Chapter Four
Kingston
My heart thunders in my chest.
Yes. She said yes.
The sweet little girl seated on the barstool, squirming and flushing, now belongs to me.
Hearing her call me Papa for the first time has my cock painfully hard, pressing at the front of my trousers. I remain standing close to her, not wishing her to see the evidence of my arousal and become frightened only moments after she agreed to my unorthodox proposal.
She swallows hard. “Wh-when will we be married, Papa?”
God. She said it again. I tighten my hold on her hands and bring them to my lips, then place gentle kisses on the backs of her hands, each in turn. A smile flits across her face and she ducks her head, blushing yet again.
“I think I can arrange for a quick, private ceremony here in my home by tomorrow afternoon.”
“I see. Shall I return tomorrow around two or three o’clock, then?”
After releasing her hands, I scoop her off the stool and cradle her against my chest, not placing her down on her feet. “You are not returning to the orphanage tonight, little girl. You will stay here, where I know you are perfectly safe.”
She gasps and peers at me with wide blue eyes. “But we aren’t yet married, and I have to say goodbye to the other girls and also Mrs. Hawthorne, and I have to collect my things, and…”
“You are staying here tonight and that’s final, young lady.”
She glares at me, her eyes narrowing as her jaw tenses. If she’s adorable when she’s blushing and stammering, she’s even more adorable when she’s frustrated.
My palm twitches, knowing it likely won’t be long before I must take her in hand, whether it’s for outright disobedience or for showing disrespect. Of course, I will be gentle and loving as I administer discipline to my little wife. I want her to thrive and blossom under my care.
“We will take a carriage to the orphanage later today so you can say your goodbyes and collect your things, however, know that I will provide you with anything you might need. New dresses and shoes, pajamas and underthings. And anything else your heart desires, little girl.” I carry her upstairs and down the long hallway, to a guestroom that hasn’t been used in years. Not since I was a child and relatives from Marystown came for a visit, on the occasion of my older sister’s wedding. But the room is in pristine condition, and of all the extra rooms, it is the most feminine looking, as if it’s been here all this time just waiting for Faith’s arrival. Between the maid and the butler, who are out doing the weekly shopping at this moment, every room in my house is kept in perfect order.
I carry her past the bed and into the large attached bathroom. After placing her on a chair that sits opposite the clawfoot tub, I start the water and adjust the temperature. Then I light the lantern on the sink counter, as there are no windows in this bathroom. The candlelight flickers and puts her awash in a soft orange glow.
“Papa?”
“You’re going to take a long, hot bath and get yourself warmed up, Faith.”
“But—”
“Are you really going to argue with me over a bath?” She’s not overly dirty, but it does look like she hasn’t washed her hair in a while. I suspect at the orphanage the best she could ever hope for is a sponge bath, the water probably cold. Not many houses in Gerrardsville even have running water, let alone the ability to heat it.
“I suppose I won’t argue over a bath,” she says hesitantly, “as long as you give me some privacy, Papa. It wouldn’t be appropriate for you to see me unclothed before we are wed.”
“Oh really?” Bubbles form on the surface of the water as I add a capful of soap. I rise from the tub and face Faith, eyeing her tattered dress and faded leather shoes. She won’t be putting those items back on herself after her bath. No, I will send for some readymade dresses in the marketplace, as well as a pair of shoes and new stockings and underthings. Some nightdresses, too, and at least one warm cloak. As I form these plans, I peer over my shoulder and notice the water has risen to the top. I shut it off and swirl a finger through the water, testing to ensure it’s the perfect temperature for my little one.
“Mr. Freemont, I’m serious.” She lifts her chin and crosses her arms over her chest. “You must leave and give me complete privacy.”
“If you call me Mr. Freemont again, young lady, I will turn you over my knee, bare your bottom, and give you a sound spanking. I’m your papa and you will address me as such.”
