Instant download A daddy for christmas 1st edition maren smith sue lyndon katherine deane maggie rya
A Daddy for Christmas 1st Edition
Maren Smith Sue Lyndon Katherine Deane Maggie Ryan Kara Kelley Adaline Raine
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All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the authors. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Cover Artist: Adaline Raine
Copy editor: Maggie Ryan
Formatting: Sue Lyndon
Published in the United States of America
Katherine Deane
katherinedeane40@gmail.com
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
About this collection:
A Daddy for Christmas is a sexy collection of ALL-NEW age play romances, brought to you by six USA Today and international bestselling authors. Daddy always knows best, and the young ladies in these smoking hot novellas are lucky to have the firm guidance of a father figure during the most magical time of the year. Grab some hot chocolate, snuggle up in your favorite reading spot, and let these dominant but loving daddies take charge.
Featuring….
Papa’sLittleBrideby Sue Lyndon:
When Kingston proposes marriage to Faith a few weeks before Christmas, he’s upfront about his expectations in a bride. Not only is she to call him Papa, but she’ll be under his complete authority and subject to his discipline. She soon thrives under his guidance and finds herself falling for her strict but loving Papa. But despite her newfound happiness, she can’t help but worry something will go wrong. Is their arrangement too good to be true, or has she finally found her forever home?
Build-A-Daddyby Maren Smith:
For Aubrey, when an impromptu trip to Build-A-Bear leads to an unexpected rescue by the cowboy Daddy of her dreams, she thinks her deepest, most secret wish about to come true. Sometimes it’s a brand new stuffy at Christmas time; sometimes, it’s a whole lot more.
SantaDaddyby Katherine Deane:
Alex and Connor are undercover again, and it's all fun and games until the caroling starts. Can Alex make it through this Christmas
season without her usual bah-humbugging? Or will her Daddy, Connor have to take matters into his own hands?
MountainManDaddy’sChristmasSurpriseby Kara Kelley:
Tis the season and Mountain Man Daddy has a lot to do to surprise his little wife, Avery, with his change of heart about Christmas, but Rocky, their pet bear, is acting strange and refuses to leave Avery’s side. Mountain Man Daddy suspects it’s one of his past arrests lurking, and he’s more protective than ever. But when Avery finds out the real reason, she and her sneaky old neighbour, Annie, start planning a surprise of their own.
TheDaddyContractby Adaline Raine:
Kayleigh Cavett penned a desperate letter to Santa Claus hoping for her own holiday miracle. She begged for someone to take care of her and get her life back on track. The next morning she awakens to find a stranded Sebastian Cruz, her brother's best friend and lifelong crush. When the handsome lawyer offers to spoil her rotten until the snow melts, will she accept his terms?
HisLittleNoelleby Maggie Ryan:
Her very name means Christmas, yet she’d never experienced the magic of the season. Davis is determined to change that and give his little Noelle the greatest gift of all... a family.
Publisher’s Note: The stories included in this romantic age play collection contain spankings, sexual scenes, and other naughtiness sure to keep you warm during the holidays. Please do not purchase this box set if such material offends you.
Table of Contents
Papa’s Little Bride by Sue Lyndon
About Sue Lyndon
Build-A-Daddy by Maren Smith
About Maren Smith
Santa Daddy by Katherine Deane
About Katherine Deane
Mountain Man Daddy’s Christmas Surprise by Kara Kelley
Note: This novella is the third book in the Dark Embrace series, but it features all new characters and can be enjoyed as a standalone title.
Chapter One
2689, the region formerly known as the United States of America.
600yearsafterthelightswentout.
Faith
The frigid wind pelts my face. Clouds hover low in the sky, and the trees lining the road sway in tune with the harsh gusts. The clean crispness of the swirling air, along with the overcast day, promise impending snowfall. I clutch my cloak tighter around my trembling body. Inside my worn leather slippers, my toes have already gone numb.
I climb the steps of the Ashlor Estate, an intimidating brick mansion that’s situated on the most affluent street in Gerrardsville. My heart does a nervous flip as I stare at the golden door knocker. I smooth down my skirt and tuck errant locks behind my ears. After retrieving my letter of recommendation from my pocket, I lift the knocker to rap on the door. Boom boom boom. The noise seems to echo outward from within the house, an eerie sound that sends a chill down my spine.
