Page 33 of The Sound of Seduction
She turned away, her gaze dropping to the polished wooden counter in front of her. “Nick, I’m a nurse,” she said softly, the words deliberate, as though each one carved the truth she’d resigned herself to. “I organize linens, clean instruments for surgery, and help you all. That’s all.”
“You’re more than that,” he replied, his tone sharpening with certainty. “None of us could run this practice without you, don’t you know that?” She shook her head, swallowing to try to rid her throat of the lump forming. “Wendy, as much as it pains me to warn you that Stan is entangled in some very dangerous business, it is not because of your differences in stations that I think you should stay away from him.”
Her hands trembled as she gripped the rim of the counter, his words too much and too little all at once. She wanted—desperately—to believe him, but doubt clung to her like a shadow. “I know my place,” she whispered, barely loud enough for the words to escape. “It’s here. With the doctors on Harley Street, not a prince.”
Nick groaned, dragging a hand down his face as though his thoughts had settled there, and muttered, “It’s a cruel twist of fate, watching your sister cease to be a child right before your eyes.” He sighed. “And yet I often wish Mother and Father could see you. They’d be so proud. At least as much as I am.”
Wendy willed herself not to cry and shifted her stance. “Well, I’ll stay as long as I’m needed here—but once things settle, I’ll return to Cloverdale House to help oversee treatments.” Wendy tried to smile, but her lips wobbled, and she felt tears pooling.
Nick inhaled sharply and stepped closer, his presence firm but his voice quieter and calmer now. “Will you?”
“Of course. I’ll always be there for you just as you’re always there for me.”
Nick slumped his shoulders. “But I haven’t been there enough since Pippa and I…I mean…”
“Oh, please! I know you fell in love, Nick. I’m glad you did.” Wendy wiped the tears from her face with one of the towels she’d just prepared for surgery, making a mental note that she’d have to boil and press at least three more for tomorrow morning.“Pippa is wonderful, and she’s the sister I never had. Don’t worry about me, I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“Tell me this, Wendy—what would you have said to me if I had thought myself unworthy of Pippa? If I had convinced myself that her title or my lack of it defined us? Would you have told me I was right to believe that?”
She swallowed hard, biting her lip as emotion welled in her chest. She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, and shook her head.
Of course not. And yet…
He pressed on. “Don’t limit yourself,” but even though his voice was steady as a soft tide, it betrayed more than he seemingly intended. “Don’t look at him and see only what you aren’t, Wendy. That’s no way to measure anything.” He pulled each word from somewhere deep.
“You don’t think I should let him… allow him to… um…” It was too difficult to tell her older brother, who had stepped into the role of both parents at such a young age and had always been present. For him to get married meant that Wendy would move into a house with him and Pippa. But if Wendy ever thought about marriage, she would have to leave her brother. The idea of not living together for Wendy and Nick was absurd. Other siblings certainly had no issue with it, but Wendy and Nick—Nick and Wendy—brother and sister; they were always together, committed to being there for each other since their parents died.
Thus, she couldn’t go and explore what these feelings were for Prince Stan. She wasn’t able to untie the chains of her life if those very chains kept her safe and tied closely to her beloved brother who had been the only man in her life.
Until now.
Her throat burned with unspoken words, but her fingers moved of their own accord, crumbling the tear-stained towel, and brushing lightly over the cold steel of the instruments she worked with daily. They felt familiar—solid, grounding—butcouldn’t quiet the wild, uncertain hope that had begun to stir deep within her.
The dance. The prince’s eyes on hers. The way he had spoken, as if the rest of the world had faded. It wasn’t supposed to matter, and yet it did. Too much.
Nick’s hand, firm but gentle, rested on her shoulder. It was the only reminder she had of where she stood at that moment, in that room. “Wendy,” he said, and his voice was kinder now, almost solemn. “You’ve always been everything you needed to be. Don’t forget that. Don’t be afraid to ask for more.” Tears stung the edges of her vision, though she blinked them back. Slowly, she managed a nod. “But can you do me a favor, little sister?”
“Anything.”
“Don’t let the prince’s sparkling smile and manners trick you into his world. He is in much danger, and I fear it has just begun. I just signed off on a contract for outside guards at Cloverdale House.”
“What if it’s too late?” Because she prioritized the prince’s safety over her own, it was too late for her to turn a blind eye, wasn’t it?
“Wendy?” With a long, theatrically drawn-out sigh, Nick raked his fingers through his hair and muttered, “You were supposed to stay eight years old forever. How am I supposed to survive this torment? What if something were to happen to you?”
“I won’t allow it.” It wasn’t an agreement not to let the longing for the prince take root, but an acknowledgment that she’d chosen her brother if ever faced with a decision between one or the other, a promise she wasn’t entirely sure she could keep, not yet. But when Nick gave her shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze, she leaned into his touch, letting the faint warmth of his support steady her.
“So, you’ll be careful?” he pressed on.
She wasn’t ready to say yes—to choosing her own path, to leaving Harley Street, to following her heart—not yet. But for now, she could hold onto the words her brother had spoken and the love that had shaped them.
And for the moment, it was enough. It had to be.
Chapter Sixteen
Later that night at Cloverdale House…
The war ragedwithin him, burning hotter than the chaos waiting just beyond the carriage door. And the heat was relentless, an iron weight pressing down on Stan’s chest and muddling his thoughts. Around him, the chamber rocked like a horse galloping toward battle, dim shapes of furniture appearing and vanishing with each slow blink of his eyes. Sweat slicked his skin, soaking the linen beneath him, and his left shoulder burned, a hot and furious ache radiating through his entire arm. If he moved, even the slightest shift, the pain blazed brighter, sharp enough to twist his breath into shallow gasps.
