Snow Angel by Jamie Carie Page B

standing outside of the doorway to her room after a lovely dinner, and then he took her hand and kissed the back of it. Looking deep into her eyes, he purred, “I may have thought of a way that you could earn your passage to Alaska, my dear.”
    Interested, she asked softly, “How?”
    He moved closer, brushing the legs of his trousers against her skirts. Carrying her hand up toward his face, he rubbed the back of it against his cheek. “If you would be willing to become… say … my paramour … for a time, I could arrange everything for you.”
    She stood there for a moment, not comprehending in her shock. As the numbness wore off, she jerked her hand away and then reared back and slapped him as hard as she could. “How dare you,” she said through gritted teeth. “Never would I do such a thing … never.”
    His eyes took on a stealthy glitter as he held a hand to his face. With a mock bow, he assured her, “We shall see, my dear. Don’t answer me now; you are obviously in some shock, not seeing this proposal coming. Mayhap you expected another, more honorable offer?”
    He laughed and raised his eyebrows knowingly at Elizabeth’s reddening face. “Poor thing, I can see that you did.” Turning suddenly viscous, he continued, “I would never marry a penniless girl who could only give me one thing. However, I’ll be happy to pay for that one thing, and neither of us will have the worry of the other afterward. Give it time, dearie. I dare say you’ll reconsider.”
    As he turned to go, she cried out, “Never!”
    He didn’t even flinch, just kept walking down the street.
    The next two days had been agonizing. The reality of her situation was that she had to do something. She wasn’t making it on her meager seamstress’s salary; rent was overdue and something had to be done or she would soon be joining the homeless on the beach, digging for clams. At first, the idea had been so repulsive that she wouldn’t even consider it. But the long hours bent over her piecework gave her more than ample time to dwell on the matter. Gradually, her mind had broken it downinto acceptable pieces, rationalizing the result. She refused to let herself think as far as the name she could call herself afterward. She decided she wouldn’t think of it at all.
    She sent him a note and was ready for him when he arrived at her door, so smug and sure of himself. Nothing would have been more pleasant than to slam the door in his face, but she forced down her pride. He smiled knowingly and suddenly became like a hungry cat that had not had a meal in a very long while.
    â€œOnce,” she stated, staring him in the eyes with impassive eyes, “and you will pay my passage to Alaska.”
    He raised his eyebrows and observed, “So you’ve come down from your pedestal but aren’t prepared to stay there.”
    â€œTake it or leave it.”
    His smooth demeanor now sickened her, and she vaguely wondered what she ever saw in him. She’d always been so careful, and yet, here she was, caught in the net of her worst fear, believing in another person, believing someone could love her, and then finding it all to be a trap.
    Another mock bow, his fingers brushing the tip of his hat, then he held out his arm. “I’ll take it, of course.”
    She stiffly took his arm. Walking the streets of Seattle, arm in arm, as if they were a happy couple, no one but her knowing the tight grip on her forearm, like a manacle, and she, a prisoner—no one but her hearing the pounding terror of her heartbeat, a lamb to the slaughter. And so they went, a picture of what they were not, to his room at one of the town’s best hotels. Once inside, once the door was closed, she knew she couldn’t go through with it. Starvation would be better than this bodily sacrifice.
    She turned to him, panic stark in her face and in her voice.