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Unfortunately for her, John had no intent of leaving that lovely piece to wallow in her chamber alone this evening. Smiling, he gulped largely from his own wine. His mother might be a bullheaded manipulator who loved her elder son best, but she was immeasurably generous with the excellent wines from her lands. And in addition to that, she’d bestowed upon her youngest son her own crafty mind. Which he had put to good use in planning strategies for overthrowing his brother . . . and for luring gentlewomen into his bed.

“Indeed. Then I must presume your visit to the Court of Pleasure this evening will be solitary.”

John smiled to himself, as he did every time he uttered the phrase of his own making. Court of Pleasure. A more earthy, hedonistic version of his mother’s famed Court of Love.

“Aye, that it will,” Nottingham replied.

John frowned behind his goblet. He’d expected the other man to seize an excuse to decline the invitation. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Nottingham had seemed less than enamored of the pleasure taking as of late. Oh, he participated . . . or, more accurately, most often watched and occasionally partook from a willing maidservant . . . but more likely than not, he merely provided the audience for John’s activities.

Then John’s eyes narrowed in speculation. Mayhap this would work out best after all. If Nottingham arrived before Marian and was otherwise occupied-or incapacitated-when the lady arrived . . . it would be incumbent upon the host to make her feel welcome.

He gestured for the page behind them to refill their goblets.

John was, if naught else, a most accommodating host.

“Come in, come in, my lady.”

Marian hesitated on the threshold. She did not wish to take that step over, into the chamber, into the den of iniquity. John’s voice sounded jovial, but there was an underlying command beneath it.

Her palms damp but her head held high, she stepped into the room and the door closed behind her.

Already this was very different from last night’s experience.

Will had escorted her back to her chamber after the evening meal and bidden her good evening. She’d gone eagerly inside, fully aware that he’d said nary a word to her but “Let us go” when he approached her in the great hall, and “Good evening” when he left as soon as she was inside the chamber.

Nor had he looked at her, other than a quick impersonal glance, during the few moments they were together. He simply walked with long strides next to her, his solid arm angled out for her fingertips to curl around, his thigh brushing occasionally against her gown. This all made her exceedingly aware of his presence, his size, his strength . . . and what had occurred in her chamber earlier this day.

When they reached her accommodations, Ethelberga had been there, and she’d helped her mistress disrobe and prepare for bed-a circumstance Marian had readily welcomed. Despite the fact that she had left the hall before the evening’s entertainment ended, and the sun still sat above the horizon, she was glad to be in the solitude-and relative safety-of her chamber.

But no more than two candle marks later, when the sun had barely set and the bailey below had not yet begun to quiet for the night, a solid pounding came at her door. Marian’s heart leapt into her throat and she considered ignoring the knocking. Ethelberga had been dismissed and had gone belowstairs to visit with some of the other maidservants-and mayhap a handsome groom or two-and there was no one but Marian to answer the determined knock.

It could be Will. Likely it was. Her stomach gave another flutter and she resisted the urge to look toward the horse-eye peephole.

The knocking did not cease, and she had no choice but to respond. But when she opened the door, she found it was not Will, as she’d expected. And, in truth, half anticipated.

Nor was it Robin.

Thus, even before he spoke, when Marian saw the page standing outside the door, she knew he would say, “The prince requires your presence, milady.” Knowing she could not deny a royal summons, despite the sharp pinching of her insides and the parched sensation in her mouth, she quickly dressed and pulled on a enveloping cloak, drawing the deep hood up and over to shadow her face and hair. At the least she could attempt to avoid being recognized by anyone who might wonder why she was about alone . . . and going to the prince’s chambers.

The page walked quickly, and was followed by a stoic man-at-arms who joined the party as they made their way to the third level of the keep. Apparently, John was taking no chances that Marian might get lost or otherwise delayed.

And here she was now, the door bumping closed in her wake, most definitely not lost or delayed.