Page 75 of The Sound of Seduction
“I merely carried the package with the dress to your chambers. Stan delivered it himself with these flowers.” Nick gestured to the open door of the drawing room—the same one where Stan had given Wendy her very first lessons in the waltz. The drawing room table, one that could easily seat twelve people—since Nick and Pippa wanted to ensure there’d be room for all their friends from Harley Street—was covered in vases of the most luscious flowers.
Wendy stood frozen in the doorway, her breath catching as the scene before her unfolded like the pages of a dreamtoo lovely to belong to this world. The drawing room—with its central crystal chandelier hanging over the mahogany table—had been utterly transformed, a sea of blossoms stretching the table’s length, their lush abundance threatening to spill over the edges. Vases in every shape and size, from tall etched glass to simple porcelain, brimmed with blooms in a palette so rich it made her heart flutter.
Standing tall at the center in fluted vases were roses forming a cascade of deep crimson, the color of a whispered promise, mingling with creamy whites that seemed to glow in the soft evening light. Frilled carnations in blush pink and pale peach added playful charm, their scent faintly spicy, while stalks of lilies arched gracefully among the arrangements, their ivory trumpets sending forth an intoxicating perfume that filled the room, heady and sweet. At the edges trailed sweet violets between the larger blooms, their delicate purple heads nodding in shy, fragrant clusters, as though drawn straight from some sheltered wood.
Wendy stepped closer, her fingers trembling as she reached to brush the soft, velvet petals of a rose. Her touch was feather-light, yet the sensation rippled through her, a bloom stirred by the wind. The petals were impossibly smooth, their edges so perfect it made her chest ache. She dared to lean down, inhaling deeply, the familiar sweetness of the rose blending with the sharper tang of greenery and the faint earthiness of the violets. It was as if the very essence of spring had been bottled here, for her alone.
“He had these delivered with a message,” Pippa said when Wendy caught her breath and turned back to her brother and sister-in-law.
Even though the flowers are as mismatched as our circumstances, I hope that you will see the beautythat comes from them together. Like us, they defy reason, logic, even expectation. Like us, they persist—bold, unashamed, and more beautiful because of what they shouldn’t be, but somehow are. I hope that you will reserve all the dances on your card for me this evening.
Yours forever in love,
Most humbly,
Prince Ferdinand Constantin Maximilian Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen
“What does it say?” Pippa asked when Wendy clutched the note to her chest.
Thus, Wendy handed it to her, and Pippa gasped. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nick read the note, and he coughed. Pippa nudged him with her elbow, but then they exchanged that smitten look that made Wendy feel as though she’d become invisible.
But she wasn’t, was she?
Her prince had found her.
But what if she couldn’t keep him? What if loving her was the very thing that would undo him? Stan had choices—real ones. Options that didn’t include staying in London under the weight of List’s latest threat.
She’d overheard Nick speaking to Pippa earlier, and though he hadn’t meant for her to hear, the words had landed with devastating clarity: “List has made it clear. He’ll come after anyone tied to us, starting with the women.”
Wendy pressed a hand to her chest, the truth unfurling with slow, terrifying clarity. List wasn’t just a distant threat. He was a deliberate one, a calculated danger. She should step back to protect Stan, not merely because of her roots in London.
But how could she let him go? How could she simply watch him vanish from her life, when every flower in this room screamed his name as loudly as her heart?
She sank into the plush chair nearest the display, her cheeks warm, her hand fluttering uselessly to her heart. Prince Stan. No one else could have conjured such a dazzling spectacle. It wasn’t merely the flowers—the sheer scale of it spoke of thought, care, and longing. How many hands had gathered these blooms, how many hours had they labored, and all for her? A dozen emotions tangled together within her—astonishment, gratitude, and something deeper, sweeter, that she hadn’t yet been ready to act on until now.
For all the princely riches at his disposal, this spoke entirely of him—a man who hid romance in grand, wordless gestures, placing his heart among petals and stems for her to uncover.
“What did you say to him?” Wendy asked Nick, who instantly sucked his cheeks in and faced her like a deer caught at night under the bright light of a lantern.
Nick furrowed his brows and inhaled sharply. “In connection with what?”
Pippa nudged him again and flattened her lips. “Stop toying with her.”
“I’m not toying with her. Stan and I discuss many things all the time. List. Cloverdale House. News. The weather…”
Wendy’s gaze met Pippa’s like two conspiring sisters who don’t need words to express their displeasure with a rakish brother.
“What did he say about us getting caught?” Wendy asked.
Nick swallowed audibly. “He mentioned it.”
Wendy’s heart thrummed in her chest. She was waiting for Nick’s response as if she’d been waiting to hear whether she’d passed an exam. Probably failed, though. Probably not qualified to be with the prince, was she?
“I told him the truth when he asked about you, Wendy,” Nick said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“What did you say to him exactly?” Pippa asked.
“That I don’t want to lose my little sister.” Nick flinched at Pippa’s gasp.
