Chapter Six

P arthena ventured down the stairs, searching the hall for any sign of the Duke of Wexham.

It wasn't as if she were avoiding the duke, necessarily, but given the events of last night, she wasn't ready to face Wexham just yet. Or see his disapproval at her blatantly bold behavior, though he had kissed her back.

She rubbed a hand along her backside.

And took her in hand, so to speak.

Fidelia waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, a shawl draped across her shoulders. Her sister had suggested a walk around the pond that shone in the distance. There was a folly on the other side, one Parthena had taken note of yesterday. She wanted to do a bit of exploring, which also aided her in avoidance.

Parthena also did not want to see Lady Belinda or Lady Baldwin. The former due to guilt, the latter because after last night, if she so much as twitched, their hostess was likely to throw the Holm family out.

Fidelia took her arm, and they walked out into the sunlight. The day was glorious, but dark clouds hung at the edge of the horizon, a warning that a storm was on its way. Keeping to one side of the house to avoid the other guests who were once more splayed across the terrace, she and Fidelia started down the path, weaving through the trees and around the pond.

"How is Mama this morning?" Parthena asked. Honestly, Fidelia was the only person she wasn't avoiding today.

"Last night wasn't nearly as bad as the capon incident, but still, quite terrible." Fidelia bit her lip. "I don't think we'll be invited back again. Which is perfectly fine." She squeezed Parthena. "Lady Baldwin is insufferable. I don't care for the way she treats Mama like some beggar coming to her door. Lady Hanson was absolutely horrified, but after, in the drawing room, she shared a glass of ratafia with Mama. A great deal of merriment ensued. You are partially forgiven."

Somewhat of a relief. "I did write Lady Hanson a note expressing how sorry I am."

"I'm sure it was well received. Just manage to…not be yourself until we leave, Thena." Fidelia winked at her. "Keep your arms close to your side. Don't make any bold statements. Play your violin." She lowered lips to Parthena's ear. "Don't make eyes at the Duke of Wexham."

Parthena nodded. "I will do my best."

"Miss Holm." The shrubs along the path rustled and Mr. Shore appeared, brushing off his coat, a sketchpad tucked under one arm. "Miss Holm." He bowed again to Parthena, though he was merely being polite. His eyes never left Fidelia.

"Good day, Mr. Shore. Have you been out sketching?"

"Indeed I have. I'd like to show them to you, if I may, Miss Holm." He glanced at Parthena. "And you as well, Miss Holm. Perhaps over tea?" He nodded in the direction of the terrace.

Fidelia was enamored of the ornithologist and he of her. Her sister deserved to find happiness even if Parthena couldn't possibly fathom that traipsing about to draw birds would be fun.

"No thank you, Mr. Shore." Parthena wouldn't dare intrude. "I'm going to walk to the folly and watch the ducks floating about the pond for a bit." She held up a hand as Fidelia tried to protest. "You can see me clearly from the terrace. Relatively. Besides," she looked towards the folly. "Looks solid enough. I can't possibly cause it to collapse."

"Try to come back before the rain starts," Fidelia cautioned, as thunder sounded in the distance. "The sky is darkening. We are in for a storm."

Being stuck in the folly during a thunderstorm was vastly preferable to having to endure the censure of Lady Baldwin.

"I will." Parthena watched as they strolled down the path back to the house. She could just make out the Duke of Wexham, hands on the balustrade, with Lady Belinda beside him. Lady Baldwin was likely hovering about somewhere. She couldn't make out the duke's features, though he was looking in the direction of the folly. Parthena touched a fingertip to her lips, still feeling the press of Wexham there.

Which made the sight of Lady Belinda dangling from his arm that much more annoying. Parthena was a hopeful romantic, but she had no illusions that Wexham would suddenly declare his affection for her and discard Lady Belinda. That was an impossibility . No matter the amount of attraction swirling about between them. So sudden and unexpected. The force of it had taken her completely by surprise.

Wexham must feel it too or he wouldn't have kissed her. Or grabbed her bottom.

