Hope everyone is having a great summer! Mine continues busy (lots of Merola Opera events and another birthday celebration above), but I am working hard on the next novella and full novel and really excited about the progress I’m making on both.Meanwhile, here are a few more outtakes from London Gambit. Not full scenes as in my last post but snippets that ended up not fitting with the flow of the narrative.
Originally, Malcolm had a brief conversation with Harry before Malcolm, Suzanne, and Raoul left the Waterloo banquet to observe the secret meeting in Hyde Park.
Malcolm touched Harry on the shoulder. “If we aren’t back when the party breaks up, can you see Laura back to Berkeley Square? And wait there until we return?”
Harry’s gaze skimmed over Malcolm’s face. “Certainly. Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?”
“Cover if anyone asks questions. But I promise–“
“Don’t say you’ll explain fully. You know better than to make promises you may not be able to deliver on.”
“Have I said you’re a good friend, Harry?”
“Don’t waste time, Rannoch.”
Raoul also talked to Laura before they left in my first draft. I really like this exchange, but in the end it didn’t make sense that they’d have time alone together before he left.
Raoul’s hand closed on Laura’s arm. She cast quick look at him, but made no comment as he steered her into an antechamber. Being a spy seemed to have given him an unerring instincts for quiet spaces. At least she assumed it was that and not romantic dalliance.
His hands closed on her arms, but he didn’t pull her in for the kiss she more than half expected. “I need to leave for a bit with Malcolm and Suzanne. We have wind of a meeting Germont and his confederate have with someone tonight.”
“Of course. I’ll do my best to cover.”
“Practical as ever, , sweetheart. It’s not far from here, but don’t worry if we aren’t back before the party ends. The Davenports can see you back to Berkeley Square.”
She nodded, subduing myriad questions. She was about to say she was perfectly capable of getting herself home, but given Julien St. Juste’s arrival this was probably sensible.
Raoul’s hands tightened on her arms. He pulled her closer and put his mouth to hers.
“How dangerous is this?” she asked, emerging from a hungry embrace embrace.
He grinned. “Just can’t resist the excuse to kiss you.”
Laura returned the smile. But the fierceness in kiss put a lie to his words.
Also in my first draft, Suzanne had this conversation with the Comte de Flahaut after the supposed Phoenix plot unraveled. In the end it didn’t fit with the unraveling of the other events of the denouement.
“You didn’t tell me you recognized the man who called on you asking about the Phoenix plot.”
Flahaut cast a quick glance round the park. “That’s because I didn’t recognize him.”
“Flahaut.’ Suzanne put a hand on his arm. “Julien St. Juste is a master of disguise, but you’re no fool. You’d have recognized him.”
Flahaut’s mouth tensed. “Do you imagine I could have seen Julien St. Juste and not told you—‘
“Yes. But I’m wondering about why.”
Flahaut dragged his gaze away. “What makes you think St. Juste is anywhere near England?”
“I’ve seen him. Go on.”
Flahaut drew a harsh breath. “I didn’t recognize him. Not at first. But the more he talked— how could I forget someone I met at a time like that?”
“And then?” Suzanne asked,
Flahuat’s bootheels crunched over the gravel. “There was something— the turn of his head. A note in his voice. I knew. He must have seen it in my eyes, He didn’t try to deny it.”
“Had he already tried to engage you in the Phoenix Plot?”
Flahaut swallowed. “Yes.’
“When you realized who he was did it change anything?”
“He said he wouldn’t push. But he said— He said you’d probably come along asking questions And he asked me not to say anything to you.”
“And you agreed?”
“I couldn’t say no, Suzanne. You must see that. Not given what he knows.”
Finally, I wrote a brief exchange between Suzanne and Betrand about Julien that I couldn’t find a place for.
Unlike Julien St. Juste.”
Suzanne stiffened. “You know St. Juste?”
“I heard quite a bit when I was first in Paris. And even after I became the Kestrel I wasn’t precisely out of the game.”
“On the contrary.”
Bertrand leaned forwards. “St. Juste is in London. You know?”
“I do. Now. Do you know why he’s here?”