Page 13 of The Sound of Seduction
“For what, exactly?” Violet asked, her voice softer now but tinged with curiosity.
Stan tilted his head toward her, studying her for a long beat before answering. “For Baron von List.”
Her hand faltered on the embroidered cuff of her sleeve, and her brow knit faintly. “How do you know we’re his next targets?” she asked, a hint of incredulity creeping into her tone. “He hates so many people, the Crown Jewelers, Baron Stone, Dr. Leafley, he could pick on anyone.”
“Which is why he must be stopped.” The Earl nodded at Stan.
“Considering that the Ton won’t want to miss Lady Bea’s wedding, I think it would be unwise for him to strike at the wedding. He has enough to do in London with his own wife.” Violet waved in the direction of the carriage, and the footmen carried her trunks to the front door. “There will be so many doctors at this wedding, it is as if I was going to a clinic. Right? No party without medical supervision.”
Both Stan and the Earl stared at her, their expressions making it perfectly clear that the answer should have been obvious.
Stan folded his arms and glanced at the parlor door down the corridor. “It was Alfie who made the truth serum. And all of us—every last one—were right in that parlor over there when we poisoned the man against his will.”
Violet paled slightly, though her chin lifted in defense. “That was done with good intentions. We…the circumstances demanded it.”
“Intentions only matter to those concerned with morality. Those on the right side of it, to be exact.” Stan’s voice darkened, his thoughts pulling him back to von List’s calculating gaze, his predatory stance even as the serum forced truths from his lips. “He isn’t on any side. He’s on his own. He’s gotten away with exploiting the Transylvanian gold mines for too long. Alfie’s serum—and our interference—humiliated him. It stripped him of power and control. If you think he isn’t plotting his revenge at this very moment, you’re being naïve.”
The Earl’s hand tightened slightly at Violet’s elbow, but she didn’t falter, her jaw set in stubborn defiance.
“And yet, wolf or no wolf lurking beyond that door, I can’t abandon Bea. Not now—not for anything,” Violet declared, leaving no room for protest.
Stan exhaled through his nose, biting back the retort hovering on his tongue. Society events were far too important to London’s Ton—Violet and Bea being right in the midst of it all. And logic wasn’t going to win here; it never did when it came to friendships and the bonds women seemed to hold so fiercely. He tried again, his voice lower, quieter. “Bea wouldn’t forgive herself if anything happened to you—or the baby—because of this trip.”
“It’s an argument I can’t win,” the Earl said with a faint shrug, tilting his gaze toward Stan. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Stan gave the man a flat look. He didn’t appreciate Langley’s surrender, but he wasn’t entirely surprised by it either. For all his supposed influence, his wife already had him wrapped around her smallest finger—a talent Stan was beginning to see Violet employed quite well.
“Three hours in broad daylight is manageable,” Langley continued lightly as if dismissing Stan’s concern entirely.
Manageable? Stan wouldn’t go so far with the looming shadow of von List darkening every move they made. “I’m taking my carriage with Andre and following close by.”
Still, before he could utter another remark, Violet pivoted on her heel, glancing back at one of the hurried footmen. “Were the trunks loaded properly?” she asked, her voice floating so composedly above the whirlwind around her.
Stan watched her go, shaking his head to himself even as his thoughts churned. She didn’t pay heed to the gravity of it—the fact that von List wasn’t finished with them yet. He was certain of that much. The Baron had let some of his motives slip the day they poured that truth serum into his drink, lost his dignity, and there was no telling how far he’d go to reclaim it.
This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
The impending ball felt like a narrow valley with sheer cliffs on every side, and List was the predator perched above, waiting for the moment Stan’s guard faltered to rain arrows down. Stan knew List preyed on the undefended, those too weak or unsuspecting to strike back. He had seen the malice etched in the man’s actions, from the threats that drove their Jewish friends to trembling silence to the venomous grin that promised vengeance against Violet, Pippa, and Bea. Their involvement in poisoning him—instigated by Stan himself—made them perfect targets.
He needed a battalion—but all he had were friends too loyal to stay safe.
And the women List would target first.
And Wendy—who’d already become too much to lose.
Chapter Six
An hour beforethey were supposed to leave for Silvercrest Manor for Alfie and Bea’s wedding, Wendy stood in the center of her chambers in the new townhouse. Her fingers fumbled with the last few buttons of the gown. She had to try it on again before she could muster the courage to face people in it. And by people, she meanthim, of course. Not that she’d ever admit that.
The rose-gold silk dress had arrived earlier that morning, carried in by the milliner’s assistant with so much care that she half expected it to waltz into the room on its own. Now, it hung awkwardly from her shoulders, elegant in its design yet stubborn where it refused her reach. Twisting to catch sight of her back in the small, spotted looking glass only made the situation worse. She jerked forward, grabbing the back of the chair nearby to steady herself. Her grip wasn’t enough. The chair tipped, her stockinged foot caught on the hem of the gown, and with a gasp, she landed in an undignified heap on the rug.
For half a heartbeat, she just lay there, the tight bodice of the gown pressing against her ribs, her pride bruised worse than any bone might have been. The scent of dusty lavender sachets from the corner chest mixed with the sharp tang of floor polish, grounding her in the absurdity of the moment. She wanted to laugh, but the sting of humiliation crept up faster, pooling hot behind her eyes. Wendy bit her lip instead and pushed herself upright, brushing silk out of the way to inspect her ankle. Fine. At least she’d kept that intact.
The voices came faintly at first, muffled by the closed door but unmistakable in their urgency. Her heart lodged in her throat as footsteps thundered up the stairs.
“Wendy? Are you all right?” Pippa’s voice shot through the crack under the door, followed immediately by Nick’s deeper tone.
Before Wendy could respond, the knob turned. She scrambled to her feet, the half-fastened gown slipping down one shoulder as the door burst open. Pippa and Nick stood framed in the doorway, their expressions painted with concern that quickly turned quizzical. She barely had the chance to tug the gown into place when another figure loomed behind them.
