Like a shock, Constance found herself in the lap of a man who was very very much not her D'Artagnan, and kissing him! She pushed back, palms flat against his chest and more force than some would expect. Her eyes were wide, mouth dropping open in shock before it shifted to embarrassment and shame, headed towards mortified.

She rose to her feet, words spilling from her so quickly many Parisians might have had trouble keeping up. Then she stopped, the familiar frustration coming through. "Je vous demande pardon, Henri." It wasn't his fault. But he wouldn't understand why she was so upset either, so she touched her chest lightly. "Madame Constance D'Artagnan."