Mademoiselle Hélène’s hands gripped his arm, making him fumble his gloves. “They were shooting at you,” she said in a squeaky voice. “They couldn’t have mistaken you for Ondine.”
He froze, mind whirling. “They might have thought I was you.” His throat closed up. “Or maybe they hoped to leave Ondine defenseless.”
She whimpered and gripped his arm more tightly.
He cupped her cheek, his rough fingers sliding across her silken skin. He almost forgot the danger they were in. Her huge, blue eyes darted around his face. Her mouth was open, panting in fear. He was already starting to step toward her, to claim a kiss for his heroics, to steady his own nerves, when Fourbier cleared his throat.
Jean-Louis stepped back, shocked at what he had almost done, angry at Fourbier for witnessing it and for interrupting.