A blast of welcome heat hits me seconds later. The smartly dressed butler glares down at me and clears his throat in an impatient manner. In my nervousness, I clamor to find my voice.
“Good afternoon, sir,” I finally say. “My name is Faith, and I’m here about the maid position. I have a letter of recommendation from Mrs. Hawthorne.”
The butler’s critical gaze sweeps up and down my body. My stomach twists in a knot. I need this job. Badly. I must vacate my
bed at the orphanage in a week. Whenever the orphanage becomes too crowded, the oldest girls are asked to leave. Well, not really asked. More like kicked out on the street.
At least I had the good fortune to live there until the age of twenty. Thanks to my petite stature and a well-intentioned fib I told years ago, Mrs. Hawthorne and the other ladies who run the orphanage believe I’m much younger than my twenty years, and I’ve been smart enough not to give them cause to think otherwise.
“I don’t believe you’re what we’re looking for, miss.” He starts to shut me out, but I’m quick to wedge my foot between the door and the frame.
“I have a letter of recommendation,” I repeat firmly. “You can at least allow me to interview with the master of the house.”
He sighs and rolls his eyes, but he steps back and opens the door wide, while gesturing for me to pass the threshold with exaggerated movements. I eagerly walk inside, and it’s all I can do to stifle a gasp. Bold colored oriental rugs are strewn all over the floors, expensive looking paintings decorate the walls, stylish furniture is placed throughout the open floorplan, and a massive chandelier hangs from a high ceiling.
I’ve never felt more out of place in my life.
For a moment, my step falters, and I freeze in the foyer.
The butler gives me another dirty glance, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. But the urge to prove myself lends me the strength to lift my chin and follow him further into the house. He leads me into a large study. The faint scent of cigar smoke tickles my nose.
Thousands of books line the shelves, and my heart leaps at the sight. What I wouldn’t give to borrow a few. But I push such thoughts aside because I’m here for an interview. If I don’t secure this job, my only other prospect for employment and housing— working in a house of ill-repute—makes my stomach turn.
“Wait here,” the butler says in a clipped tone.
I stand in front of the large polished desk, marveling at how neat and clean everything looks. And how pleasantly quiet it is compared to the orphanage. There’s no yelling or crying. No murmur of voices at all. Aside from the cigar smoke, there are no foul stenches, either. I shut my eyes and imagine I’m living in this house, with my own little bed in the servants’ quarters. I picture myself donning a crisp black maid’s uniform with a pressed white apron, my hair drawn up in a neat twist.
A sense of longing reverberates in my chest. I want this. I haven’t met the master or lady of the house yet, but I want this job more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. This house represents all the calm and safety I’ve longed for my whole life.
Footsteps resound in the hallway. I grow tense and run my hands through my hair, hoping the master of the house deems me acceptable.
“Turn around, young lady.” The shrill, feminine voice catches me off-guard.
I obey, slowing turning to stare at a dour-faced middle-aged woman, who I deduce is the lady of the house. She’s wearing pearls and a purple silk gown, her hair in an elegant up-do. She appears as if she’s on her way to a fancy dinner party, or perhaps a ball. I offer her a polite smile, but to my dismay, she does not return it.
Even worse, her eyes harden with more disapproval than the butler’s. I open my mouth and take a breath, preparing to introduce myself and offer my coveted letter of recommendation, but before I can utter a word, she holds up a bejeweled hand to silence me. I stare at the glittering rings on her fingers, fearing her next words.
“No, no, no.” She shakes her head, and the scent of her heavy floral perfume wafts toward me. “Absolutely not. You must leave at once. We are looking for a more experienced maid. Someone… older.” Her gaze flickers with sadness for the briefest instant, then she blinks hard and steps aside, motioning for me to exit the study.
Crestfallen and a bit confounded by the woman’s overt emotional reaction, I tuck the letter into the pocket of my raggedy dress and attempt to depart the room with as much dignity as I can muster. But deep down I’m hurting and scared. I’d pinned all my hopes on this job and this house, and now I don’t know what the future holds. I have a place to rest my head for one more week before I’m out on the streets.
