Page 39 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

But she couldn’t stop watching.

Twenty minutes passed.

Maybe fifteen.

Yun-si had lost count. She was too busy pretending not to stare at Ting-zhi while absolutely staring at Ting-zhi.

Something was wrong.

It started subtle, the kind of subtle she only noticed because she’d years learning to read his expressions. The careful straightness of his spine softened. His shoulders dropped. He tilted his head slightly, as if the noise of the hall had become difficult to parse.

Then color rose along his neck and cheekbones.

Not the flush of wine. Something else. Something that made his brows draw together and his hand press briefly to his temple.

No.

She set down her cup before she could drop it.

Across the wide expanse of garden separating them, Ting-zhi shifted in his seat. Reached for his cup—found it empty—set it down again. The scholars beside him were laughing over some joke, oblivious.

Then he stood.

Unsteadily.

Just barely, but unsteadily.

Yun-si’s breath caught. She watched him excuse himself from the table with that same pleasant smile, watched him walktoward the side with steps that were almost steady, would have been steady to anyone not paying attention.

But she was paying attention.

Her gaze snapped back to the dais.

The Princess’s expression hadn’t changed. Still serene. Still perfect. But her fingers tapped twice ever so lightly against her sleeve.

Her lady-in-waiting, standing three paces behind her, dipped her chin.

And followed Ting-zhi out.

Yun-si couldn’t breathe. The tiny gasps of air she managed were not enough. There were a hundred reasons a Chancellor’s daughter should not follow a man out of a banquet. But the one reason she should was enough for her.

She rose as gracefully as she could manage, murmured something to Maiden Chen about needing air, and slipped toward the same exit. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her hands were shaking.

Please let me be wrong. Please let this be nothing. Please.

She walked down the garden path leading out.

Empty.

No—not empty. Voices, faint, coming from a quiet side path further down. A woman’s voice, solicitous and helpful. A man’s voice, confused.

Ting-zhi’s voice.

Yun-si gathered her skirts and ran.

She found him being guided—gently, insistently—toward a side wing by the Princess’s lady-in-waiting.

“Scholar Gu, this way. You said you needed to rest. There’s a quiet room just—”