Her eyes practically bug out of her head, and she leans back in her seat, as if trying to put more space between us. Defiance flares in her light blue depths, but as quickly as I notice it, the fire dims and she appears more contrite. Yes, my little girl most definitely has a temper, but she’s trying hard to behave herself.
“Is that what you want, Faith? A spanking on your bare bottom?”
“No, Papa. I’m so-sorry,” she stammers. “Please don’t punish me. I-I don’t want a spanking.” She uncrosses her arms and places her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together and looking even more apologetic. Her cheeks turn a deep shade of pink, and her breathing increases.
“You’re forgiven, little one, but know that I meant what I explained to you earlier about our arrangement. Here, in this house, you will live as my little girl and as my wife. You are under my complete authority and must do as I say, or suffer the consequences for your misbehavior.” I close the distance between us and pull her upward, then wrap her in my embrace, tucking her head beneath mine and grasping her tight. She trembles in my hold but doesn’t resist. “Know that I also meant what I said about caring for you, Faith. I will not treat you cruelly. Your well-being and your happiness will be the most important things in the world to me.”
“How can you make such promises so soon, Papa? What if you decide you don’t want me anymore? We are still very much strangers.” The heartache in her voice makes me stiffen with resolve. I want to prove her fears wrong and be the comfort and security she’s never had. I stroke her hair and kiss the top of her head. Thankfully, her trembling lessens, and she soon shifts to circle her arms around my waist.
My heart swells with affection and I pull back briefly, but only to place a soft lingering kiss to her forehead, before hugging her tight to my chest again. “We are strangers who met for a reason today. Believe that we met for a reason. Believe that you accepted my offer for a reason. Have faith, little one.”
* * *
Faith
I stand in the middle of the bathroom. Waiting. My heart pounds an erratic rhythm in my chest. My new papa has instructed me to await his return before I undress and get into the bathtub, claiming he has to relay an important message to one of his footmen first. I haven’t seen any other people in his house besides Mrs. Summers yet, but I suppose with a house this large, Papa probably has a sizeable staff.
As he carried me through his home and upstairs, down the hallway that was lined with about a dozen doors, some open to reveal large beautiful bedrooms, and others closed, I couldn’t help but notice the entire mansion is perfectly spotless. He probably has a maid, or two, in addition to his footmen. It’s surreal to go from poverty to a home of refined luxuries and wealth.
I listen for footsteps, wondering when Papa will return. Nerves dance in my tummy. He hasn’t promised to give me privacy, and I suspect he’s going to undress me and bathe me himself.
My pulse ricochets. No man has ever seen me naked before. Perhaps I should take matters into my own hands and undress and bathe quickly before he returns. If I’m clean and dressed by the time he gets back, surely he won’t force me to remove my clothes again.
But would he punish me for disobedience?
My bottom clenches and I reach around, cupping my cheeks as I picture my papa and husband-to-be scolding me for naughtiness and then spanking my bare bottom.
Would he, really?
I start to unfasten the ties holding up the front of my dress, but my fingers pause and sensation pulses unbearably hot and achy between my thighs.
Why do I feel like this? Increasingly on edge and as if I might combust at any moment?
Certainly, the problem I’m having in my nether area isn’t normal. Perhaps I’m getting sick. What will Papa do if he undresses me and discovers there’s something horribly wrong with me?
Tears burn in my eyes.
Would he get rid of me?
Would he abandon me as my aunt and uncle did, all those years ago?
I inhale a deep breath and move back to the chair. After taking a seat, I hike my skirt up over my legs, until I have a vision of my threadbare underwear. Moving the fabric to the side, I bend over on myself as I try to glimpse my privates.
Oh dear.
I’m shocked to find the area between my legs is swollen and wet. I gasp and pull my folds wide apart, inspecting myself further. The strange wetness seems to be glistening and gathering from deep within.
Oh no. This can’t be.
Yes, I’m definitely suffering from some affliction.
