He centered her with the use of her formal name. Only now did she realize he'd been calling her "Honour" all along. No one did that. She often forgot to respond to it. But now, witih his hands on her shoulders, his eyes staring her down, she couldn't ignore it. And it calmed her better than she wanted to admit. Realizing she was crying, she hastily dashed away the wetness with her fingers.
But what he said next was far more reassuring. He was going to help. Despite the fact that it was a terrible breach of decorum, talking about somone else behind their back, Beauty was relieved to hear it. "Thank you," she breathed, then took a breath and fell in step with him. She listened carefully to everything else he said, and when he asked her that strange question -- seemingly drawn from nowhere in their conversation -- she frowned.
"Of course," she said carefully. "From the time I was old enough to learn, I've been in love with books. When we lived in Paris, I spent most of my free time at the bookseller's. I remember the stories... but what does that have to do with Eric?"