that?”
The boy sniffled audibly but shook his head, his small, freckled face peeking out from beneath the messy fringe of his red hair.
Wendy leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret. “Do you know what I think? I think your contraption is cleverer than Charlotte realizes. She doesn’t seewhat I see. It’s like a magic trick.” A pause, brief but deliberate, pulling the boy’s attention away from his doubts. “You step inside it now, and one day, you’ll step out stronger than you’ve ever been. You’ll have straight legs, strong bones, and”—she smiled softly—“you’ll be the last to laugh, like my father always said.”
The boy peered at her, his tears momentarily forgotten. “You really think so? It’s a magic trick?”
Wendy’s smile deepened, filling the air with her quiet confidence. “I know so. When the human body heals, it’s nothing short of a miracle! Magic, absolutely! And you can tell them you’re the only one clever enough to wear it to help that magic along.”
Stan’s throat tightened as he watched the boy’s shoulders relax at her gentle reassurance. The smallest blossom of hope flickered in the child’s tear-streaked face, and Wendy reached forward one last time, dabbing a stray tear away with her square of linen.
“Then Father must be right. He says that we’re both miracles, Charlotte and I. All the time.”
“And if your father says it,” Wendy replied, “I’d wager it must be true.”
Another pause, this one unbroken by the boy’s voice or Wendy’s. Only the sound of her skirts as she shifted slightly, a curl of hair bouncing free as she moved with some unintentional grace that Stan found impossible not to notice. She lifted her hand suddenly, as if remembering it was there, and tucked the rogue curl back into place behind her ear.
Then, she looked up.
Stan’s breath caught and he froze. Her gaze met his—wide, unguarded—and for a breathless moment, the quiet room, the boy’s splints, the entire world narrowed to just that look.
She saw him.
And worse—he sensed what it cost her to hold his gaze.
His chest tightened, not from nerves, but from knowing how fragile the moment was. This was the distance he was meant to keep.
Still, he stepped forward. His boots clicked softly against the polished floor, each stride a quiet betrayal of his caution. He met her eyes—steady, searching—even as every part of him warned that she could not remain untouched if he continued.
Her lips parted, just barely, as though she meant to ask something-or perhaps only caught her breath. Although her surprise lingered, what arrested him most was the way her expression softened, just faintly, not retreating but allowing him to be seen in turn.
And for Stan, that was it—the moment the lost pieces fell into place, like the shields of a Roman testudo snapping into perfect formation. His mind, trained in the art of strategy, recognized the pattern instantly, each piece locking together with purpose, and defense was futile. Whatever longing had clawed at him before felt sharper now, absolutely undeniable. There was no running from Wendy, no strategy that ended with escape. There was only her and him, rooted in the doorway, unable to prevent whatever came next.
This moment—Wendy in his arms, instinctively calm and focused even in the heat of intimacy—showed him something else too. She was not just the nurse who’d cared for him. She was someone who could stand steady at the helm of Cloverdale House, calm beneath pressure, bold without being reckless.
*
The corridor fellinto a hush as Wendy gazed at Prince Stan standing in the doorway. For a moment, it was as if she’d forgotten to breathe—just her unsteady pulse filling the stillness.Then he shifted, bowing slightly, one hand pressed to his chest in that easy, regal way of his.
“My apologies, Miss Folsham,” he said in his smooth and rich voice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Wendy’s heart thrummed—too fast, too loud—and she pressed her palm to the edge of the treatment bed to steady herself. Could he hear what he did to her heart?
“Can I assist you in any way, Your Royal Highness?” she asked, a touch breathless but managing the question with a small, composed smile.
Her little patient, Eddie, stopped sniffling long enough to squeak, “Royal Highness?” His wide, skeptical eyes darted to the doorway, studying the prince.
Wendy flicked her gaze toward Prince Stan, a silent prompt he instantly understood. He tipped his head slightly and, with a slow smile, stepped inside.
“Yes, my name is Prince Ferdinand Constantin Maximilian Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen,” Stan announced with gravity, bowing low once more. He was too good to be real, and yet, there he was, true nobility impersonated.
The boy gasped, eyes lighting up like lanterns. “Oh boy! A real prince?” His excitement bubbled over, and before either of them could stop him, he attempted a leap from the high treatment bed.
“Eddie, wait,” Wendy called, reaching for him—but the little boy’s legs slipped.
Stan’s movements were immediate and startling in their graceful precision. He lunged forward, pivoting with ease to intercept the boy as he toppled toward the floor. One arm swept beneath the boy’s knees while the other supported his back, catching him mid-air before his splints or his pride could take any damage.
The room seemed to exhale as Stan crouched low, lowering Eddie gently to a standing position. His hands steadied the child’s sides, just above his narrow hips, before he leaned back and knelt to meet him at eye level.
