A Marquess for Christmas (Scandalous Seasons Book 5) by Christi Caldwell

“You are correct. I should not presume to know your life. Forgive me.”
    Patrina gave a brusque nod, unaccustomed to others making apologies to her. She’d grown up in a noisy household among siblings who believed they were each, always in the right. A gust of winter wind stirred the untouched snow around them, and sprinkled her skirts with tiny remnants of the flakes. A stray curl escaped from the brim of her bonnet, and she shoved the recalcitrant strand back, but it only fell over her brow yet again.
    “Here,” Weston murmured softly. He lifted her bonnet slightly and her breath caught as he tucked the strand behind her ear, and then lowered the velvet piece back into place.
    Her heart pounded wildly as she studied the chiseled planes of his face. “Th-thank you,” she whispered. He possessed a hard beauty, like a marbled Adonis, so very different from Albert’s stocky, non-descript plainness. Only, Albert’s appearance hadn’t mattered. She’d been so blinded by his false adulation.
    “I wish I could ask you what causes such sadness in your eyes,” he said quietly. “But I suspect you’d not answer, nor do I deserve one.” He captured her fingers and turned them over. Even through the fabric of their gloves, her palm warmed at his gentle touch.
    She should pull away. She should be indignant at his bold touch. But then, she’d done a whole number of things in her life that she should have done altogether differently. But he was wrong. “You deserve an answer.” Because she couldn’t allow him to meet her here with his children and risk jeopardizing Charlotte’s future opportunity of making a match.
    He lowered his eyebrows, his expression somehow probing and menacing all at the same time.
    She wasn’t a coward, but the words froze on her lips. She fought to free them. He made to speak. “I eloped with a gentleman,” she said on a rush. Humiliated shame set her body ablaze with heated color.
    His body went taut. He said nothing.
    She continued before her courage completely deserted her. “Last spring. It was a colossal mistake and it is therefore in the best interest of your children, and you to avoid being seen in my presence.” A sob worked its way up her throat and she disguised it as a cough. Her vision blurred by tears, she glanced down at the hole in the snow left by her now empty glass of muscadine ice. She bent and retrieved the delicate piece. Before he could utter another word, she fled, all the while wishing she’d made very different decisions in life.
     

Chapter 8
    Smith pulled the doors open and Patrina stepped inside. Her snow-drenched skirts left a trail of moisture upon the marble floor of the foyer. She shrugged out of her cloak, awkwardly moving the crystal glass she’d fled Hyde Park with to her other hand.
    The butler took the garment. “My—”
    Patrina held a finger to her lips and implored the old, faithful servant with her eyes.
    “Where have you been?”
    She winced. Too late. Through the years, Mother possessed an uncanny sense of knowing just when her children were up to something they shouldn’t be. Such motherly intuitiveness seemed heightened after Patrina’s grand folly. The countess hurried down the stairs, a glare fixed on the crystal glass in Patrina’s hands.
    Patrina swallowed hard and managed a forgiving smile for the regretful Smith. “Mother,” she said with forced cheer.
    Mother stopped at the base of the stairs. She jabbed a finger at her eldest daughter. “To your brother’s office.” After all, Patrina’s scandalous act had reminded Mother that not all her servants were entirely loyal.
    Patrina glanced down at her damp skirts. “Might I first…?”
    “No you may not. Now, Patrina.”
    She bristled with insult at her mother’s sharp command better suited for scolding a small child and not a woman grown. Of course, she’d lost all right to be truly indignant. With a reluctant step, she followed behind her mother feeling more like one of