Capturing the Silken Thief by Jeannie Lin Read Free Book Online

read ten thousand books.”
    “And traveled ten thousand li .” Rose laughed as she completed the saying.
    As much as Cheng liked her laugh, Old Man Doubt was back upon him. The exchange of proverbs brought back all the sayings and all the books he’d tried to absorb. He couldn’t chase the anxiety back with wine, or even with Rose. The favoured sons of noblemen had the leisure of spending years and years taking and retaking the exams. Without a good name or wealth to shelter him, he had nothing to rely on but his own abilities. This was his last chance.
    “I must be ready.” He rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “There’s nothing left I can do to prepare.”
    He let his voice fall away, along with his swagger. Fear and uncertainty poured inside in its place. So many others were counting on him. If his name wasn’t called out, he’d have no choice but to go home in shame.
    Rose leaned over, her expression no longer taunting. “I’m sure you’ll pass this time.”
    He shrugged and made a sound that meant nothing. Such empty encouragement was meant to puff his chest out with pride, but Rose didn’t need to stoop to such flattery for him. It wasn’t like her.
    “No,” she insisted. She placed her palm flat against his chest. “You will pass.”
    Her large eyes held onto him while his heartbeat thudded against her fingertips. He’d hidden so much of himself behind courtesy in an effort to become civilized. At every step, he walked in fear of revealing himself as a rough-mannered country lout. Yet Rose wasn’t afraid of anything. She went after what she wanted without doubt and without apology.
    She wasn’t gracing him with empty words as a courtesan might. She was trying to give him a touch of that same stubborn determination.
    He had to kiss her. He had to do something to seal this moment, but he was at a loss. Even a kiss seemed too insignificant.
    Slowly his hand closed over hers. “Rose?”
    Her voice came out as barely a breath. “Yes?”
    “You’ve never played anything for me.”
    She frowned, pretty lips pouted together.
    “Play something.”
    “Now? Here?” She looked about the room.
    He smiled and went to the corner, returning with Rose’s instrument. “A song to inspire me.”
    “But it’s nighttime,” she protested.
    “Which is the same as daytime in the North Hamlet,” he insisted. The apartments around them were likely still empty during the prime drinking hours of the night. Not that it mattered. The entire world was contained within his chamber tonight; everything he could ever need or want.
    He placed the instrument into her waiting hands and reclined back on the opposite edge of the bed to watch. Rose took the tortoiseshell pick in hand and settled the pipa across her lap. She cradled the long wooden neck against her palm and positioned her fingers over the silk strings. Her black hair fell in a fan over one shoulder as she bent over the instrument.
    Propped on one elbow, Cheng settled in to listen. Rose bestowed him an indulgent look before striking the first notes with the tips of her nails. She chose a song in the lyrical style. Sound flowed from the instrument; at first rapid and bold, then hesitant, like the unpredictable rhythm of falling rain. And just as clean and pure. Just as seductive.
    He’d expected Rose to be technically skilled. He recognized her familiarity with the instrument and the thoughtful way she positioned her hands. Each elegant movement had been crafted and perfected, but the unbidden sensuality that emerged stunned him. His pulse absorbed the song and his breathing slowed. The music slipped inside him, swimming warm through his veins like liquor.
    He clapped his hands together as the last note faded. “That was wonderful!”
    Rose bowed her head slightly, her hair falling over her eyes in a gesture so demure that he was certain she was still performing.
    “Another song,” he insisted.
    Her eyes were deep and mysterious. Her robe