Alone. With winter fast approaching. Only weeks before Christmas.
What will I do and where will I go?
I don’t know of any other available jobs, as this is currently the only suitable job posted in the town square. The other advertised positions are for hard labor or factory jobs, and those are reserved solely for the men of Gerrardsville.
As I approach the foyer, a male voice booms down from the landing above.
“Oh, Mabel, for God’s sake, don’t send the girl away. What’s your name, girl?”
Unease creeps through me. I glance up as the large elderly man ambles down the staircase. Perspiration glistens on his face, and by the time he reaches the landing, he’s practically sweating through his fine tailored suit.
His leering gaze makes my skin crawl. When he gets closer, his pale blue eyes bore into me with an eagerness that puts me further on edge. Now standing directly in front of me, he smiles to reveal crooked yellow teeth.
“My, my, you’re a pretty little thing,” he says. “Now tell me, what’s your name, girl?”
“Who cares what her name is!” The lady of the house strides up to her husband and whacks him on the back of the head. “She is far too young, Harold, and you have proven time and time again that you cannot be trusted. I won’t stand by while you diddle yet another maid.”
The man’s face turns red and he starts screaming at his wife, cursing and issuing violent threats. Stunned, I take a few steps away from the spectacle.
Maybe I don’t want this job so much, after all.
A blast of cold air hits me, with an almost violent force, and I turn to find the butler is holding the door open and signaling for my departure.
“I’d say it’s time you took your leave, miss,” he says, his voice barely audible over the ruckus of the Ashlors’ increasingly volatile marital dispute.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Gathering my threadbare cloak tight around my arms, I hurry outside as the screams in the house grow louder.
The wind is blowing harder and clouds are even darker than when I first arrived. Puffs of white escape from between my chattering teeth. Shivering, I rush down the street in the direction of the main road, but in my haste, I stumble over a rock and start tumbling forward.
Before I can untangle my hands from my cloak, I’ve already fallen flat on my face.
Pain slices through me, and all the air leaves my chest in a whoosh of agony.
Kingston
She’s beautiful.
It’s the first thing I notice, before I realize she appears frightened. Her large blue eyes are filled with tears. She’s running too fast in her long skirts, and before I can reach her, she’s tripped and fallen on her face. I don’t know the pretty young lady’s name or what has her so upset, but there’s something sweet and innocent
about her that calls up my protective instincts. Perhaps it’s her eyes. I’ve never seen a woman with eyes such a stunning, light shade of blue.
I kneel beside her and help her into a sitting position. She clutches her right cheek, and her lips are swollen and trembling, the bottom one split open. Her eyes land on me and widen further. She tries to scoot away, but I grasp her shoulders and keep her still, forcing her to continue holding my gaze.
“Shh,” I say in the most soothing tone I can summon. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I cast a quick glance down the street before returning my stare to the frightened young woman. “Was someone chasing you? You look as though you were running from the devil himself.”
“No one’s chasing me,” she replies in a small voice, almost a whisper. “I, um, had an interview for a maid position at the Ashlor Estate. It-it didn’t go so well.”
Understanding dawns. I tense and glare at the brick mansion at the end of the street. Dark rumors have swirled around that particular house for years, and it’s no secret that maids are always coming and going from the Ashlor Estate, their employment never lasting more than a few short weeks at a time. “Did Mr. Ashlor hurt you?”
When she shakes her head, her wavy golden tresses sway over her shoulders and brush upon the backs of my hands. I realize I’m still holding her, and I loosen my grip and then help her rise to her feet. She accepts my assistance and keeps shooting me curious looks. Her eyes no longer glimmer with tears, but I sense the turmoil surging through her. Whatever happened at the Ashlor Estate has left her shaken.
“What is your name, sweetness?” The endearment rolls off my tongue before I can stop it, and it’s then that I realize she looks vaguely familiar. I continue staring, trying to pinpoint how I know her.
She flushes. “My-my na-name is Faith.”
When I fail to place how I know her, I decide perhaps I’ve only seen her in passing on the street. Her name doesn’t ring any bells, so I likely haven’t ever been properly introduced to her.
If I had, I most certainly couldn’t have forgotten.
