Page 22 of The Sound of Seduction
Something profound had happened, and it had taken him completely off guard. Stan, raised to master strategy and diplomacy, found himself disarmed—not by war or intrigue—but by the quiet courage of a nurse who didn’t belong in this world, yet had shaken his to its core. He hadn’t seen this coming—not when his eyes were fixed on Baron von List, nor when his thoughts were tangled in Transylvania’s impending doom at List’s hand.
But all that fell away. Now, holding Wendy and swaying to the waltz’s tender rhythm, Stan knew he was experiencing something immeasurable. Not glory from his rank nor from the accolades he had received in battles or ballrooms. No, this was an entirely different honor—Wendy Folsham had given him the privilege of her first dance at a ball.
“Put your hand like this,” he instructed gently, guiding her trembling fingers to settle against his shoulder.
Her touch was feather-light at first, as though she feared overstepping, but she followed him, trust evident in her wide-eyed gaze. And—he sighed—her innocence gutted him. Not innocence born of naivety but of unspoiled simplicity. That rare kind, tinged with strength. She was a woman who knew who she was and carried herself gravely, though she wasn’t hardened by life.
And yet, she was inexperienced in all the things he’d gladly teach her—if only she’d be safe by his side.
Stan would guide her wherever she allowed him. Tonight held danger, duty, and the responsibility pressing on his shoulders. But for this moment, he only wanted to hold her, to cherish this fleeting dance with her—the woman who stirred something raw and primal in his chest.
He pulled her a little closer, cherishing her warmth seeping through the layers of fabric between them. “Count with me,” he said, voice low. “One, two, three.”
Her lips parted, her pretty head tilting back as she looked up at him. A nervous laugh bubbled from her throat and spilled out between them, and he couldn’t stop his grin from spreading. Of all the things to paralyze him—her laughter. Light and musical, it softened the air and eclipsed every harsh murmur of his mind.
“Did you make that rhyme for me on purpose?” she asked, her voice teasing, her white smile radiant.
“Perhaps,” Stan replied, a low chuckle rumbling through him. He tightened his arm slightly at her back, drawing her closer to his control.
“Why am I not surprised, Your Royal Highness,” she quipped, but there was no malice in her tone, only warmth.
“Feel my steps,” he instructed, keeping his voice firm but soft enough to coax her. “And trust me. You’re safe in my arms.”
She dropped her gaze briefly, hesitating. He felt her knee brushing his leg, her wide eyes met his again, and his breath hitched. She nodded, her fingers curling lightly against his shoulder, holding a bit firmer.
“One,” he began, stepping smoothly into the waltz. She moved with him, awkward for a heartbeat, until he guided her hips with the subtle shift of his frame. “Two,” he continued, tone low and steady, counting softly against the hum of the orchestra. She stuttered only momentarily until her body began to followhis instinctively. “Three,” he said, adding the faintest pressure to her waist to guide the next turn, his hand at her back firm but gentle, tethering her to him. Her body adjusted, falling into a rhythm—not with the music, but with him. His steps, his lead.
There was a shift in her frame now—the moment when her movements softened and became intuitive. She didn’t move like someone being led awkwardly across foreign terrain. No, Wendy glided now, her body learning the language of his guidance with astonishing grace.
Wendy’s shoulders dropped as she exhaled deeply, visibly relaxing even as her nervous laugh returned. “You make it seem so easy,” she said, her lips curving into a shy smile.
“It is,” he replied against her ear. “When you trust the partner who’s leading you.”
Her lashes fluttered briefly as she swallowed, and he couldn’t resist tightening his grip just the slightest, propriety and boundaries be damned.
“See?” he murmured, his breath brushing her temple as they turned smoothly. “You’re practically a natural.”
“Don’t jinx it,” she teased, though her voice carried a tremor that didn’t match her playful words.
Stan angled his head slightly to see her face better. Her cheeks were flushed, the delicate pink matching the gleaming fabric of her gown. Yet her expression truly struck him—not shyness, or embarrassment, but something else entirely.
She wasn’t surrendering—she was choosing.Him. Here. Now.
In front of the assembled Ton.
And List.
They turned once more, their joined movements seamless, and for those few moments, nothing else existed. Not the gilded chandeliers blazing overhead nor the crowd’s murmursof surprise and curiosity. Not even von List, with his sharp, calculating stares from the rim of the ballroom.
It was just him and Wendy.
One, two, three.
Trust in me.
Chapter Nine
Stan had seenbeauty before—countless painted, powdered, and polished women dressed impeccably, each parading their graces as if vying for a crown. Yet none of them had prepared him for this. Wendy. The woman in his arms with her dazzling smile and rosy cheeks. She was… breathtaking.
