Chapter 4

ChapterFour

Blessing

I swingthe hammer down on the radiator, trying to kick it into higher gear. It’s so cold in the house that the kids can’t even get out of bed. Everyone is huddled in their threadbare blankets, breath visible in the frigid air, but the radiator sputters and continues to pump out minimal heat. Ten minutes later, I’m shivering as I make breakfast for everyone, which consists of watered-down oatmeal, a couple of raisins sprinkled on top of each bowl.

“Thank you, Blessing,” says Thomas, a nine-year-old boy who has been with us so long, I think of him as my little brother. “What are you going to eat?”

I ruffle his blond hair. “You’re a growing boy! Don’t worry about me.”

He looks down at his oatmeal eagerly but makes no move to pick up the spoon. “We all worry about you.” A beat passes. “You look really tired lately.”

“Me?” I try to act surprised, but I’m not. I saw my reflection in the mirror this morning and barely recognized the exhausted girl staring back at me. “I’m just fine. Don’t think about anything but getting stronger. You’re going to try out for the hockey team in January, aren’t you?”

He ducks his head and smiles, obviously pleased I remember. “Yeah.”

“I can’t wait to attend a game.” I poke him playfully in the belly. “Better get eating.”

“Okay, Blessing,” he says reluctantly, finally digging into his oatmeal.

I manage to maintain my smile until I’m out of Thomas’s room, but it vanishes when I turn into the hallway, my hunger pains reaching a fever pitch. I stumble into the wall, unsure if I’m shivering from the cold any longer…or if it’s fear. How much longer can I keep these children fed? Can I care for them if I can’t even feed or clothe myself?

For a brief moment, I allow myself to imagine the immense warmth I experienced in Edison’s bed last night. I recall the tantalizing scent of food that hung in the air throughout his house, no doubt emanating from his party. What if I went there now and asked for his help? He called for me last night as I ran away. Maybe he cares about me…a little? Would he help us?

No.

No, before he put his finger inside of me, I swore a bond was in place between us, formed quickly and wildly in one glance. One touch. But I must have been wrong.

Those kinds of things don’t happen. Especially to a destitute orphan.

A bell rings from upstairs. It’s Cassie. She has a sprained ankle and can’t come down to prepare her own food, so I need to bring it up to her. Despite my exhaustion, I spur myself into action, scooping oatmeal into a bowl, fretting over the lack of raisins—

A sound of a car engine roaring to a stop outside of the orphanage makes me freeze.

The only people who ever come here are social workers and we’re not due a visit. Pretty much the entire world has stopped working for the remainder of the year, since Christmas is three days away.

Who could that be?

I set down the spoon carefully and cross the creaking floor to the front door, peering out warily. We are one young adult and a house of children. It never escapes me for a moment that we’re unsafe. That we could be a target for predators, so I keep the latch engaged while peeking into the deserted street in front of the orphanage.

My pulse goes haywire when I see who is approaching.

In an impeccable blue suit, snow-white shirt and gold watch…it’s Edison Scrooge.

“Oh, my goodness,” I breathe, backing away from the door.

I’m alarmed when my loins throb, my nipples waking up against the front of my nightshirt. What is he doing here? I suppose it wouldn’t have been difficult to find me after I mentioned the orphanage last night, but why has he come?

At six o’clock in the morning, to boot?

When Edison knocks, my hand flies to my throat, mouth drying up.

“Blessing.” He knocks again. “Angel, are you in there?”

My body begins to cry out for his heat, almost like it knows he’s the ultimate source of comfort. Even though he hurt me. Even though he’s cruel and didn’t believe me. I shouldn’t answer the door. I meant it when I said I never wanted to speak with him again. But my body betrays me, shivering, aching to be back in his arms. And in the end, my body wins.

Disappointed in myself, I unlock the door and ease it open, staring up, up, up at the harshly beautiful man who took my virginity with his middle finger last night. He’s so tall—and broad—I must have been too delirious to notice last night.

“Angel,” he breathes, sounded winded, taking an eager step toward me.

I lunge backward out of his reach, crossing my arms over my middle protectively.

“Who is there?” comes a chorus of voices from all over the house, boys and girls, young and old. “Blessssssiiiiing.”

I’m horrified when my eyes fill up with tears. It’s at this very moment that the overwhelming responsibility that has been placed on my shoulders increases to an unbearable weight. “There is no money. There is no food. I don’t know what to do,” I hiccup to this man I should hate. “Everyone is c-counting on me.”

