Ah, no, the library really isn't ideal for this sort of conversation, but D'Artagnan's hit on women in the middle of fighting forty men, so he supposes he'll take what privacy he can get. He lets his hand settle on top of hers and then wrap around it, smiling at the warmth.

"Clara, I'll be honest and say that I'd like to do any number of things with you." Or to you, but that's beside the point. He adds, in a smaller voice, "But I'm not sure what I'm doing either."

Don't make too much fun of him. He's very delicate, you know.