Faith. God, she’s so adorable. I want to pick her up and carry her home, clean the dirt off her pretty face, and cuddle her in my lap until she calms down. My groin tightens at the prospect of having her close and in my arms. I tense again, my own thoughts taking me by surprise.
“Faith,” I finally repeat. “A pretty name for an even prettier girl.” I reach for her and brush the leaves out of her hair. Her eyes flutter shut and a soft sigh escapes her lips. I marvel at how she melts under my touch. But as quickly as she seems to lose herself in the hands of a stranger, her eyes shoot open and she takes a swift step back.
“Thank you for helping me, sir, but I must be on my way.” She tries to veer around me, but I grasp her hand and pull her closer. Our white breath intertwines, and my heart races to have her body so flush against mine. I’m careful to gentle my expression as I stare into her questioning gaze.
There’s a pull between us that I can’t explain. The very air around us is electrified with tension.
For a reason I can’t fathom, I want her to feel safe with me, and I want to chase away every last worry and fear she harbors in her gentle heart. When I first glimpsed her rushing down the street, I was drawn to her, and I’m not about to allow her to run away while she’s bruised and bleeding.
Not if I can make it better.
She holds my gaze, unblinking.
There’s a storm in her bottomless blue depths that guts me. Though she’s told me nothing about herself, besides her name, I
surmise she’s led a difficult life. I also suspect she’s in some sort of trouble at the moment that may or may not be related to Mr. Ashlor.
I guide her to the white stone walkway that leads to my house.
“What are you doing, sir? I-I re-really must be on my way.” Her steps slow and she tries to pull her hand from mine, but I tighten my grasp and shoot her a concerned look.
“You’re hurt and you’re freezing, Faith. I’d like to help you. This is my house,” I say, gesturing at the three-story stone house that has been in my family for three generations. “Please come inside and let me tend to you. I promise you have nothing to fear, sweetness. I won’t visit any harm upon you.”
Indecision flickers in her gaze. She peers at the front door and the storm in her eyes deepens, raging with an intensity that only strengthens my desire to help her.
Lost. She looks utterly lost.
I wonder if she’s homeless. Her dress and cloak are faded and threadbare, and one of her slippers has a hole in the toe. I imagine outfitting her in the finest dresses and the warmest cloaks, custom made just for her. Shoes, too. As many as she wants. I imagine spoiling her and showering her with all the comforts and luxuries she’s never known.
Odd, these thoughts I’m having.
I’m a stranger to her, and, judging by the indecision in her eyes, she likely worries I am planning to hurt her.
“Faith, I give you my word that I mean you no harm. My name is Kingston Freemont.” I offer her a brief gentlemanly bow, before drawing up to my full height.
Recognition lights on her face. “Oh. I know you. Of course. I thought you looked familiar. You deliver medicine to the girls’ orphanage every year. I remember watching you unload the boxes from the wagon a few times. It’s not often anyone brings supplies, especially medicine, to the orphanage, and I try to remember every face who has shown us kindness.”
“Ah, you just solved the mystery. I was also thinking that you looked familiar, but I was having trouble placing you.”
Her sudden bright smile warms my heart, and for the first time in years, the crushing loneliness that weighs me down lifts from my chest. For a long moment, I forget all my sorrows and the world seems more vibrant with color. I stare at her in awe, swept away by the power this pretty little creature holds over me.
“How old are you, Faith?” I ask, not caring if the question is inappropriate. I guess her to be eighteen or nineteen, but I must know for certain.
“I…” Her voice trails off and an alarmed look consumes her. “I am a grown woman.” She lifts her chin.
“You’re over eighteen?”
She nods. “Yes, sir. I am too old to remain at the orphanage any longer, which is why I’m on this side of town today, looking for a maid position in a household. Unfortunately, the only job posting I could find was for the Ashlor Estate, and the lady of the house did not like me very much.”
“Gerrardsville is going through a depression at the moment, and it’s affected many of the wealthy residents too. Many of my neighbors on this street have recently had to let some of their staff go. I’m afraid you will probably have difficulty finding employment.”
She swallows hard and presses her lips together. Tears glimmer in her eyes, but she’s quick to blink the moisture away. My resolve to aid her deepens.
“Please don’t fret. I will help you. Come inside with me, Faith.”