“Now you’re counting on me.” His big chest dips and rises. “I won’t let you down again.”

I’m uncertain what to do, how to feel about him, so I simply stand there as Edison circles the room, his face transforming with more and more denial. “This is where you’ve been living?” he says thickly, his face losing color as the low temperature registers. “It had to be one of the only buildings in town that I don’t own. I would never allow such poor conditions.” He clears his throat, visibly pulling himself together. “Who is the landlord?”

“Art McTavish.”

He nods for a moment, then turns and wrenches the front door back open. Briefly, I see a man standing outside before Edison’s body blocks him from view. “Ben, go buy enough food to feed a fucking army. Bring it back here right away. While you’re at it, track down Art McTavish and tell him I would like a word.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door closes again. He stares at me. I stare back, trying not to let my lip quiver.

“This is inexcusable. There will be heat by nightfall, angel. I promise.”

I want to run and leap into his arms, because it feels so incredible for someone to take care of me for once. I’m so relieved the children will eat soon. That they’ll be warm. But I’ve been on my own for a long time, no one to guide me, and I’ve learned to be wary of charity.

Nothing is free in this world.

“What…what do you want from me?” I swallow hard. “In exchange.”

“Your forgiveness,” he says without hesitation. “For now, that’s all.”

“For now?”

His eyes squeeze shut. “Blessing.”

“Yes?” I whisper.

“You are ready to drop. Forgive me so I can hold you.”

His plaintive tone wears down my willpower to nothing and I stumble toward him, sobbing when he swoops me up into his arms. “I forgive you,” I whimper, circling my legs around his waist as he wraps me in his expensive wool coat. I cry into his strong neck, my body shaking against him.

“I’m here now, angel.” He sounds overcome, his fingers combing through my hair, his mouth open against my ear. “Everything is going to get better. You will never spend another day hungry or cold as long as you live.”

“And the children?”

“They will be looked after.” His arms tighten around me and he rubs his stubbled cheek against the top of my head. “My wife won’t have a single worry. Not one.”

Panic explodes in my veins. “Wife?” I struggle in his arms, but he doesn’t let me go. “So much for only wanting forgiveness.”

“Goddammit, I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he growls, his expression turning more and more worried as I wiggle around to free myself. “Stop fighting me. Save your strength.”

“I’m not marrying you.”

“I don’t agree.”

My frustration is not enough to fuel my struggles, not when I’m so weak from lack of protein, and I slump against him, exhausted. “When I marry someday, it’s going to be for love.”

We are chest to chest and I can feel his heart pumping riotously. “You will have to settle for trust. Marrying for trust. And comfort. I don’t foresee you learning to love me.”

My nose wrinkles and I raise my head to look at him. “Why not?”

He appears to be confused by the question. “I…no one ever has. I’m not the kind of man people love. Even my parents preferred me to remain away at school while they traveled. And such.” He clears his throat hard, quickly hiding the fleeting spark of sadness in his eyes. “But I can provide.” His gaze falls to my mouth. “I can satisfy your body. Thoroughly.”

A wave of arousal passes through me, but I fight through the crush. “You’re trying to distract me from what you said.” I give him my fiercest frown. “Of course, you can be loved. Anyone can be loved.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to try?”

“No!”

“God help me.”

Half a dozen children come clambering into the kitchen at once, knocking into each other and various pieces of furniture, gawking at the visibly rich man holding their caretaker so intimately. This time when I struggle, Edison lets me stand on my own two feet.

And I’m glad to be free.

Really. I am.

When my teeth begin to chatter from the lack of heat, Edison takes off his coat and bundles it around me. And I can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t think anyone can love him. I’m not going to find out, unfortunately. Becoming a wife at eighteen is unwise. Plus, I have the children to care for. There is no time to lie in bed for hours. Beneath him.

I can satisfy your body. I plan to satisfy it. Thoroughly.

My face flushes. He’s watching me closely while fielding questions from the children about his job, his big house and how much his suit cost. His tone is patient and I give him a grateful smile that he returns. He actually smiles and my heart floats up into my mouth.

Oh no.

He was handsome before. When he smiles, he’s devastating.

“I’m not marrying you,” I mouth at him.

His smile only deepens.

Somehow, I don’t think he believes me.