Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight by Grace Burrowes Page A

Regent’s Pavilion. This was kind of him, but the idea was still quite lowering.
    Louisa’s sisters were both taking to the dance floor. A lady did not want to be without an escort for supper, after all.
    A lady did not in fact want to be seen lurking at the side of the ballroom, without sisters, gallants, or a potential supper escort. If Louisa lingered much longer, Westhaven would be standing up with her.
    That would not do. Her brother danced quite well—for a brother—but his pity was the last thing Louisa wanted to deal with. She set her glass aside and slipped from the ballroom, turning her steps toward the fresh air and solitude afforded by the gardens.
    ***
    The orchestra bounced its way through the gavotte, and the stomping and thumping on the ballroom floor came to an end.
    Sir Joseph cast a look over his shoulder.
    I should just go, before anybody else thinks to escape into the torch-lit shadows of the winter garden.
    Though it was already too late. A lone figure emerged through the French doors and stood for a moment, tall, slim, and lovely in the flickering light.
    â€œYou should not be out here alone, my lady.”
    â€œSir Joseph?”
    â€œOver here.” He stepped closer to the torches positioned near the door, pointedly ignoring the mistletoe hanging from the trellis not eight feet away. “May I escort you back inside?”
    â€œYou may not .” She brushed past him, leaving a hint of citrus and clove on the night breeze. “I need some air.”
    â€œThere’s a bench.” He took her by her gloved wrist and led her over to the stone bench in the shadows along the wall. Here in their hosts’ walled terrace, the flames of a dozen torches made the night almost temperate. “Get your air, and then I will see you back to the ballroom.”
    He waited while she sat. Lady Louisa did not lower herself gracefully and make a show of arranging her skirts. She plopped down with a huff and stripped off her gloves. “You might as well join me, Sir Joseph. They’ll soon be starting up the supper waltz.”
    A puzzled-male moment went by until he comprehended the difficulty. “You enjoy the waltz and did not want to sit this one out.”
    She frowned then wrinkled her nose in a manner that put Sir Joseph in mind of little Fleur. “What woman wants to sit out the supper waltz? Are you going to have a seat?”
    So testy, except she wasn’t suffering pique or anger. As if he were assessing one of his daughters, Sir Joseph knew instinctively that Louisa Windham was a little hurt, a little unnerved, and a little tired of being hurt and unnerved.
    He extended a hand down to her. “I have not danced the waltz in several years, and what memories I have of it are few and dim. Perhaps you’d take pity on a lame soldier and see whether he can recall it?”
    He expected her to laugh. On his bad days he was lame, and most days he was at least unsound, as an old horse might be unsound. He had not danced the waltz since being injured, had never hoped to again because it required grace, balance, and a little derring-do.
    Also a willing partner.
    Louisa put her bare hand in his and rose. “The pleasure would be mine.” Her lips quirked as she stood, but she didn’t drop his hand. “You must not allow me to lead.”
    He’d watched a hundred couples dancing a hundred waltzes, and had enjoyed the dance himself when it was first becoming popular on the Continent. The steps were simple. What was not simple at all was the feel of Louisa Windham, matter-of-factly stepping quite close, clasping his palm to her own.
    â€œI like to just listen for a moment,” she said, “to feel the music inside , feel the way it wants to move you, to lift your steps and infuse you with lightness.”
    She slipped in closer, so close her hair tickled Joseph’s jaw. Her hand settled on his shoulder, and he felt her swaying minutely as