Chapter Two
Faith
He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
I’d thought so the first time I laid eyes on him at the orphanage, too. But until now, I’ve only been able to admire him from afar. This close, I can gaze directly into his face and see the individual flecks of gold in his otherwise dark brown eyes. His deep, kind voice makes my tummy flutter, and his nearness causes my breaths to come rapid and shallow.
My stare drifts from his dark dreamy eyes to his short black locks. There are also tinges of white throughout his hair that give him a distinguished, almost fatherly, look.
When he gazes at me with concern, I feel like a little girl who’s being doted upon by her daddy. This thought prompts me to flush from head to toe, and an unfamiliar heat starts to gather between my thighs.
Do I dare go inside with Mr. Freemont? My gut tells me he’s an honorable man. He won’t hurt me. But I feel so flustered in his presence that I’m worried I’ll keep stuttering and blushing. He’ll probably think there’s something wrong with me.
“Please, Faith, come inside. I insist.”
Without giving me a chance to decline, he places a hand at the small of my back and guides me to the front door. More flutters in my tummy. More flushing. More aching between my thighs. His touch and his increased nearness, not to mention his enticing woodsy scent, turn my brain to mush.
He opens the door and urges me to walk inside. I struggle for air, not quite understanding how I can experience such a strong
visceral reaction to a man. But then I’ve rarely been around men. The women who run the girls’ orphanage are strict about keeping all the girls away from boys and men. Still, the few men I’ve been around have never made me feel like this, with my heart pounding faster while I’m scarcely able to breathe.
He removes his coat and hangs it on a nearby rack. “Would you like me to take your cloak?”
“No, thank you. I’m still warming up,” I say.
His house has a cozier feel than the Ashlor mansion. The walls are a warm gold that reminds me of the sun, with accents and molding white as fresh fallen snow. Polished wooden floors are covered with bright blue rugs, and the most vibrant and unique paintings—scenes I realize must be from the Old Days—cover the walls. I approach one with a scenic landscape of rolling hills and flying crafts. Hard to fathom such inventions used to exist. Sometimes I wonder if it’s all make believe. Electricity, cars, planes, rockets, and other flying crafts. I walk to the next painting and study the strange structures in the lush green forest. I’ve never seen buildings so large or with so many windows.
“That’s a depiction of the first colony on Mars, after the terraforming was completed in 2045. Not long before the Solar Storm of 2089 that marked the end of an era of great advancement for mankind.”
“There were really people on Mars? In an actual settlement?”
“Yes. Over a thousand. I like to look at this painting sometimes and image the descendants of the first thousand are alive and well, thriving on an alien world.”
“Do you think the people of Earth will ever visit Mars again?”
“Perhaps one day.” He comes to stand behind me, to stare at the painting in question from over my shoulder.
I breathe in his intoxicating scent, a mix of leather and sandalwood and unadulterated maleness. I’m not sure what he does for a living, or really know any other details about him, but I think
he’s kindhearted. Now that I’ve learned his identity, I instinctively trust him.
During the plague that swept through town last winter, he was the only person to bring supplies to the orphanage, including much needed medicine. He could have stayed home and away from possible infection, but he’d still come to the orphanage when no one else would, no doubt risking his life for others.
His act of kindness last winter saved many lives, perhaps even my own. I’d been in the beginning stages of the illness when he arrived, and the medicine he’d brought helped ease my sore throat and aching muscles. Two days later, my fever broke and I made a full recovery, along with most of the other girls. Shutting my eyes, I try to block out the anguish that sweeps through me at the memory of those we lost last winter, especially my dear friend, Sarah.
“Faith? Are you all right?” He turns me around, and I lower my head, not wishing for him to see me upset. If I cry, he probably won’t want me here anymore. If I wasn’t such a crybaby, I wouldn’t be an orphan. If I’d only been good and quiet after my mother died, my aunt and uncle wouldn’t have gotten rid of me.
She’s a crybaby. An annoying little brat. I can’t stand the noise anymore. Onemoresleeplessnightandshe’s offto theorphanage, bloodrelativeornot.
