“Suzette!” she gasped, shuffling a little closer as if to physically silence her if Suzette tried to make another such comment. “Perhaps we should go out for some air. Lisa looks ready to faint and you, Suzie, obviously need some time to cool yourself. Perhaps so much dancing has overheated you.”

Suzette was about to snort at the suggestion that dancing had brought about her bitter words when her arm was suddenly taken in a firm grip and the words “Allow me” rang in her ears.

Glancing around with a start, she frowned at the man who had suddenly appeared out of seemingly thin air and stepped between her and Lisa, taking both of them in hand like recalcitrant children. He was already turning them firmly away from Christiana and Dicky as he added, “I shall see the ladies outside so the two of you might talk.”

Suzette immediately began to tug on her arm, trying to free herself of his hold, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Her captor simply held firm and glanced over his shoulder to suggest to the couple he was dragging them away from, “You might consider somewhere more private for this discussion.”

As Dicky took Christiana’s arm to guide her away in the opposite direction, Suzette scowled at the man dragging her and Lisa through the crowd. She opened her mouth to order him to let them go, but then paused as she took her first good look at the man. He was a good head taller than her, his hair a dark brown, the ends curling a bit as if in need of a cut and his face in profile was quite nice, a strong chin, a straight nose, and eyes— He turned toward her, glancing at her in question, and she decided he had quite the nicest green eyes she’d ever seen, a true green like fresh grass after a rain. He was definitely a good-looking fellow . . . and he was still manhandling her toward the French doors leading to the terrace.

Her scowl returning, she mimicked the tone he’d used with Dicky and Christiana and said, “You might consider letting us go and minding your own business . . . or else I shall be forced to stomp on your foot, sir.”

“My lord,” he corrected, sounding amused at her threat. “Daniel, Lord Woodrow.”

Suzette glowered at the man and was trying to work out how to stomp on his foot while he was forcing them to move so quickly, when he suddenly stopped, drawing her and Lisa to a halt as well. Before she could take advantage and stomp on him as planned, however, someone said, “I believe this is my dance.”