Page 32 of The Sound of Seduction
“I don’t believe we floated,” Wendy snapped, her tone harsher than intended. “It was just a dance.”
“Oh, Wendy, don’t insult my intelligence,” Pippa said, her voice lilting with humor. She stepped closer, scrutinizing her reflection as she patted her curls into place. “Even with my diminished eyesight, it was plain. There was such tension between you. Everyone felt it. The way he looked at you—it was as though the rest of us simply vanished from the room. He didn’t say anything to you at Cloverdale House yesterday?”
Wendy’s chest tightened, the boundaries she had so carefully maintained threatening to crumble. Her older brother stared ather with a completely new expression she couldn’t decipher. Not precisely bewilderment or shock, but something in the general range of fear mixed with anger.
Oh dear.
So, Wendy decided to focus on her chest, willing her lungs to fill evenly with air, steadily. “You’re imagining it.”
“I’m not, and neither were the other guests. By the look of half those matrons with unwed daughters this season, you may already have enemies.” Pippa clasped her hands together with glee. “You looked so beautiful in his arms.”
Nick recoiled, his eyes widening as though he’d just been told the moon had fallen from the sky. He sputtered, clenching his cravat as if it had turned into a noose, and then broke into a cough.
Pippa, suppressing both a grin and a sigh, hurried to his side, her hands gentle as she patted his back. “Do breathe, Nick,” she teased. “It’s hardly a death sentence to be the belle of the ball in the arms of a prince.”
He rubbed at his temples as if reason itself were slipping through his fingers, his voice low and half-muffled. “Perhaps this is my punishment for letting her waltz with a prince,” he murmured, his mouth pulling into a rueful grimace before sighing.
“Pippa,” Wendy warned, an edge creeping into her tone.
“All right, I’ll stop,” Pippa replied, though her grin remained as she kissed Nick on the cheek. “At least for now. Don’t think you’ve escaped me entirely, Wendy.”
“Shall I walk you home?” His gaze lingered on Pippa with indulgent affection. “I’m afraid I have a long day tomorrow and need about another two hours to prepare and come back.” He looked at Wendy, who gave a faint nod. “The emergency from this morning will return tomorrow for a change of bandages, Wendy.” As if no further explanation were needed for Pippa, headded, “Have you seen the belladonna vial? The one with the dropper to dilate the pupils?” Nick searched the room, his gaze narrowing as he pursed his lips and eyed the spot on the exam table where he usually kept the brown bottle.
Whatever he didn’t finish, Wendy gladly prepared. She’d be there for as many patients as possible. She clung to her need for distraction more than usual.
“Very well,” Pippa replied with mock submission. Her hand brushed his as she prepared to leave, but she turned back once at the door, her gaze briefly meeting Wendy’s. “I shall pay Violet a visit after I meet with the architects for the rehabilitation center. I will ensure that dinner will still be hot no matter how late you both come home.”
Wendy didn’t respond, locking her attention instead on the tray before her, but Pippa’s words echoed with unnerving weight.
When the door shut behind her, the room seemed emptier, though the sunlight and faint scent of Pippa’s perfume still lingered. Wendy adjusted a scalpel slightly as Nick came to stand beside her. His hand landed firmly on the back of the chair; she didn’t have to look to know his gaze had turned to her now.
“This is the first time we’ve been alone in a while.” he said with brotherly bluntness. “You’re moving like someone half-asleep.”
Wendy forced herself to smile. “I’m fine. I’ve assisted with surgeries on less rest than this.”
“That’s not what I meant.” His tone softened slightly, and when she glanced at him, the sharp, evaluating stare of a surgeon was gone. Replacing it was something harder to face—concern.
Her hands slipped. The tray tilted; metal clinked loudly against metal. Wendy caught it before an instrument could fall but the tension snared her breath tight in her chest. “It’snothing,” she said quickly, lifting the tray and crossing to the counter, desperate for distance. “I’ll—I’ll boil these again.”
“Wendy.” Nick’s voice was calm but steady. Unwavering. She glanced back reluctantly. He had moved to sit against the surgeons’ desk, arms crossed as he studied her.
“What?” she said—a little too defensively.
“I should’ve asked sooner,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “Do you have any affection for him?”
Her pulse thudded. The instruments lay heavy in her hands, too sharp, too cold. “I… I’m not sure what you’re after.”
“You know exactly what I’m asking,” he replied gently. “Do you like him? Prince Stan, I mean.”
Her throat tightened around the words she didn’t want to speak, words that crowded her mind with emotions she couldn’t untangle.Likewasn’t the word. Not for the way her chest had warmed under his gaze or the fragility in her limbs when his hand brushed hers during the waltz. Admiration, longing—just the memory made her want to step closer to some invisible warmth that lingered. But then came the other side—the chill tether of reason.
She cleared her throat to break the tense silence. “It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s… a prince. I’m no one.”
Nick’s brow furrowed, his expression a study of disquiet. “Don’t say that.”
Wendy shrugged and dropped her head, suppressing a pout.
“Never say you’re less than what you are.” There was no heat in his voice, only a raw insistence that made her pulse falter.
