Page 58 of The Sound of Seduction
Wendy didn’t look up, still engrossed in her search. “There’s something here that stops fertilization. Surely, it’s in one of these drawers.”
Stan frowned, pushing off the counter as he stepped closer, towering over her petite frame as she bent beneath the counter. “Wendy, I am trying, but I don’t follow.”He did, of course.But he needed to make sure she meant what had been on his mind for a while.
“It’s all biology,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.
“And which part of biology,” he replied, his voice dipping, “are we addressing?”
She straightened, still concentrating on the rows of tiny drawers. “I’ve seen babies born, helped the process even. Stan, I assisted with all kinds of pregnant patients. But I’m not ready for all that myself.”
“Birthing a baby?” he asked, as an unfamiliar heat rose in his chest and neck. A few kisses and ices and yes, he knew he was in love, deeply and irrevocably, but how did her mind trail to babies already?
“Not yet. Which is why I need this,” she said firmly.
Stan faltered. “Why are you suddenly worried about a baby?”Perhaps he was the frog prince since his voice resembled a croak now.
Wendy groaned quietly, tapping one of the drawers closed with more force than necessary before she finally turned tohim. “Because… In the carriage.” Her cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink.
“The carriage,” Stan repeated, his voice thick with skepticism.
“Yes, the carriage. But there’s more to come, isn’t there?” she leveled him with a look, still not elaborating as her focus darted back to the apothecary shelves.
He folded his arms, studying her closely. “Are you—are you looking for a letter?”
“Yes, it must be an envelope or some folded paper,” she said triumphantly. “I expect it’s in French. You speak French, don’t you?”
Stan sputtered. “A French letter?”
“Yes,” Wendy said brightly, as if the revelation solved everything. “Alfie has some here, I know it.”
Stan drew a sharp breath, his lips twitching as he wrestled against laughter. “Wendy, you have no idea what a French letter is, do you?”
“Well, obviously you do,” she countered. “Have you seen them? Can you translate for me what it says, what to do? Where would he keep them?”
He almost choked unsure whether to laugh or cry. “Wendy…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice shaking with barely restrained laughter. “French letters are not for reading. And they are certainly not about external fertilization of frogs.”
“But they don’t let fertilization happen in humans. So, it becomes like with fr—” Her expression faltered, her brow creasing as she considered his words. “Then what—erm. How do humans avoid… prevent…” She wrinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes in thought.
Stan exhaled slowly, his voice softening as he stepped closer, cupping her face with an almost reverent tenderness. “Wendy, please listen to me. There’s no need to rush toward any of this—babies, letters, or anything beyond what’s here and now. And I would never—” his thumb brushed against her cheekbone with quiet promise, “—I will never take what you’re not ready to give. No matter what I want.”
Before she could reply, a sound broke the stillness—a faint click of the front door.
Wendy’s eyes widened, and in an instant, she turned off the gas light, whispering urgently, “Felix and Andre?”
Stan barely had time to react before Wendy grabbed his hand, pulling him through the hall as voices echoed from the entryway. Before he knew it, they were rushing up the darkened staircase, her quick, determined steps leading them to a bedchamber. She pulled the door closed behind them, her breathing soft but quick in the sudden quiet.
Stan stared at her in the faint moonlight streaming through the curtains, torn between shock, amusement, and an undeniable affection for the breathtakingly beautiful, innocent, and brilliant woman standing so resolutely before him—in her old bed chamber.
*
Wendy turned thedoorknob with deliberate slowness, her heart pounding in harmony with the muffled voices drifting up from the lower floor. The faintest click of the door closing behind her was soundless to anyone but herself—and to Stan standing so close she could sense the warmth of his presence.
“This is my old bedchamber,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying as she tilted her head toward him.
“I know.”
Her brows lifted, curiosity chasing back the thrum of her heartbeat. “You do?”
Stan stepped closer, the distance between them narrowing until his body seemed to fill all the air around her. His lips curved faintly, but not with his usual teasing smirk. This was something else—soft, unguarded.
