had been waiting for his arrival to co-ordinate her entrance.
‘My lord.’
‘Miss Yan Ling.’
Always the same greeting, but his heart pumped harder this time.
Her outer robe was a thin, lace-like material and patterned with silver butterflies. The silk sheath she wore inside was a pale blue and the black of her hair caught the light. It was combed smooth and pinned on top, but otherwise allowed to fall free down her back. He could make out the shape of her shoulders through the gown. As she walked beside him, the fall of the silk hinted at the slender waist and gently rounded hips beneath.
Dao had been right to urge him to change. He would have looked like a peasant beside Yan Ling, their roles unacceptably reversed. Yan Ling had grown beautiful, he had to admit it—no, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t as if she’d transformed in the last month. He and his hapless crew consisting of the shameless actor and the clever servant girl couldn’t take credit. He had simply wasted too much time not noticing.
They seated themselves across from each other at the table that was meant to hold at least three times their number. Yan Ling glanced briefly at him before staring down at the table. Her hand wandered nervously to her neck. Oppressive silence hung between them.
He cleared his throat. ‘How long has it been since you came here?’
She looked up, startled. The drop of a feather could have startled her at that moment. ‘Heavens…over a month, my lord.’
There was something different about her. A warmth that blossomed over her skin. And a nervous vulnerability that only made her more vibrant. More real. Which was not favourable for him. Not favourable at all.
When she was perfect and composed, he could distance himself, but tonight her cheeks were pink, her eyes alight. She looked exactly as she did right after he’d kissed her, as if it had just happened. As if he’d just let go of her only a heartbeat ago.
And he had. The kiss was still very much alive and unfaded for both of them.
Yan Ling looked down again, suddenly very, very interested in her bowl. He did the same. Yes, it was fascinating. There were blue patterns in it. He didn’t give a damn about it or this dinner. Only Yan Ling.
‘I’ve decided that we should discontinue our writing lessons,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ She looked up, blinking in surprise. ‘I suppose I can continue practising with Dao.’
‘Dao?’
She looked uncertain, as if she’d offended him. ‘I couldn’t remember everything you taught me each day, so Dao would help.’
His chest rose. Something welled within him. Pride. He laughed, shaking his head in amazement.
‘What is it?’
‘Dao is quite clever, but it still took a long time for her to learn how to read,’ he said. ‘It takes many, many years.’
Her expression fell. ‘Why would you try to teach me in so short a time then?’
‘I wasn’t teaching you how to write.’
She frowned.
‘I was trying to instil patience and discipline.’
‘Patience and discipline.’ Her voice trailed away, not quite understanding.
‘You did throw a pot of tea at me the first time we met,’ he reminded her.
It was how his father had taught him discipline: thousands and thousands of writing drills. Perfect strokes and lines. Before you could learn to express yourself with the brush, you had to learn the rules and perfect them. Fei Long didn’t realise at the time that discipline was the one thing his father was wholly unqualified to teach.
‘Well, I—’ She stopped herself.
‘What is it?’
Her lips tightened, but then she took a deep breath. Her back straightened as if she were readying herself for battle.
‘I liked our lessons.’ Yan Ling raised her chin and held on to him with those captivatingly dark eyes of hers. ‘I’ll miss not having them, but maybe we should speak plainly about why you’re really doing this.’
Despite her bold words, a hint of pain flickered across her face. It was magnified a hundred times in his own heart.
‘Because it’s the honourable thing to do,’ he said steadily.
‘Not honour.’ Color rose to her cheekbones. ‘Rules. Your Three Obediences and Four Virtues.’
‘I am thinking of your welfare.’
He tried very hard not to think of the texture of her skin and how she had felt beneath his hands. Cool to the touch, but still warm beneath. There were other women. Plenty of them. He could have one that very evening, if he wanted.
Just having the thought while Yan Ling sat across from him sickened him. He really