Words I heard yelled in the midst of my sorrow after losing my mother come rushing back. My uncle hadn’t liked me much. I’d been but six years old when tragedy struck and I had to go live with my aunt and uncle, but I’d been old enough to understand the reason they dropped me off at the orphanage on a cold, snowy day. They already had four children of their own, and in addition to being a nuisance, I’d also been another mouth to feed.
You’regoingtolive here now, Faith.Stopthatcryingandgo on insidewiththeotherchildren.Thisiswhat’sbestforallofus.
“Faith?”
I open my eyes and try to force a smile, but my lips quiver and a shudder runs through me. At least no tears escape my eyes. At least I’m able to blink the pain away. If only I’d been able to do that when I was younger. If only someone had warned me if I wasn’t good and quiet, I would truly be sent away, tossed aside as if I’m nothing.
“If you feel like crying for some reason, sweetness, it’s best to let it all out. You’ll feel better for it afterward.” His words take me by complete surprise. Compassion flares in the depths of his dark eyes, and the gold flecks gleam in the light of the sconces. “It’s all right.” He reaches for me, brushing the hair from my face and cupping my right cheek.
“Why are you being so nice to me, Mr. Freemont?”
He strokes my hair again and steps closer. He’s so tall I’m forced to crane my neck up to hold his gaze. Handsome, older, wiser, and gentle, he’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a daddy, or a husband. I have a difficult time deciding which one I’d rather him be. All I know is I like the way he makes me feel, and he makes me feel things I’ve never experienced before, like the increasingly hot and urgent ache between my thighs.
He doesn’t answer my question, though his expression becomes pained for a moment, as if a dark memory has suddenly flitted through his mind. I want to know what he’s thinking about, but I don’t dare ask. Instead, I blink away the remaining moisture in my eyes and offer him a tiny smile. In an instant, the clouds in his eyes disperse and he looks upon me with affection.
My heart does a little dance.
Though I’m slightly familiar with him, he’s still very much a stranger. Maybe I should fear his reason for looking at me as if he cares for me, but he doesn’t raise the hairs on the back of my neck as Mr. Ashlor did. Still, though I believe Mr. Freemont wishes to help me, I also suspect he wants something from me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what that something might be.
He clears his throat and steps back, then nods at a nearby hallway. “Please come with me, Faith. The kitchen is this way.”
I walk with him, feeling as if I’m floating in a dream. But I quickly remind myself that I won’t be here for long. Mr. Freemont probably just likes to help people. That’s all he’s doing with me. Helping me clean up and then he’ll send me on my way. Back to the orphanage. I’m foolish to think he was actually looking at me with affection. I must have been mistaken.
The kitchen is large but homey. There’s a plump older woman standing at the stove, stirring a pot of something that makes my mouth water. My stomach chooses that moment to growl. I flush and lower my head, not daring to presume that I’ll be offered a meal or anything beyond a rag to clean the dirt off myself.
“Good afternoon, Master Freemont. And who might this lovely young girl be?” The old woman turns with a smile and wipes her hands on her apron. Her gaze is kind and welcoming. I instantly like her and feel at ease in her presence.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Summers. This is Faith. Faith, meet Mrs. Summers.”
I dip into a slight curtsey. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Mrs. Summers, Faith took a tumble in the street and needs our assistance. Would you mind fetching some medical supplies?”
“Of course, Master Freemont. I will return shortly.” She turns back to the stove, places a lid over the steaming pot, and then departs the kitchen.
“You really don’t have to go to any trouble for me, Mr. Freemont,” I protest. Despite his kindness, I’m starting to feel on edge and out of place. I’m dressed in rags compared to Mr. Freemont. The social divide between us looms over me like a rolling, black cloud that billows larger and larger the longer I stay here. “I am fine, I assure you. In fact, I ought to return to the orphanage now before the snow starts.”
I move to leave the kitchen, but Mr. Freemont’s stern voice halts me.
“Little girl, you will sit your bottom down right now. No arguments.” He pulls out a tall stool that’s pushed up against the island in the center of the kitchen. He arches an eyebrow at me, and I feel thoroughly scolded by his abrupt strictness.
“Mr. Freemont…”
“Sit. Now, young lady.”
