Page 26 of The Hopeless Romantic’s Guide to Enchantment

Rapid footsteps approached the study from the rear courtyard. In an instant, they both had their backs against the scholar’s stone.

“Yi, er, san,” counted the stranger under his breath.

With a slight creak, the scholar’s stone shifted in the direction they wanted, but not enough.

Whoever was coming drew closer; now fifteen steps from the door.

“One more time,” he whispered.

Feifei used neigong to channel her qi against the stone.

Ten steps before they were discovered.

“Again!” she hissed.

The stranger, realising they were running out of time, slowed his breathing. She felt his qi, an eddying energy swirling through him, as he too used neigong to focus his strength.

—five steps—

“Now,” he whispered.

The wood stand creaked and popped…

—three steps—

… the stone rolled forward, teetering for a moment before settling back into place…

—two steps—

Feifei soared over the screen, thinking its size would easily hide her. Unfortunately, the stranger had the same idea. Wasting no time, he shoved her against the wall, one hand on her throat, the other snaking down the front of her robe.

The scroll was shoved between her breasts in her innermost vest. While her neigong could, for a brief period, repel his roaming fingers and prevent him from discovering anything untoward, if he continued groping, he would soon find more than she wished.

On the one hand, Feifei was scandalised, given all her lessons about womanly virtue; on the other, she knew he was merely trying to recover an item she’d taken from him. She would have done the same, or worse, in his shoes.

—one step from the door—

Feifei was out of space and out of time. The door swung open and she did the only thing she could – danced her fingers over the acupoints on his chest and throat. Too late he realised her intention and grabbed her wrists, inadvertently yanking her against him as the paralysis took hold.

Light spilled into the room. Heavy footsteps crossed the threshold, stopping just inside the door. From the way the man favoured his right foot and the rustle of heavy fabric, Feifei knew it was the magistrate, who had a penchant for silk brocade and a limp from an old horse-riding injury.

All three of them were still, though the stranger had no choice in the matter.

Part of her mind was busy tracking the magistrate’s movements and running through escape scenarios while another was keenly aware of every part of her body pressed against the stranger’s – her thighs, her chest, her forearms.

When sparring and fighting, contact was a given, but it was always fleeting. Never like this, never at length, never with the time and stillness to leisurely examine her quarry.

Or be examined herself.

His skin gave off a faint scent of oud – a nobleman, she’d wager, given the cost of the resin, his diction, and the expensive cut of his robes. She was surprised to find, tall as she was, he was taller still, with eyes the deep, dark brown of a roasted chestnut. He watched her closely, impassively, seemingly unbothered by their bodies touching, which made her cheeks flame, embarrassed by her embarrassment. She was glad her face was hidden behind a mask.

The magistrate drew closer to his desk and stopped by the scholar stone.

If he sees the damage to the stand—

“Guards!” the magistrate shouted.

Feifei didn’t hesitate; with lightning speed, she unsealed the stranger’s meridians and sent man and screen crashing into the magistrate. The sound of hurrying footsteps and the distinctive clinking of armour filled the Front Hall. The Imperial Guards.