She reached the folly and skipped up the steps, a dangerous proposition, and entered the folly. A bench rounded the inside though it didn't look as if it had been used for some time. Brushing aside the leaves littered about, Parthena sat and listened to the wind pick up and the thunder increase.

The first drops of rain splattered the roof. Parthena looked up to see Mama, pacing across the terrace, wringing her hands and waved.

Mama did not wave back.

Another roll of thunder. A streak of lightening shot across the sky. The rain started with a vengeance.

Parthena cupped her hands. "I'm perfectly well," she shouted, the last word screaming out of her as a sheet of rain, a wave of pure water, struck her so hard she nearly fell over. Sputtering, she waved again and saw Wexham beside her mother, urging her inside. There was an area on the other side of the folly, hidden behind a large shrub which would offer more shelter. Another sheet of water slammed into her, the wind so strong the rain was streaming across the folly sideways. The water caught Parthena full in the face, drenching her gown and pulling the pins from her hair.

Well, of course it did.

Thank goodness she was far enough away from the house that no one would witness her wandering about like a drowned rat. Crawling over the bench partially sheltered by the bush, Parthena was relieved to see the rain didn't reach this far.

A thump sounded on the steps, along with another crack of lightning. Had a tree fallen? She couldn't see clearly as the sky had gone completely dark. Suddenly a large figure appeared, looming in the small confines of the folly.

Parthena held back a scream.

Until he lifted his head, black curls dripping water, as was the rest of him.

"Your Grace?" Parthena blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"You—you fell against the wall." He wiped back a large wave of wet curls. "I've come to rescue you, Miss Holm. I am worried for your safety."

Wexham had left the terrace and run to the folly because he thought she might be injured.

Parthena's heart swelled inside her chest, until she realized the other guests must have seen him. "I'm perfectly well, Your Grace. But you shouldn't have—"

He ripped off his coat, now nothing more than wet wool to reveal his shirt, clinging to every bit of muscle Parthena felt beneath her fingertips last night.

The amber gaze dropped to her bosom and then trailed down the length of her body.

Parthena recalled what she was wearing. One of her oldest dresses, well, frankly, they were all old, but—the cream muslin with tiny red flowers was particularly thin in places. Her breasts strained against her bodice, pulling at the wet fabric. Nearly transparent.

"Perhaps you could lend me your coat," she whispered.

"I would prefer not. It is wet." Wexham took two steps towards her, slightly feral looking with his wet clothing and hair. That spark between them flared sharply, winding itself around Parthena's mid-section with alarming sensuality.

"Your boots are ruined." Parthena's nipples, to her surprise, grew taut beneath her clothing, whether from his perusal or the chill in the air she wasn't entirely sure.

"Entirely worth it." Wexham made an odd humming sound in the back of his throat. A growl, possibly. It sent streaks of sensation down her back. " You are worth it. Parthena."

"My terrible name sounds so much better when you say it. Did you know the translation is Perpetual Maiden?" She was babbling, undone by the way Wexham was looking at her.

Reaching out, Wexham's hand, the one with the crooked pinky finger, traced a pattern over her cheek, his thumb brushing along the seam of her lips.

She nipped the edge, instinct forcing her to immediately draw her tongue over the spot to soothe the sting.

Wexham's eyes widened, so gold and glowing, all Parthena could think of was being trapped by a large cat.

Her gaze lowered for a moment, gathering courage, then Parthena leapt at him, curling her body around his.

A groan came from him, a low delicious sound that warmed Parthena from the inside out. This was certain to end in catastrophe, as nearly everything did for her.

He picked her up, carrying Parthena to the bench and sat her on his lap, his hands roaming along the lines of her wet dress. She felt the press of something thick and hard beneath her and Parthena twisted a bit, placing herself directly on top.

"You have no idea—"

"I do, actually, Your Grace. My eldest sister is already wed, and I did grow up in the country."