Chapter Three
Kingston
Holding the stool out, I continue glaring at Faith while awaiting her acquiescence. The idea of her running out of my house and back to the orphanage fills me with cold anger. If I must be firm with her, then I’ll be firm with her. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her from returning to that dreadful place. Besides, she already admitted she won’t be living there much longer. She’s on the verge of homelessness.
Her cheeks still a deep pink, she approaches me and the offered seat. Without thinking, I lift her up and place her on the stool myself. Her hands fall on my shoulders while I hold onto her tiny waist, but she doesn’t resist my assistance. Once she’s fully seated, I fetch a clean cloth from a drawer and dampen it with warm water. I return to her side and commence wiping the dirt from her face, careful not to aggravate the bruise on her cheek or her split lip.
She’s quiet while I tend to her, though a nervous, thoughtful expression keeps crossing her pretty face. I proceed to wipe the dirt off her hands, and once that’s complete, I make a cold compress and touch it to the bruise darkening her cheek. The swelling on her lower lip has already gone down and a small scab has formed where her lip split. Mrs. Summers ambles in with a small case of medical supplies, and I thank her and politely dismiss her from the kitchen.
From the case, I find an ointment for Faith’s hurt lip, as well as a numbing salve to rub onto her cheek. The bruise is small, at least. I also give her two pills for the pain. She obediently takes a sip of water and swallows them down, all under my watchful eye.
I’m not happy she got hurt, but I can’t deny that I enjoy taking care of her.
Memories of happier times wash over me, pleasant times from years’ past. Faith doesn’t know it, but she reminds me of what I once had. Her sudden presence is filling up the empty parts of me and shining light on my darkness.
“Are you married, Mr. Freemont? Do you have children?” she asks, and her inquiry plunges me back into despair. Somehow, I force myself to stay calm and not become angry over her innocent question. I take a deep breath. It’s not her fault my wife and infant son perished years ago, and it’s not her fault I have been alone in mourning ever since.
Meeting her gaze, I press the cool compress to her cheek again. “I’m a widower,” I finally reply. “I had a son once, too. They both died of an illness five years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” She places a gentle hand on mine and squeezes, her gaze brimming with compassion. “I lost my mother when I was six years old, also to an illness that swept through the town.”
“What of your father?”
“He passed away before I was born.”
“It must have been frightening, being sent to the orphanage at such a young age, after losing your mother.” I lift the compress from her cheek and notice the swelling has gone down considerably. Just before I return the compress to her face, a tear trickles down over her bruise. My eyes drift to hers, and I curse myself for saying something to upset her. Before I can offer my apologies, she wipes the tear away and folds her hands in her lap.
The heat of her hand squeezing mine lingers, and I mourn the loss of her touch.
“Yes, it was frightening.” She studies her hands and fidgets in her seat. Her golden tresses cascade forward, over her shoulders. She’s an angel fallen from heaven.
That’s the only explanation I can think of for her sudden appearance in my life. Surely we haven’t run into one another today only to part so soon.
My mind abruptly wanders, down a path of heartening possibilities.
Lately, I have considered taking a wife again, so much so that after years of avoiding anyone outside of business, I’ve recently started attending social gatherings, hoping the act of being around others would help thaw my heart.
Hoping that maybe I would meet a woman who moves me.
Faith moves me.
Far too easily, I can imagine keeping her here. Two lonely strangers in need, getting to know one another during the long winter months. I gaze upon her loveliness, considering all the ways I might convince her to stay.
I could offer her a job. She’s looking for a maid position. I mull this possibility but quickly rule it out, because I don’t want her as my employee.
If I’m being truthful, I want her in my bed.
But it’s more than that. The urge to tend to her every need, coddle her, guide her, even discipline her, also dominates my thoughts. She’s never had a father figure, and I wonder if she might be open to an arrangement of sorts, one that puts her in my absolute charge.
“Well, I really should be going now, Mr. Freemont. Thank you for everything.” She places her hands on the counter and starts to slide off of the stool.
I immediately crowd around her, pinning her between myself, the stool, and the counter. Her breath catches and she peers up at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her cloak slips from her shoulders, and I pick it up and place it neatly on the back of the stool, leaning around her and not allowing her a chance to escape.
