Page 29 of The Sound of Seduction
Andre remained silent, his steady hands folding the used towel over and over until it was a lumpy ball, though his jaw flexed. A crack in his control. That was all it took for Stan’s suspicions to slip into sharper focus. Of course, Andre would never overstep, yet the thread of something lingered—proof etched in the slight shift of his mouth, the tension in his grip. Stan tapped his fingers idly against his thigh, feigning nonchalance to mask the new string of questions unraveling in his head.
“When people need my help, I try to be there.” Andre reached for another cloth, his movements more clipped than usual. He settled the bandage in place with a final tug, firmer than before.
“Is that so?” Or,is that all?
“You’re fortunate this hasn’t worsened,” Andre said, his voice steady but just a shade colder than usual. “It should hold for now, but only if you rest. No excursions. No lifting swords. No making life harder than it already is.”
Stan tilted his head, offering a slight nod as though acknowledging the words, but his mind lingered on the changes he’d seen in Andre. The moments were fleeting but all too telling, and not just about Wendy. He straightened, his posture sharper despite the dull ache settling deeper in his body.
It was laughable—the notion of him being scrutinized over feelings for another man’s sister. Yet, here he was mirroring Andre’s own exacting nature, shielding Thea as fiercely as Andre guarded Wendy.
Andre finally stood back, brushing his hands together as though shaking off the tension along with the task. “You should be sleeping right now,” he added, his voice far less pointed, though his stare hadn’t lost its sharpness.
“I’ll think about it,” Stan replied, his tone carefully neutral. He rolled his shoulder, testing the bandage’s hold, but his thoughts collided inwardly. The bond between Andre and Wendy might have been clear, but something stirred deeper—and just as quietly—involving Thea. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
With a slight shake of his head, Stan exhaled through his nose. “Thank you,” he added, softer this time, though as he turned, a flicker of dissatisfaction curled in his chest. He wasn’t only thanking Andre for the care. That unacknowledged respect simmered beneath. Perhaps that’s why nothing more needed to be said. Neither man wanted to dissect uncharted territory, not when it entailed too much.
Even so, Stan wasn’t blind to the deeper intentions wrapped tightly with their mutual silences. These threads—woven and unspoken as they were—wouldn’t unwind easily.
“I wonder whether it’s the safety that draws you,” Andre remarked airily, turning away to tidy his supplies.
Ignoring him, Stan stood on slightly unsteady legs. “I’ll arrange for more outside guards as well. Baron von List won’t just—”
“Rest,” Andre interrupted firmly, his voice sharp enough to cut. “It’s admirable to protect others, Stan. But remember, you can’t protect anyone if you can’t stand. You may think yourself invincible, but even princes can crumble.”
Stan wanted to argue, but his fever clouded even his stubbornness. He nodded curtly, but inside, resolve churned with emotion he wouldn’t admit outright. Wendy. He would see her again, heedless of his better judgment or the warnings coiled in the back of his mind. Admitting it was dangerous. But not seeing her? That was unthinkable.
Chapter Fourteen
At the sametime, Wendy was on the way back to London with Nick and Pippa. The carriage wheels clattered over the cobblestones, the steady rhythm weaving through the faint hum of conversation inside. Wendy sat opposite her brother and sister-in-law, her gaze flitting between them as they spoke. Pippa leaned slightly forward, her hands clasped tightly together, as though her excitement couldn’t be contained any longer.
“The workers should have started this morning,” Pippa said, her voice bright and lilting. “The architects promised to oversee every phase, but I told them I’d be there as often as possible. I need to keep an eye on the progress myself. It’s not just about construction—it’s about creating something with purpose.”
Nick’s mouth curved into a fond smile as he adjusted the cuff of his jacket. “And you don’t trust their competence unless you witness it firsthand?”
“Not that,” Pippa insisted with a good-natured laugh. “But yes. I want to see the rehabilitation center take shape. To know it’s becoming real—what we’ve worked toward, what we’ve dreamed of. Can you imagine it? A space like Cloverdale House, transformed to help so many?”
Wendy studied her sister-in-law, noticing the light blush on Pippa’s cheeks, the fervor in her expression. Even as Wendy’s thoughts lingered elsewhere, Pippa’s enthusiasm softened the tightness in her chest. It was clear Pippa’s heart was firmlyinvested. The idea of the home, once lavishly idle, now repurposed for something meaningful—it was admirable.
Nick reached across the space and covered Pippa’s hand with his. “It’s beyond generous. Opening Cloverdale to high-ranking officials for treatments when it could be rented or sold for some grand profit… Not every woman would choose so selflessly.”
Pippa wrinkled her nose as though dismissing the thought entirely. “What use is fortune if it can’t help those in need? And think of the officers who served to protect us—of the families breathing easier knowing their husbands, sons, and brothers will be treated with dignity, surrounded by beauty. Most soldiers never return. But those who do? We will never turn them away. Healing isn’t a small thing. I’d like to put my inheritance to good use. Plus, we owe them since they defended us and the hegemony of powers in Europe.” Pippa waved as if it were nothing, giving up one of London’s largest estates for the purpose of a sophisticated hospital, even if this was not what they’d call it.
Nick’s nod carried quiet pride.
Wendy smoothed the folds of her plain dress, her gloves lying unused in her lap. For a moment, Wendy felt a tug of wistfulness—and then quickly tucked it away.
The ball four days ago felt like a dream now, a fleeting moment of effervescence, and one she could no longer afford to entertain. The cobblestones gave way to a smoother path, and Wendy stole a glance through the carriage window as Cloverdale House came into view.
Though she had visited before, seeing it now stirred something new within her. The façade, bathed in the pale morning light, stood tall against the bustle of the surrounding streets. The muted grandeur of the home felt inspiring, not ornamental, as though steeped in the promise of what Pippa envisioned, and Wendy would be part of, in converting the estateinto a true rehabilitation center. Wendy tapped the crunched-up gloves she held lightly against the seat, waiting for the carriage to roll to a stop.
“I only hope it will be safe with the new guards,” Nick added after a beat, his voice slipping into a lower, protective tone. “Not everyone agrees with the changes to Cloverdale. Some see its use as a rehabilitation center as an affront to its history.”
“Isn’t it the opposite if it becomes a place where those who defended what’s good and right come to heal?” Wendy asked.
Pippa’s lips curved slightly in response, but she swept a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a flicker of determination flashing in her hazel eyes. “Then they can argue with results. Time will prove us right.” Turning to Wendy, she softened her tone. “And you’ll tell me the truth, won’t you, Wendy? If you see something that doesn’t work?”
Wendy blinked, brought back fully into the moment. “Of course,” she said, nodding. A smile tugged at her lips despite herself. “Though you hardly need my advice. You seem to have thought of everything.”