I must, no matter what, hide the evidence of whatever’s wrong with me from my papa. I must be perfect, absolutely perfect, for him during our thirty-day marriage trial. I don’t want to give him cause to discard me at the end of that trial, or worse—before we even say our vows and begin.
Sliding a finger through my gathering heat, I’m shocked when I graze a fleshy button that jars me with a blast of pure sensation. Bliss, really. Curious but still worried, I continue my exploration and rub some of the moisture from between my folds overtop this stiffening nubbin.
My breath leaves me in a rush and I can’t seem to pull my hand away. I rub harder and faster, furiously trying to understand what’s brought me to this frenzied state.
“Young lady, what are you doing?” Papa’s deep, masculine voice fills the room.
I shriek and attempt to cover myself, but it’s too late.
He’s seen me and witnessed all of my shame.
I jump out of the chair and huddle in the corner, wishing there was another exit to the bathroom so I could run away and never look back. He’s still looming in the doorway, looking upon me with disbelief.
To his credit, he doesn’t appear angry. But he doesn’t seem pleased, either. Oh, if there was a window in this room, I would have already crawled out of it by now. I wish the floor would swallow me up. I remain huddling in the corner.
I concentrate on the floor, unable to hold his gaze for more than a fleeting second.
“Faith.” His gentle tone takes me by surprise. “Would you care to explain yourself? Why were you touching your little flower just now?”
“I-I am sorry for what you just witnessed.” My lower lip trembles, and it takes all my strength to hold back the tears. “I will be leaving now. Goodbye.”
What other choice do I have but to leave? And what other choice does he have but to order me out? Other than the strange illness I have, he’s witnessed me in a most compromising and shameful situation. He has more than one reason to order me out, and I would rather leave on my own than linger to hear him denounce me and direct me toward the door.
“Why are you leaving?” Again, his tone is kind. He’s still blocking the doorway, and the shock gradually fades from his face, to be replaced with an expression of concern that leaves me confused.
“I’m leaving because there’s something wrong with me. I’ve apparently caught some strange illness.” I don’t mention the shame that’s coursing through me, but that’s another reason why I must go. I’m far too embarrassed, and I doubt I’ll ever manage to look him in the eye again. Not after he glimpsed me with my skirts flipped up and my nether region exposed as I touched myself.
A smile twitches at the corners of his lips, his dark eyes twinkle for a moment, and a look of understanding dawns on his face. “Faith, I promise there is nothing wrong you, sweetness. You are not ill, but even if you were, I would not wish you to leave. I would want you to stay and I would help you heal.”
“But there is something very wrong with me.” With my privates. Oh, how will I ever find a cure? I could never confess to a doctor, or anyone else, the nature of my symptoms.
“Something is wrong with your cunny? Your little flower?”
Oh, my face has never felt so hot. I nod and clasp my hands tightly in front of me. Now and then, I sneak a glance at Papa, but mostly, I continue studying the floorboards.
“I assure you that the symptoms you are experiencing in this moment, Faith, are no cause for alarm.” He moves forward and cups my face in his large, warm hands, tipping my chin up and forcing me to meet his gaze. “You are simply aroused, my little one.”
“Ar-aroused?”
“Yes, my darling. Your cunny is swollen and wet, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember how you were squirming downstairs, and I made the comment that the idea of becoming my little girl and my bride is making you achy between your thighs?” After I nod, he continues. “Your current condition is simply related to how you were feeling downstairs. You are becoming more and more aroused, likely because you know I’m about to strip you naked and bathe you, a very intimate act between a papa and his little girl.”
“Will I always feel…aroused?” I’m beginning to understand, but if I feel this way all the time, I don’t know how I will function. How will I resist the temptation of stoking the sensitive pleasure button I discovered hidden within my slick folds?
The corners of his lips twitch again. “You won’t feel this way every moment of the day, little one. Your sexual arousal will come and go. It means you desire the touch of your papa, which is perfectly normal. Don’t fret, sweetness. Papa is going to help you with the ache between your thighs, but first, we must get you undressed.”