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

the queen’s terriers. They climbed the stairs and walked briskly on to Jonathan’s office.
    Mother didn’t even knock. She tossed the door open and pointed her finger inside the room. Patrina sighed and entered in front of her mother.
    Her brother stood with a hip propped on the corner of his desk, arms folded across his chest. “Trina,” he drawled.
    She feigned a bright smile and tucked the crystal glass into the folds of her skirts in a futile attempt to keep it from his sight. “Jonathan. How are you—?”
    “Enough of the pleasantries,” their mother snapped. “Where were you?”
    She wet her lips, resenting the lack of trust but certainty understanding it. “Where was I?” She searched for an appropriate response.
    Mother continued her barrage. “And what is that glass in your hand?”
    Patrina blinked, her mind racing. “What glass?” She angled the crystal in a way that her skirts buried the damning piece of evidence.
    Jonathan coughed into his hand. “I believe Mother refers to that particular one.” He gestured lazily. “The one you’ve hidden in your skirts.”
    Her cheeks burned. “Oh. This glass.”
    His lips twitched. “That is the one.”
    “Er…” The crystal warmed in her hand as she remembered her meeting a short while ago with the marquess. Except there was nothing to say. How could she explain the urge to see a gentleman who’d first been a frowning bear of a man to the man who’d carried a crystal glass of muscadine ice beside the frozen river?
    “Say something, Jonathan,” Mother snapped.
    “Excuse us, Mother.”
    Mother’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened and closed, giving her the look of a trout floundering outside of water.
    Patrina pressed her lips into a firm line to bury a smile that wouldn’t be at all appreciated. That had clearly not been the “something” Mother had been expecting. Nor Patrina for that matter.
    With a glower for her son, their mother turned on her heel and stormed from the room.
    Jonathan scrubbed a hand over his cheek. “You do know she’s going to be a good deal less than pleased with me?”
    She sidled over to the vacant seat in front of his desk and sank into the chair. “I’m certain her displeasure with me will far outweigh any annoyance she might feel toward you.”
    He didn’t disagree. Instead, he tipped his chin toward the damning glass. “Who is he?”
    If his tone was harsh and disapproving she thought she might not answer. As it was, she’d brought too much disappointment to her brother. She sighed and glanced down at her hands. “I know what I’m doing, Jonathan. Which is nothing,” she said on a rush when he lowered his black eyebrows. “There was a little girl who’d become lost from her nursemaid and I helped deliver her home.”
    Perhaps it was because her brother had been something of a rogue through the years, before his wife had properly reformed him, but he eyed her warily—a man who recognized there was more to the story, information she withheld. He glanced beyond her shoulder. “You know I can never forgive myself for having failed you as I did, Patrina.”
    She closed her eyes. “Not you, too, Jonathan.” Mother, Juliet, Jonathan. Everyone blamed themselves for her actions. It grew tiresome dwelling amongst people who existed in a perpetual state of guilt. After all, she had a sufficient amount of guilt for the whole Tidemore clan combined.
    He went on as a though she’d not spoken. “I didn’t pay enough attention to the gentlemen striving for your attention.”
    Probably because there’d not really been any gentlemen desiring her attention.
    “And as a result, Marshville took advantage of…of…” he cleared his throat.
    “My naiveté? My foolishness?” she said in a self-deprecating tone. My desperation.
    “Your innocence.” He squared his jaw. “And I’ll not have you make the same mistake again.”
    “I can’t really make the same mistake, though, can I Jonathan?” She gently reminded