“You will sit your little bottom back on that chair right now, young lady. You haven’t been excused.” My tone is firm but kind, and I once again lift her up onto the seat. I take note of her increased breathing and her flushing, as well as her continual fidgeting on the stool.
My cock throbs, knowing I’m the reason she’s squirming and flushing so adorably.
Once I’m satisfied she won’t attempt to go anywhere, I retrieve a large bowl from the cabinets and fill it with a generous serving of Mrs. Summer’s stew. I place it in front of Faith and hand her a spoon.
“Your stomach has been growling this whole time. Please eat, and take your time.”
“But the snow…”
“Yes, it might snow today. But I promise you won’t be walking back across town in the bad weather. Eat your fill, Faith, and then we will discuss your future.”
“But—”
“No arguments.”
Faith
I’m not sure what’s happening, but I’d be a fool to turn down a hot meal. I grasp the spoon and take a bite. The savory flavor explodes on my tongue, and I quickly take another bite, and then another. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so delicious in my life. I devour the entire bowl in minutes, almost forgetting Mr. Freemont’s presence. But when I finish, I look up to find him staring at me. Fast as I ate, there’s probably soup all over my face. Shame courses through me, hot and pulsing.
“I’m so sorry, sir, that was terribly rude of me. You must think my table manners are atrocious.”
I’m surprised when he smiles and approaches me with a clean white cloth napkin. I reach for it, but he brushes my hand away and touches the napkin to my face. A gentle dab to each corner of my mouth, and then he steps back.
Strange, warring emotions roll through me.
I’m not sure whether to be touched by his gesture, or completely mortified. I’m a grown woman, and I ought to be able to control myself better, even it’s been a while since I had a proper meal.
“There’s no need to apologize, Faith. Would you like more?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you. I’m quite full now. It was absolutely delicious. I hope you’ll tell Mrs. Summers I said so.” I try to ignore the sadness that’s slowly creeping around the corners of my heart.
For a short time today, I stepped into another world. But now that Mr. Freemont has finished helping me, surely he will send me on my way soon. Except…he had mentioned discussing my future once I finished eating. He also insisted I wouldn’t be walking across town in the bad weather. I hold my breath as I peer into his handsome gaze, wondering if he knows of an available job. My heart thuds at the possibility that he might even ask me to work for him.
The prospect of being around him, day after day, renders me giddy and breathless. It’s all I can do to sit quietly and await his response.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the meal, little girl.” His warm smile melts my heart. “Now, it’s time we discuss your future. I cannot in good conscience send you away when it seems you will be homeless in a week. I know what happens to most girls who leave the orphanage, and the thought of you working in Madame Angelic’s bawdy house…” His words trail off and his fists clench. He exhales slowly and then reaches for me, tipping my chin up. “The idea of men using you and
taking their pleasure of your body without care makes me murderous.”
“I appreciate your concern for me, Mr. Freemont, truly I am touched, but we just met. Um, officially, I mean. How is it possible for you to feel that way for a virtual stranger?”
“I don’t know.” He releases my chin and studies me with an intensity that once again has me squirming in my seat. “All I know is that if you walk out that door, I will miss you, and I will worry for you.”
His words make my eyes burn, and I’m also confused by the increasing heat that’s pulsing between my thighs. If I were alone right now, I would lift up my skirts and touch my pussy to see what’s wrong. But I don’t dare touch myself in front of Mr. Freemont. The very thought is shameful, and my face flames hotter and hotter.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I want you to live here, Faith. With me. I will give you a room of your very own. I will take care of you, and you will want for nothing.”
“You want me as your mistress?” I ask hesitantly. As I await his response, I decide being Mr. Freemont’s mistress would not be so bad. Belonging to one man would surely be better than spreading my legs for multiple men a day at Madam Angelic’s establishment. In the back of my mind, I’ve always known it would be a possibility that I’d end up working as a prostitute in order to survive. Of course, I had intended to exhaust all other avenues of work first.
“No, not as my mistress.” He grasps my hand. “As my wife, by trial.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“We would be married for a trial period of thirty days. At the end of those thirty days, we can decide whether to remain married or to separate. If we decided to separate for some reason, I would see that you remain taken care of for the rest of your life.”
“I see. So at the end of the thirty days, we both decide? You would not force me to stay with you if I did not wish it?”
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