Page 31 of Mr Winterbourne's Christmas

He could hear the strains of the pianoforte through the gap in the door along with laughter and murmured conversations. Pleasant, friendly sounds that made him feel very alone.

Despite the fact that he’d been welcomed with surprising warmth at Winterbourne Abbey, Adam did not feel like a true guest. He hadn’t really expected to, of course, but he had thought, perhaps shamefully, that he and Lysander would be in the same boat—on the outside, looking in. He’d imagined Lysander being upset by that, and Adam having to comfort him.

But Lysander had in fact been welcomed with open arms, and indeed, implored to return to the family fold.

How could Adam mind that? How could he wish it was not so, when it must be a balm to Lysander’s soul?

Sighing, Adam leaned back against the Abbey wall and stared out at the gardens, feeling more alone than he could remember feeling in a long, long time.

After a while, the door creaked open and someone slipped out onto the terrace.

“Are you all alone out here, Mr. Freeman?”

Lysander.

Adam could never be displeased to see Lysander, but in that moment, he did feel a pang of sadness alongside the usual joy.

Lysander was smiling, bright-eyed and happy. He sent Adam a mischievous glance as he closed the door behind him with exaggerated care.

“Don’t worry, no one saw me leave,” he said as he approached Adam, eyes gleaming with humour.

“No?”

“No, they’re all too busy dancing.”

“Even Sir Edmund?” Adam asked, distantly amazed by how normal he sounded. “He looked disgusted at being made to dance in that first set.”

“He ran off nearly as quickly as you,” Lysander said as he moved in close to Adam. “I say, do you remember the last time we escaped onto a terrace to avoid dancing?” He chuckled softly and wrapped his arms round Adam’s waist, swaying against him.

Adam smiled against Lysander’s hair, inhaling the familiar scent of neroli oil. “Oh yes,” he said, and Lysander laughed softly.

After a moment or two, Adam said, “Sir Edmund didn’t seem very pleased by your father’s toast.”

Lysander sighed heavily. “He wasn’t the only one.”

Setting his forefinger under Lysander’s chin, Adam tipped up his lover’s face to meet his troubled gaze. “Oh, come on,” he said, with a teasing smile. “Are you telling me you don’t feel at all vindicated? Your father practically ate his words. That must have been a little bit satisfying at least?”

One side of Lysander’s mouth quirked up at that. “I suppose so,” he admitted. “But it’s so typical of him to make a dramatic announcement to the gallery instead of just talking to me privately. Everything’s such a performance with him.” He sighed. “Now he’s made everything awkward—but of course, he never thinks about the effect of his words on others.”

Was Lysander referring to the effect of the earl’s words on Adam? Probably—it would be like Lysander to think of Adam’s feelings at a time like this, when most men would be too busy basking in the glory of being proved right and begged to stay.

“So, when are you going to speak to him?” Adam asked.

Lysander sighed. “I had hoped to get it over with tonight, but it’s getting late now. Besides”—he grinned then, eyes gleaming in the moonlight—“I was hoping to persuade you to follow me upstairs. We could meet in the nursery...?” He trailed off, sending Adam a suggestive look, making Adam smile too, despite the hollow feeling in his chest.

“Is there any danger we might be interrupted again?” Adam asked. “It’s one thing explaining it during the day when we have our clothes on. It’s quite another in the dead of night.”

Lysander sighed. “I know. But Imissyou. I need to—to justholdyou, more than anything else. Even if we do nothing else.”

Adam gazed down at his love’s dear face and all he could think was,Don’t leave me then. That’s the best way to keep me around, if you really do want me.

He couldn’t say the words though. Couldn’t seem to take get any sound past his lips at all. Just stared at Lysander, feeling horribly, achingly sad.

Lysander’s gaze softened, a tiny frown of concern drawing his brows together. “What is it? Why do you look like that?”

Adam didn’t know what to say. Lysander was so tender-hearted. Would it be unfair to make him feel sad for Adam and make his decision so much harder? Adam wanted to make Lysander feel good, not sorry or guilty. More than anything, he wanted to let Lysander know how much Adam appreciated him.

“I was just thinking,” Adam said softly, lifting his hand to brush that endlessly unruly lock of hair back from Lysander’s forehead. “How very much I love you, Mr. Winterbourne.”