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Gabriel snarled as he marched down the hallway toward the room, imagining what he might do to the man, should there be one in the room with Eleanor. When he reached the door, he didn’t stop; he pushed it open and entered.

Two things were immediately apparent. The first was that Eleanor was alone in the room. The second, even though she had her back to him, was that Eleanor was dressed as Titania, the fairy queen from A Midsummer Night’s Dream—he had taken in the operatic adaptation a few years ago.

“I want an explanation immediately,” Gabriel boomed. “You left the ball and came here” —Gabriel glanced around the room— “alone?”

Eleanor spun around, her mouth open and her eyes wide.

“It’s you,” she blurted. Her voice was jittery, but the undertone was relief that someone else hadn’t come after her.

“It’s me,” Gabriel replied softly and firmly.

The emotions flashed across Eleanor’s face. There was surprise followed by anger.

Eleanor tutted and stepped away from him, rubbing her forehead as if she were developing a headache. She muttered something under her breath.

Gabriel’s gaze flashed around the room. The anger had built within him that she might be off with someone else, with Sebastian, and it had not yet dissipated. His eyes told him that he was alone with her, but the emotion within placed a barrier between them, stopping him from claiming what should be his.

“What’s the matter?” Gabriel demanded. She didn’t seem to be physically hurt.

“I saw you,” Eleanor muttered a little more loudly, turning to face him once more. “I saw you with her in the ballroom.”

“What did you see?” Gabriel scoffed, disliking the accusation in her voice.

“I saw you with your arms around her,” Eleanor snapped, then looked down at the ground.

“I had my arms around a woman?” Gabriel questioned. What right did she have to question anything he did, especially when she was so wrong about it?

“Well, she had her arms around you,” Eleanor stated.

“Have you been watching me?” Gabriel asked.

“No, but I could hardly miss it,” she replied, still looking at the floor.

The room was dark, with the only light coming from the candle on the desk behind Eleanor. That made it hard to see her features and know exactly how she felt.

“What could you hardly miss?” Gabriel challenged. “If you were watching me as closely as you claim, then you would have seen me publicly berating her for what she did. I assume you watched that part. There will be some talk about Lady Fresca in the morning, but she won’t be spoken about in a good light.”

“You speak the truth?” Eleanor asked warily.

“I have no reason not to. You can believe me if you wish, or you can wait until morning to see if I’m proven true. I am a man of my word, Eleanor.”

“I know that you are,” she replied; it was almost a whisper.

“Then I will hear no more about me and any other woman.”

Eleanor looked at Gabriel, her eyes widening a little. “Any other woman?”

Gabriel was silent. He wanted her, needed her in his arms, but he held himself back now that he was in front of her, now that he had let slip that he thought of her as a woman to compare other women against.

Eleanor held his gaze for a moment before looking down at the floor. “Why must you make me feel this way?” Eleanor tugged at her mask with one hand and shook her head to free it. She threw it to the ground. She shook her head, grimacing as if she were struggling with her own arguments internally.

That almost tipped him over the edge. Gabriel wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but what was he comforting her about? Himself?

“What way do I make you feel?” Perhaps if he got an answer, it might help him understand how she felt, because it was tormenting him.

Eleanor stepped back and bumped into the table. She leaned into it. Gabriel couldn’t make out her features clearly, but he could see that she was mentally exhausted.

“I don’t know what to feel anymore.” Eleanor lifted her head to look at Gabriel. Her tone was more clipped, guarded. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”