It’s taken me a bit to get things going on the website again, thanks to real life and real stress and… Well, just stuff.
BUT… I finally got to something I’ve been wanting to do for ages.
The deleted scenes.
I put together at least one deleted scene from each of the books in the Arrangement series, and I’ve posted them for you! Go look at the odds and ends page to see them! And just as a teaser, here’s one from A Bride Worth Taking that is actually a fairly fun preview for our NEXT series!
Kit fled the house. It was the only thing he could do.
He couldn’t believe her. He couldn’t believe her. There was no proof. Marianne was not a charitable soul, she was spoiled and selfish and only cared for herself. She’d been more popular than ever, and it caused an ache somewhere deep inside him. He couldn’t bear to see her change, and clung desperately to the memory of the sweet wife he had known.
He had to maintain his distance to save himself from her, from everyone. It had served him well this last week, he’d only been remotely tempted by her, and the memories of her taunting smiles and fawning crowds had buoyed his resolve.
Now, however, he needed help. His wife was being secretive and he needed to know what she was up to.
Only one man in the world could help him there, and he would demand it.
He managed his way through the crowded London streets, between shops and buildings, people and carriages and crates congesting every available avenue. Eventually he made his way down an alley to the backstreet he had only trod a handful of times. He had been firmly instructed to only use it when necessary, and to be as discrete as possible.
Considering his nature and the complete lack of interest the world showed to him as a person, that was fairly easy. His reputation people loved to bring attention to. His person not so much.
The slightly dank street was only occupied by the few urchins playing some street games with a large pebble, and a few ragged ladies tending to their wares and business. A chimneysweep ambled down the street whistling a jaunty tune and tipped his hat at Kit, but no one else marked him.
He reached the address he’d memorized and knocked, craning his neck to look up, feeling as though the buildings would lean in on each other and bury them all.
The door opened and a man called out, “Never mind, Horton, I’ll do your job!” Then he turned and looked at Kit and both froze.
He knew that face. The curly, dark, too-long hair, the ice blue eyes, and the proverbial scowl. The slightly disheveled look and attire, as if he’d either just come from bed or were about to go to it, and the hollow, vacant light in his eyes.
But the name escaped him.
There was a wary recognition in the other man’s face, but he said nothing.
If he were here, that meant that he, too, was…
“You?” Kit finally managed.
The scowl deepened. “Say a word and you’re dead,” the man threatened.
Kit raised a brow at the imperiousness. “Have I yet?”
He snorted and leaned casually against the doorframe. “I don’t know you well enough to take that as an assurance.”
Kit sighed, feeling that this was getting him nowhere, and he was in no mood for the difficulty. “I’m looking for—”
“I know,” he interrupted bluntly, his tone serious. “He’s not here.”
“Where is he?” Kit demanded with a dark look of his own.
One broad shoulder rose nonchalantly. “The same place he always is on Thursdays before teatime, I expect.”
Was he deliberately being obtuse to provoke him? It was working. “And that is?”
“Haven’t a clue.”
There was no hint of curiosity in his tone, which, in turn, made Kit curious. “You could find out,” he pointed out, his irritation fading.
“I could,” came the reply with what only an optimistic man would call a hint of a smile.
Kit sighed and took a step back. “Tell him I came.”
The man offered a brusque nod. “Of course.”
Kit nodded in return, then turned and walked back the way he came. He might as well return home, now he felt less turbulent. Home was not exactly pleasant, but there was nothing for it. He had nowhere to go, no one else to seek out, and nothing to do but wait for this evening. And pray the evening was not the disaster he feared.