Chapter 1

ChapterOne

Edison

“Goddamn my great-grandfather for this,”I growl.

My footsteps pound down the hallway of the east wing of my home. Another set of steps scurries along behind me, belonging to my bespectacled assistant, Ben. As we reach the staircase leading down to the main floor—and ballroom—the sound of string music reaches my ears and I cringe at the familiar Christmas tune.

“Not only do I have to deal with people in my house, I have to spend the evening listening to this?” I direct this over my shoulder at Ben who clutches his clipboard a little bit tighter, a sweat breaking out on his upper lip. “Already, I can’t wait for this night to be over.”

“I hear you, sir,” Ben returns nervously. “It is a rather tedious tradition.” He hesitates—and then, God help me, something like joy dances behind his glasses. “But wouldn’t it be wonderful if you found your bride among the women we’ve invited here tonight? Oh, can you just imagine a spring wedding—”

“No. As a matter of fact, I won’t find it wonderful whatsoever. My great-grandfather Ebenezer made it a stipulation in his will that his male heirs will not see a dime of their inheritance unless they marry. My grandfather and father have both carried on that tradition to honor his memory or I would not be entertaining half the town tonight in hopes of finding one decent woman among them to call my wife.” I shake my head over that infuriating word. Wife. “Mark my words, this tradition ends with me. I won’t put my future heir through this.”

“Good of you, sir,” Ben says, though he’s clearly disappointed. “Though maybe you will be surprised tonight. There are more than a few women downstairs worthy of carrying on the Scrooge name. Every God-fearing woman of marriageable age that I could find.”

I sigh, grinding the heel of my hand into my eye socket. “Yes. Good. I don’t intend to spend a lot of time with this wife, but if I must attach myself to someone, she might as well be an upstanding member of society. It will be best for business.”

“Well said, sir.”

I roll my eyes at Ben and begin my descent to the lower floor, the Christmas music growing louder with every step. The ballroom comes into view, and I must admit, my housekeeper, Marla, did a good job of making my cold house look warm and inviting. Fresh pine garland hangs from the ceiling, candles flicker from the surfaces of strategically placed table, Christmas lights are wrapped around posts and banisters.

Wouldn’t my great-grandfather be so pleased?

“That makes one of us,” I mutter, striding into the room, already scanning the women in the room, highly doubtful that one of them is going to catch my eye. Why am I doing this in the first place? I’m already a millionaire many times over and if the real estate business continues to boom, I’ll be swapping that M for a B in the next decade.

Technically, I don’t need to marry, but apparently, I have a sliver of a conscience. And it won’t allow me to give up the fortune that the men in my family worked so hard to maintain. As a man who values business and money above all things, I simply can’t allow it to be transferred to the bank, which is what will happen if I don’t find a bride by Christmas.

My entrance has caused the festivities to grind to a halt, everyone staring at me, the man who seldom leaves his home. Why would I? My office is located upstairs, and I have a housekeeper to stock my fridge. If I left the house during the day, I would have to associate with people. Good God, I’m already bored just thinking about it.

Roughly half of the guests tonight are women and a lot of them are smiling at me, tossing their hair, a few of them even sending me a wave. I barely resist the urge to return upstairs without delay and get back to work. When I need sexual release, I have my car brought around and I drive a few towns down the interstate to a club where nobody knows my name. It’s the kind of seedy establishment where it’s understood that phone numbers won’t be exchanged and the encounter is a one-time thing. I get myself off quickly with a willing woman in one of the rentable rooms and return home without delay.

That establishment has seen the last of me, however. Because I’m being railroaded by a bunch of dead male relatives into saddling myself with an unwanted woman. Putting a ring on a stranger’s finger and producing children to carry on the family name. I suppose someone must find these female party guests attractive, but it isn’t me. They are lackluster and boring and predictable. To be fair, I’ve never lost my head over a woman. Not once.

It’s just not possible.

I’m the opposite of a romantic.

The only thing capable of making my heart race is a good business deal.

I pluck a glass of champagne off a passing tray, down it in one gulp and hand the empty glass to Ben without looking. I’ll have to start making the rounds soon, considering candidates to take my last name. Where to start, though? “Which one of these women would you say is most respected in the community?”

Ben launches into a spiel about someone named Jordina who organizes the church bake sale every year and boasts an impeccable pedigree, but his words turn muffled and fade into nothing when a young woman passes by the ballroom window. She’s outside in the cold, her hair in long, chestnut tangles, her nose red from the low temperature.

Our eyes meet through the glass for only a split second…

And the floor drops out from under me.

I’m in a complete free fall, my heart catapulting up into my mouth.

“Who…who is she…” I shoulder my way past Ben, this horrible fear crystalizing in my blood that I won’t get outside in time to find her. That she’ll get into a car or sucked up into a void before I manage to get outside. But when I throw open the heavy, double front doors of my house, there she is. Standing on my porch.

