Page 14 of Introducing Mr. Winterbourne

“You don’t get away that easily,” he said.

Freeman glanced at him, uncertain. “Sorry?”

“Dancing,” Lysander explained. “I’m determined you’ll dance at least once before we leave. Melly told me there’s a waltz soon. Nothing could be easier than a waltz, I assure you.”

“If you think I’m about to make a fool of myself on the ballroom floor—”

“Of course not—I’ll teach you first.”

“Oh really? And where is this lesson to take place, pray tell?”

“There’s a balcony that looks out over the garden,” Lysander said. “Lady Prentice has the house locked up tight to ensure none of the young ladies get compromised, but we’ll be allowed to go out. Come on.”

He took Freeman’s punch cup from his unprotesting fingers and strode away, leaving Freeman to follow. Depositing the still-full cups on the refreshment table, he edged his way back around the ballroom to the balcony doors on the other side. An attentive footman stood in front of them, guarding against the possibility of a young lady being enticed outside by an ardent gentleman.

“We’re going to take a bit of air,” Lysander informed the footman. The servant looked faintly surprised and glanced around uncertainly. No doubt he’d been warned by his mistress that on no account was any young lady to be allowed to slip out—but since there were no young ladies asking, nor any sign of his mistress, eventually he nodded and opened one of the doors, holding it open for the two men to exit before closing it softly behind them.

It was cool outside, and the darkness was soft, the gardens below the balcony nothing more than whispering shadows. There was a little more light on the terrace, though not much. The only illumination came from the lines of candlelight limning the edges of the window drapes. It was precious little, and Lysander found he was glad of it.

He crossed the terrace and leaned over the stone balustrade, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was a cloudy night, with no sign of the moon or any stars. No one in the gardens below them. He turned and examined the windows—the last thing Freeman needed was someone spying him receiving a dance lesson. The drapes were heavy and undisturbed. In any event, it was so dark out here he doubted anyone in the ballroom could make anything out even if they did peek out.

As Lysander’s eyes became more used to the lack of light, he was able to see that, although the terrace wasn’t huge, it was long enough and wide enough for a few basic turns. Good.

Freeman joined him at the balustrade. Their sleeves brushed companionably. Lysander could sense the heat and vitality in Freeman’s body, and it made him want to move closer.

Desire threatened to break him open—just from this simple, innocent contact. And all he could think was,Was it worth it?Dared he take a risk? Dared he spill his secrets on the balcony floor?

“It’s nice out here,” Freeman said.

His voice had a deep, rich tone, and Lysander suspected he would be a good singer. A baritone, probably. He found himself wondering how that voice would sound groaning with pleasure, and had to shift to ease the sudden constriction in his breeches.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, it’s peaceful,” he agreed. “I much prefer it to the ballroom.”

“Why do you say that?”

Lysander felt rather than saw the other man look at him. He kept his own eyes on the shadowy gardens below them.

“It reminds me of the country.”

“You prefer the country, then?”

“Infinitely. I was supposed to go back to Winterbourne Abbey today, only—” He broke off awkwardly, realising what he’d been just about to say.

Freeman was quiet for a moment, then he said, “Only you had to stay and show me around, is that it?”

“It’s been no hardship,” Lysander said truthfully. “I’ve enjoyed today a great deal.”

“But you were hoping to leave Town?” Freeman didn’t sound annoyed, only curious.

“Yes,” Lysander sighed. “If I had my way, I would live in the country. Ideally, I’d manage the Winterbourne estate. But my father—” He broke off, feeling suddenly and intensely sad. Only now did the finality of his father’s words from the day before hit him.

“Your brother is the heir. He will deal with the estate as he sees fit. Your path in life will be different.”

He would never have his dream. Another dream, perhaps, but not that one.

“I recently acquired an estate,” Freeman said, distracting him. “Edgeley Park. It was an impulsive purchase. I am not quite sure what I am going to do with it.”

Lysander turned his head. “Where is it?”