She was alone, and dressed simply in a white undergown so thin and delicate that he saw the shadowy curves under her breasts and the darkness at the juncture of her thighs. The tie that gathered it about her neck hung loose, leaving a good bit of skin, brushed with golden freckles, exposed. Candles lit the chamber, a variety of them on a table giving off nearly as much light as a noonday sun, and the fire burned sedately in its alcove. The scent of violets clung to the air, which was warm and humid, as though she’d bathed recently.
All her magnificent hair was unbound but for two slender braids that came from her temples and were drawn to the back of her crown. Her feet were bare. Tension emanated from her, flowing across the room as if the air vibrated. But he saw the purpose in her eyes, the determination.
His heart was pounding now, and he realized what he’d walked into. His first reaction was one of disgust and fury, but it was closely followed by the wave of desire flushing over him, sending hot blood trammeling through his body.
Nay, fool.
Curling his fingers into the sides of his simple linen shirt, he drew in a calm breath and gritted his teeth.
“What do you require, my lady?” he asked, keeping his face and voice expressionless. “My performance, I presume?”
She looked confused, but recovered. “If you wish to consider it that, then so be it.”
The hope that he’d been wrong faded and Will glanced toward the tapestry, resignation washing over him, along with anger, and if he was brutally honest, he must admit there burned deep inside him that great need. . that incessant desire that could no longer be denied. He should walk out, but he could not. He hadn’t the strength.
She stepped toward him, shaking her hair out so that it fell in lustrous waves over her shoulders, glinting copper and ruby and garnet in the candlelight. But when she noticed that he was looking at the tapestry, she paused.
Comprehension flooded her face and she looked up at him, eyes wide and face serious. “Will. There is no one behind the tapestry.”
As he watched her, stunned, feeling as if the breath had been knocked from him, Marian walked over to the woven picture of the knight and his horse. As he watched, she pulled up a corner of the large hanging cloth and stuffed a piece of cloth into the peephole, blocking both sight and sound. She turned back to him, raising both brows in silent question.
Flushed with shame, he stepped back, feeling his face go blank and hard. “I am sorry, Marian,” he began.
“Will.” She said his name desperately. He couldn’t read her face any longer; he couldn’t trust what he thought he saw there. “Don’t.”
“What do you want from me?” he snapped, angry with himself for the moment of hope, the flash of light in a dark world.
“I want you.”
At first he didn’t comprehend, for her response was so foreign, so impossible.
But then she said it again. “I want to be with you, Will. . I choose to be with you.”
As her words penetrated, he felt as though he’d been submerged into a rush of hot water, then cold. . and then hot again. Everything slowed and grayed and became murky and warm. He couldn’t react, but she was already coming toward him and he could barely grasp the concept that she wanted him to touch her until she brushed against his body.
Some sort of trick. It must be. John must-
But she flowed into his arms. . soft and warm, smelling of violets, smooth and rounded and woman. . Marian. . and in spite of the warning bells, he gathered her up against him, feeling the delicious press of her against his chest and the brush of her leg against the raging erection now filling out his braies. She pulled his face down and he devoured her lips, fingers sliding into the deep warmth of her hair to cup the back of her skull.
Ah, Marian. Marian.
She sighed into his mouth, stepping onto his boots with her bare feet so that she could better reach his lips. Sweet, soft, full lips. . he felt his whiskers scrape against them and the delicate skin of her cheek as he tried to consume her. . this woman. This woman who’d haunted him for more than a decade.
Tremors shook his fingers and weakened his knees, and he forgot to breathe.
At last. At last.
And then she tugged away, and he reluctantly let her go. Marian looked up at him with eyes that didn’t sparkle, but smoldered dark emerald, and held his gaze as she smoothed her hands down over the front of his chest, then grasped his shirt as if it were a mail hauberk and lifted it over his head, the swell of her breasts brushing against him. His squire, the whores, his mistresses. . all had done such a simple act many times. . but never before had he appreciated it more.
He reached for her, needing to feel her skin against his, but she darted out of his range, smiling a hot, seductive smile. Where had she learned such a thing? It was an expression of knowing, of teasing.
From John?
From Locksley?
I’ll not go to Locksley.
But she had come to him.
Why? Why?
His mouth turned dry, the blood pounding deep inside him, and he stood, wondering what new torture she. . or John. . had devised.
Aye, he could not discount the possibility that the prince would barge into the chamber at any time and join them.
“Nay, Will,” she said, positioning herself so that the bed was between them. She still wore that smile, that gentle smirking curve of her lips, now swollen from the long, deep kissing. Looking at him from beneath her lashes, she said, “I am weary of being the plaything. Of being pawed and licked and kissed until I cry for mercy. I have decided. . aye, indeed. . that it is your turn to be the one who is pleasured.”
“Marian.” His lips could barely form her name, let alone ask her if she were mad.
“Aye, Will,” she said, gliding toward him from around the bed. “I wish for you to allow me to pleasure you.”
The expression in his eyes-heated, blazing with desire-made her so weak it nearly sent her to her knees. Marian felt her lungs clog and tighten and her belly twist with anticipation. She wanted him, wanted to touch him, to bury her face in his chest, to stroke those long, strong arms, and to feel those powerful legs slide against hers, to be filled and caressed and loved. .
But then he reached out, pulling her roughly up to him. His expression had gone dark and blank again, with only a hint of the heat that had been there a moment ago. His fingers curved tightly into her arms as he looked down.
“Marian,” he said, dark eyes boring into her. “Tell me that John has naught to do with this. Please.”
Now she saw it: the desperation, the need buried there beneath the cold exterior. With a rush, she understood. “Nay, Will, nay.” She gripped his solid, warm shoulders. “I swear to you, on my soul, ’tis only me. And you. ’Tis my choice, Will. You are my choice. Now.” She bit her lip, but the words tumbled out because she needed to erase that fear in his eyes. “Always. I love you.”
She caught her breath. How could it be, after her deep loathing for him? But it was true. She felt the certainty of it, warm and full. Right. . and almost holy.
The blackhearted Sheriff of Nottinghamshire had captured her heart.
“Marian.” He said her name in a low sighing groan, then dragged her against him again. The planes of his chest moved against her flat palms as he pulled her so close she could hardly draw in a breath. “How can you. .?” His voice trailed off as he covered her mouth, his lips still moving.
Her eyes closed and she sank into him, against him, for a long, sleek kiss. . and then she pulled away. “Do you not think to distract me from my purpose, Will,” she said, careful to inject a clear note of teasing in her voice.
