Page 77 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

“Mm.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes searching hers. “Si-er.”

“Mmm?”

“About the wedding night—” He swallowed. “They say the day a man passes the imperial examinations and the day he gets married are the most important days of his life.” His voice grew low, that timbre that always made her shiver. “May I know if I can still get a wedding night?”

“Hmm,” she murmured with a side glance at him. “I think that can be arranged.”

Ting-zhi’s heart soared.

Chapter 36

Ting-zhi had never taken off his robes quite as fast as today. In some half-formed corner of his mind, he was afraid that if he moved too slowly, Yun-si might change her mind. When he turned around, he saw Yun-si had already let down her hair and was struggling with the intricate fastenings of her wedding attire.

“Let me help.” His voice came out rougher than he intended.

Yun-si stilled, her dark eyes flicking up to meet his. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then, slowly—so slowly he could track each increment of movement—she released her grip on the stubborn knots at the front of her robes and let her arms fall to her sides, staring at him.

The silk cords were tight, tangled from the day’s ceremonies. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he worked at them, her skin impossibly soft beneath his fingertips. The scent of peach blossoms wrapped around him, sweet and intoxicating, and he had to swallow before he could speak again. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m not.” the lie was obvious in the way her breath hitched when his knuckles brushed her neck. He could see the way her fingers twitched at her sides, as if she was deciding whether to reach for him or to push him away.

The last knot gave way with a whisper of fabric. The outer robe parted and slipped from her shoulders in a slow, inevitable descent. It pooled at her feet in a circle of crimson, leaving her standing before him in nothing but the thin inner robes of sheerpink silk. The candlelight turned the fabric translucent, tracing the shadow of her collarbone, the delicate curve of her breasts.

Ting-zhi’s breath stalled.

This was different from the dreams.Thiswas real.

He forced himself to still, to meet her gaze instead of letting his eyes wander where they ache to go. “Si-er,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you now?”

Her eyelashes fluttered, and she lowered her gaze as if considering. Then she lifted her chin and closed her eyes. “Yes.”

Her lips were warm, parting under his with a trust that made his chest ache. He angled his head, deepening the kiss, his thumb brushing the delicate shell of her ear.

His palm slid down her back, fingers spreading over the dip of her spine, tracing the curve of her lower back, then lower down, caressing the knob at the bottom of her spine with his fingers over and over again.

Yun-si jerked back, her eyes narrowing to slits. “What are youdoing?”

Ting-zhi’s face burned. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.How does one explain groping for a fox tail that doesn’t exist?

Her expression darkened. “You werecheckingfor something.”

“I—”

“Zhi-zhi.” His name was a warning.

He exhaled, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s... complicated.”

“Were you just checking,” she asked, almost sweetly, “for a tail?”

The silence stretched.

“...Yes,” he finally admitted, because he had just sworn never to deceive her again.

She stared at him. He met her gaze with the expression of a man who knew there was a cliff somewhere in the fog and he was walking toward it.

“How,” she asked carefully, “did you know about the tail?”