Page 7 of Mr Winterbourne's Christmas

“Yes,” he said slowly, folding the letter back up. “I rather think so.”

***

“MY FATHER INVITED YOUfor Christmas?” Lysander said later.

Wordlessly, Adam handed him the letter, watching Lysander’s downbent golden head as he read. When he glanced up again, his blue eyes were wide with surprise.

“Well,” he said. “That’s...unexpected.”

Itwasunexpected. Despite the fact that Adam had saved the earl from almost certain bankruptcy by paying off the man’s debts when Simon married Althea, the earl despised Adam. A typical aristocrat, he was convinced of his superiority to men like Adam, who made their money instead of inheriting it. As for Adam, he’d been equally unable to hide his dislike for the earl, leaving the man in no doubt as to his opinion of the man’s profligacy and fecklessness.

The tension between the two men had worsened when Adam had given Lysander what he most desired and the very thing his father had refused him—the stewardship of an estate. The earl had been apoplectic with fury, demanding that Lysander return to Winterbourne Abbey, but Lysander had refused to go, insisting on taking the position as Adam’s steward and becoming—at least in the earl’s eyes—the servant of a man the earl loathed.

At this precise moment, though, the earl’s reasons for inviting Adam were not at the forefront of his mind. He was more concerned by Lysander’s apparent lack of delight at the news.

“You don’t seem very pleased,” he observed, watching Lysander carefully.

“What?” Lysander’s gaze had drifted back to his father’s letter but now it snapped up again, a little furrow of puzzlement between those perfect dark blond brows.

Christ. Lysander was so beautiful, sometimes it actually hurt Adam to look at him. He wanted to smooth that little frown away with his thumb and kiss that serious mouth till it smiled beneath his own. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, “I thought you’d be pleased. You said you were sorry we couldn’t be together at Christmas.”

“Iamsorry,” Lysander said, then quickly added, “I mean, Iwas. And of course I’m pleased you’re coming. Only it won’t be the same as spending Christmas here with you. We’ll be in separate rooms, and there will be so many people. My whole family probably.”

Adam’s heart plummeted. Was Lysander ashamed of him? Nobody need know what they were to each other, but would Lysander privately cringe at seeing Adam with his family?

It was an unworthy thought, and one Adam quickly dismissed—he knew that, if anything, Lysander was more likely to be ashamed of his family than of Adam—yet the unsettled feeling lingered.

“If you’d rather I refuse the invitation...” he began, his tone careful.

“No, no, of course not,” Lysander said, but he sounded distracted somehow, and again his gaze went to the letter, as though he might find some clue there as to why this invitation had been issued.

“You talk of your family home so fondly that I must admit to being curious to see it.”

Lysander smiled, but Adam couldn’t help but feel there was something reserved about the smile. Something careful. All at once, he felt as though there were miles between them. An unbreachable gap that had opened up quite suddenly and unexpectedly.

He realised he was afraid.

He stepped forward, plucking the letter out of Lysander’s hand and tossing it aside. Lifting his hand, he cupped the side of Lysander’s face and gazed into his eyes. He wanted to say something extravagant—I love you passionately; I don’t want to be parted from you ever—but he was not an extravagant man. Not with words at least. Actions were his currency. And so, instead of uttering the words branded on his heart, he pressed his mouth to Lysander’s, groaning with pleasure and gratitude when Lysander opened to him with a moan of his own.

The kiss was lusty, yet strangely sweet too, hardening Adam’s cock even as it made his heart swell and ache. It had been like this with Lysander from the first. Different than with anyone else. Physically, he desired the young man fiercely but alongside the immediate animal attraction that had gripped Adam from their first meeting, there had been an equally striking emotional connection that had discomposed him beyond anything. His heart had been engaged from their very first time together, and still it astonished him, a year and a half later.

Astonished—and frightened him.

Yes, he was afraid. Afraid to give words to that feeling. Afraid of scaring Lysander away with the depth of his attachment. And perhaps, most of all, afraid of surrendering fully to his own feelings. Of allowing himself to believe that Lysander loved him as fully and deeply as Adam loved Lysander.

Of allowing himself to believe that, only for Lysander to leave him one day.

Lysander pulled back from the kiss and Adam opened his eyes. Lysander was searching his face, his own expression puzzled.

“What’s wrong?” Lysander murmured.

“Nothing,” Adam said. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem—distracted.”

Adam forced himself to smile. “Youdistract me, Mr. Winterbourne.”

When Lysander looked doubtful, Adam took his hand, guiding it to his breeches and the stiff cock inside, hissing with pleasure when Lysander’s fingertips brushed his shaft.