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The word 'Blackmail' was never uttered.
"Here." Ellen pulled out her flask and passed it over. "Drink more of this. I know you're sore."
Ellen had been her friend at college, and it had been there when the news of her parents' deaths had come. Ellen had been there for the mediums hired to contact them, all the failures. She alone had witnessed Susan's loss of faith.
Susan grabbed the flask and took a long pull. "It's not that. It's just when she asked us to think of a happy thought..."
"May I finish this?" she asked, an Ellen nodded. "I pictured something I shouldn't have, and it was like she knew."
Ellen took the empty flask and tottered in her heels, giggling. "Some man?"
Susan blushed. "An unattainable one."
"Well, if Madam Petrinka is to be believed, you're going to have to get over those nerves and get your man."
"It's not that simple."
"Well, warm up on another. The one dressed as the highwayman sitting to my right couldn't take his eyes off you."
"Who is he?"
"I don't know. But he has a nice body, good lips. Does it matter? It's Halloween, it's a costume party, we're young, and the world is ours!" Ellen held out her hands and spun around, stumbling in the shifting sands.
"You'd best go in to McConnell, Ellie. You're drunk."
She giggled. "All the better for him to seduce me. Don't stay out too long. Perhaps the madam will revive the mummies, you won't want to miss it!"
At the gruesome image Susan shuddered. She waggled her fingers as Ellen stumbled back in, and then Susan adjusted her veil. She couldn't get the image of Jonas out of her head, those hands, that body. Squeezing her eyes shut she prayed to a god who had never answered, asking for strength.
"Here," a deep voice said as something heavy settled around her shoulders.
She opened her eyes and it was the highwayman, being a gentleman and offering her his cloak. Embarrassed to be caught with tears in her eyes, Susan had no urge to reveal her identity. 'Thank you," she said with a British accent.
His gloved hand reached up and gently he brushed her tears away. "Why is such a beautiful woman so sad?"
That voice. The highwayman was Jonas!
She stepped back and stumbled, falling in the sand. Pain shot through her ankle and she cried out. Instantly he was there, kneeling. "Are you all right?"
"My ankle...it's twisted."
He undid the strap of her shoe and set it down, massaging the aching joint. She cried out at a sharp pain. "We should ice it. Can you walk?"
"I don't think so," she said softly.
He nodded and before she knew what he was about he lifted her in his arms. She gasped at the feel of his strong muscles holding her with ease. "Where is your tent?"
Her panicked mind raced. "My parents...I am supposed to abed already. Please."
He nodded with a knowing smile. "My sister should be dancing all night, if I know her. We can go to my tent." He walked her there and peeled back the flap.
She'd been holding her breath but her maid and his valet had turned down their beds and lowered the canvas flap between their "rooms." They were alone when he set her on his bed gently, pulling his cloak from her shoulders to the floor.
He left and she knew he was walking to the mess tent to get ice from the ice box. Looking around, she took in his area with fresh eyes. He used his steamer trunks as armoires, turned on their sides. A small table by the bed held a lamp that burned low with a kerosene flame and a picture of their parents.
With great guilt she turned it away and glanced to the photo on the trunk. It was her, taken just the year before. She was posing with a complete skeleton she had unearthed of a woman, one of the few they had found at the site. She was smiling into the sun, her hair slipping from its bun, a few strands across her face.
Jonas had taken it with his new camera, a birthday gift she had given him for his seventeenth birthday. He'd spent the summer with her before going off to NYU, coming back a little bit taller, a little bit more filled out, and a lot more handsome.
"Here we go," he said, entering the tent.