Page 4 of Papa's Little Bride
Chapter Two
Faith
He’sthe 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 individualflecks 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 littlegirl 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 withme.
“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 likethis, with my heart pounding faster while I’m scarcely able to breathe.
He removeshis 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—scenesI 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 buildingsso 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 descendantsof 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 theonlyperson 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 oneelse 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 blockout 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 anduncle wouldn’t have gotten rid of me.
She’s a crybaby. An annoying little brat. I can’t stand the noise anymore. One more sleepless night and she’s off to the orphanage, blood relative or not.
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 withmy 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’re going to live here now, Faith. Stop that crying and go on inside with the other children. This is what’s best for all of us.
“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 againand 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.