Begging.

She’s a beggar.

If her tattered attire didn’t make that obvious, the bowler hat filled with coins and dollar bills would. My sliver of a conscience is making itself known right now, condemning me for noticing the high mounds of her tits, the fullness of her mouth, the lushness of her hips. She is utterly beautiful underneath the layer of street filth. She devastates me just by existing. And I can’t seem to form a single word. I can only stare at her in reverence.

Whoever sent this girl out into the cold is going to pay dearly.

“For the children,” she whispers in a soft voice. “Could you spare some change for the chil…” She lists to one side, her eyes turning glassy. “S-sorry, sir…”

And then she drops like a stone.

“No!” I roar, lunging forward to catch her before she hits the ground.

Her hat full of coins and singles overturns, scattering in every direction, the dollar bills blowing away in the wind. She hears her collections hitting the stone of my doorstep and it rouses her. She tries to twist away, obviously to retrieve the hard-won money. “Oh no, the children need it. They won’t eat—”

“Ben!” I hold fast to the girl, tossing her up into my arms and desperately trying to warm her against my chest. My assistant appears to my right, fumbling his clipboard. “Gather her money back into the hat and put it somewhere safe.”

The tension drains out of the girl and she goes limp as spaghetti in my arms.

Panic twists in my throat like a blade.

“Someone getting me a fucking blanket,” I rasp, stumbling away from the draft entering through the open front door, using my back to block her from the cold. Now that I’m further into the light, I can see her too-pale cheeks, her blue lips, the little veins in her eyelids. My stomach sinks to the bottom of a lake. Who did this? Who would send this fragile girl out begging? She can’t be more than eighteen.

Voices swell around me and I realize the party guests have filtered out of the ballroom, taking their turns craning their necks to see into the foyer. Men and women alike. No. No, I don’t want them looking at her. I don’t want anyone looking at her.

“Forget the blanket, I’ll warm her upstairs,” I say, mostly to myself, tucking her protectively to my chest and hastening toward the staircase. “Call the doctor and prepare her something to eat. Immediately!”

Time feels like it is standing still as I stride to my bedroom, urgency rattling my bones. She is still limp. If it wasn’t for the faint pulse fluttering at the base of her neck, I would fear her dead. I’m bouncing back and forth between rage and helplessness, my world upended. She is too light in my arms. She hasn’t been properly cared for. I want to light the fucking roof on fire.

As soon as we’re inside my bedroom, I lay her down gently on the foot of the bed, tearing down the heavy covers while my heart beats heavily in my ears. Picking her up again, I settle her on my sheets and cover her in the bedclothes. Not enough. Nothing is going to be enough. I cross the bedroom, turn the key in the fireplace and bring the flames roaring to life.

Going on instinct, I strip down. Body heat.

I’ll give her my body heat.

You’ll give her everything, whispers a voice in the back of my head.

It alarms me.

What the hell is happening here? What changes are taking place inside of me?

In the space of five minutes, I’ve gone from calm and collected to a savage protector. So be it, though. I can’t do anything but obey the orders of my body, my…heart.

Wearing nothing but my briefs now, I’m on my way to climbing into bed with the girl when there is a hesitant knock on the door. “Sir?”

It’s Ben.

“What?” I snap. “Did you call the doctor? She is frozen solid.”

“I did, sir. He will be here as soon as possible. But there is something important I feel I must speak to you about.”

“Fuck,” I grit through my teeth. Of course, I want to ignore Ben and warm the girl, but he wouldn’t be interrupting me if the news wasn’t extremely important. It’s not his way. Maybe this thing he needs to tell me will give me some clue to her identity.

Her life before she met me.

There is only after now.

“What is it?” I ask, ripping open the door.

My assistant is momentarily taken aback by my lack of clothing, but he recovers quickly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but the women downstairs have passed on some delicate information about our unexpected guest.” He nods toward the slight form buried beneath my comforter. “Her name is Blessing Wakefield. The women claim she is a thief who steals from the church. They say she is a liar, an opportunist and…”

“And what?”

“They tell me it can’t possibly be a coincidence that she showed up on the same night you were looking for a bride.”

When those words finally penetrate, my first instinct is to deny them. Bullshit this girl is a liar or an opportunist. One glance at her and I knew she was the purest angel.

Unless…

Am I being duped? For the first time in my life?

I’ve never experienced this chaos in my chest before. Is it the work of a con woman?

I’ve never seen her in town before, yet she shows up on my doorstep while I am in the process of selecting a bride. Moving from the streets to the biggest house in town would be a trade up for her. A trade up for anyone. Am I being played for a fool?

“There’s only one way to find out,” I mutter, kicking the door shut.