Dancing at Midnight by Julia Quinn

under
    her skirt and slowly rolled one off.

    * * *

    From his position ten yards away, John could not believe his eyes. Belle
    had wandered onto his property again, and he was
    just about to make his presence known to her when she started muttering
    to herself and then sat down on the ground in a
    most undignified manner.

    Intrigued, John darted behind a tree. What followed was a scene far more
    seductive than he would have ever dreamed
    possible. After pulling off her shoe, Belle had lifted her skirts well
    above her knees, giving him a tantalizing view of her
    shapely legs. John almost groaned. In a society that considered ankles
    promiscuous, this was racy, indeed.

    John knew he shouldn't look. But as he stood there, watching Belle roll
    off her stocking, he could come up with no better alternative. If he
    called out to her, he'd only embarrass her. Better she didn't know that
    he was there. A true gentleman, he supposed, would have the fortitude to
    turn his back, but then again, John found that most men who took the
    time to call
    themselves gentlemen were fools.

    He just couldn't take his eyes off of her. Her innocence only made her
    more seductive—more so than the most professional
    of performers. Her unintended striptease was all the more sensual
    because Belle was lowering her stocking with agonizing slowness not
    because she had an audience but because she seemed to love the feel of
    the silk sliding along her soft skin.

    And then, much too soon for John's tastes, she was done and muttering to
    herself again. He smiled. He'd never met anyone
    who talked to herself quite so often—especially not in such amusing tones.

    She stood and looked herself up and down a few times until her gaze fell
    on a bow which adorned her dress. She tied her
    stocking around the frippery, firmly securing it to her attire, and then
    reached down and picked up her boot. John almost laughed when she
    started to mutter again, glaring at her shoe as if it were some small,
    offensive creature as she realized that she could have just stuffed her
    stocking into the boot for safekeeping.

    He heard her sigh, so she must have done so loudly, and then she
    shrugged her shoulders and trudged away from him. John quirked a brow at
    her movements because she wasn't walking home, she was heading toward
    his house. Alone. One would
    have thought that the chit would have had the sense to heed his warning.
    He thought he'd frightened her the day before. Lord knew he frightened
    himself.

    He couldn't contain a smile, however, because with one of her boots off,
    she was limping almost as much as he did.

    John quickly turned and headed back into the woods. After his accident,
    he had exercised his bad leg religiously, and as a
    result, he could walk quite swiftly—almost as fast as an uninjured man.
    The only problem was that overexertion meant that
    his leg would later ache as if he'd walked—no hopped—to hell and back.

    But he wasn't thinking about these consequences as he sped through the
    woods. Foremost on his mind was how to cut through
    the forest and intercept Belle closer to Bletchford Manor without her
    realizing that he had been spying on her.

    He knew that the path curved to the right up ahead, so he cut diagonally
    through the woods, cursing every tree stump he no
    longer had the agility to leap over. When he finally emerged onto the
    path about a half mile closer to his house, his knee
    was throbbing, and he was panting from the exertion. He put his hands on
    his thighs and leaned down for a moment, trying to catch his breath.
    Pain shot up and down his leg, and it was pure agony just to straighten
    it. Wincing, he rubbed his knee until
    the stabbing sensation receded into a dull ache.

    He stood up, and just in time. Belle had just limped around the corner.
    John quickly took a step in her direction, wanting to
    appear as if he had been strolling down the path all morning.

    She didn't see him right away because she was looking