"Dear God. Please don't tell me any more. I'm about to forget every bit of manners instilled in me." He pressed a kiss just beneath Parthena's ear, shifting her so that when she moved, a tingle burst up between her thighs, through the wet folds of her dress. Lifting her hem, she fluttered out her skirts and pressed down once more. Parthena bit her lip at the ache stretching down between her legs. The more she pushed down on the hardness pulsing between his thighs, the more her pleasure increased.

"I'm not ruining you in this bloody folly," his voice was rough. "But I certainly wish to." Wexham kissed her then, ravenously, as if he would never have enough of Parthena Holm.

She rocked back and forth across that ridge, reveling in the sensations coursing through her body. Watching the play of emotions on his handsome features, Parthena threaded her fingers through the thick locks of his hair.

Wexham's fingers dug into her hips, sliding her back and forth, his gaze intent. "This isn't at all how I meant this to be." The words were rough. "For one thing, you should be naked beneath me."

A small cry left her, thinking of their bodies sliding into each other. "Yes." Her movements became ragged as she chased the pleasurable sensation building up inside her.

Wexham pulled her down against him, slowing the movement as she took hold of his shoulders, staring down into that beautiful amber gaze. A low moan came from her as his lips found hers once more.

Pure, unadulterated bliss shot through her. Parthena's legs twitched, her hold on his shoulders slipped, fingers curling into his shirt.

Wexham buried his face in her neck. Whispered her name. The swelling beneath her pulsed and jerked. Neither said a word, their ragged breathing mixing with the sound of the storm outside. Parthena bent and laid her head on his shoulder, awestruck by what had erupted so quickly between them. They hadn't even discarded their clothing. Nor touched each other. Was she ruined?

Parthena's cheeks were hot. Completion . That's what Leta called this blinding, nearly painful bliss, usually the culmination of physical relations. Immensely pleasurable. Though she'd ground herself against Wexham like some doxy, which was vastly improper. "What you must think of me."

Wexham gently moved her off his lap but kept her close. "What you must think of me, Parthena."

"I think you wonderful," she whispered. "But that isn't normal. What we did."

"More usual than you might imagine. But stripping away your clothing," he nibbled at her neck, "is not an option. Not at present." His tongue flicked around her ear. "You aren't ruined." He shrugged. "Well, I suppose a little. And if anyone should be embarrassed, it should be me. I behaved like some green lad." A gentle kiss brushed her mouth.

"I behaved most improperly."

"We both did." He tucked a bit of Parthena's hair behind her ear. "I look forward to hearing your adequate violin playing this evening."

Parthena pressed her forehead to his. "Why? I am merely a bookend. A foil." She hesitated, not knowing how to continue. How to ask about Belinda. Would this mean he would still wed her? The thought sent a pain through her heart.

"You are neither of those things." Atticus's mouth met hers, interrupting her thoughts. "Never a bookend. Or a foil. Your choice of music, for instance, is bound to be interesting."

Warmth bloomed inside her. "Everyone in the room will be watching me, waiting for the bow to fly out of my hand and blind one of the servants. And as to what I will perform, I suppose it will be whatever Lady Baldwin wishes."

"But what would you play, had you the choice?" He nuzzled into her neck. "If I was the only one listening?"

Parthena thought for a moment. "There is a tune my father used to sing for my mother," her fingers trailed over the edge of his jaw, the feeling for him stuck in her throat. It was much too soon. "A love song."

Wexham sighed, lips trailing over hers. "Then play it for me tonight, Parthena." He took her hand and placed it over his heart. "And only me. Because you are all I will see tonight."

The rain pattered away, an excuse to not leave the intimacy of the folly, so they did not. They spoke of nothing, yet everything. Atticus loved the stars and constellations. Families. Dreams. Their shared love of the country and mutual dislike of London.

Mostly though, Wexham held her close to his heart.

When the rain finally stopped, he put his still damp coat over her shoulders, pressed a kiss to her palm and whispered he could not wed Belinda.

Because Parthena was the most dazzling star in his sky.