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“You may,” Eleanor said immediately.

Eleanor and Lord Tunberry smiled at each other as the dance card was filled out. Gabriel didn’t pay close attention to the conversation, but his ears pricked up when he heard Tunberry laugh.

You can charm a man when you wish, but you disliked me from the start, didn’t you?

Gabriel was on guard when Tunberry placed a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder as he said goodbye to her for now. If that hand moved anywhere else, Gabriel was ready to remove it himself. Then the lord was gone, with no need for an altercation.

Gabriel and Eleanor stood in silence.

“Go on, say it,” Eleanor said. “I can feel you waiting to tell me that he is not a good match. Are you determined to dislike everyone?”

“I have no idea where this is coming from, but you are right about him being a poor match. It has nothing to do with who he is or how he looks, and everything to do with how much debt his father has. Your dowry and family connections could be quite lucrative to the right person.”

“Then the dance is already spoiled,” Eleanor complained.

“No, it isn’t,” Gabriel argued back. “You will not find your perfect match at the very first ball unless fate is at work. It is good practice to fill your dance card and experience a dance so that when you meet a more eligible man, you will be ready.”

“And is there the chance that will happen, or will there be something wrong with all the gentlemen I speak to tonight?” Eleanor asked.

“There is something wrong with almost every man in London; it is merely a question of what you are willing to put up with.”

Eleanor laughed and took a sip of champagne.

“You are such a romantic,” she teased.

“I’m not like you, Lady Eleanor. I’m not out to find love. I don’t know if I’m out to find anything.”

“Who said I was out to find love?” Eleanor questioned.

“Are you not?”

Eleanor looked around the large room. “I am out to find a husband.”

“But you do not need to love him?”

Eleanor took another sip of champagne, delaying her answer. Finally, she asked, “What is wrong with you, Your Grace?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said that there is something wrong with practically every man in London. That must include you. What is your fault?”

“Faults,” Gabriel corrected, “and you must surely know most of them by now.”

Eleanor laughed at that, a sparkling laugh that bubbled much in the same way as champagne did.

There was no time to follow up on that when another young man approached Eleanor to ask her to dance, after greeting Gabriel, of course.

The duke noticed something that seemed to have changed since the past Season. Whenever a man came to ask for a dance, he was more hands-on than Gabriel had witnessed previously. A hand on the shoulder or waist, a lingering touch that was borderline inappropriate, and Eleanor’s hand held far too long by most of them. Gabriel wanted to shoo them away, but he didn’t. This seemed to be the etiquette now.

Each time, she made them laugh, and they made sure to leave an impression on her with a warm hand on her back or elsewhere.

And Gabriel realized more and more that every man was receptive to her and easy to laugh at. Perhaps it was the fact that they were looking for something out of the interaction, or that they were being polite in common, but it drove home to Gabriel how annoyed and irritated he got with her and she with him.

Yet, he felt a protectiveness over her that went beyond being the sister of his best friend. It wasn’t that he wanted to protect her from being touched by these men, but that he didn’t like how it made him feel. He wanted to be the one touching her like that, because⁠—

“…Your Grace?”

Gabriel looked at Eleanor. The most recent lord had come and gone, and he had not been watching the last one closely enough.