As it often happens with novels, many scenes end up cut in the final draft. I thought you might get a kick out of reading a portion of the prologue that was cut from Highlander’s Hope.
HIGHLANDER’S HOPE PROLOGUE
London – April 1817
A rapid knock beat at the door. Ewan, the Viscount Sethwick, opened his eyelids a crack.
“Cease your bloody banging.”
The pounding increased.
He threw back the bedcovers and swore aloud. “The devil take it . . . every blasted
time . . .”
Standing he grimaced at his unruly member. His body didn’t recognize the difference between reality and the dream he’d been having.
A sequence of sharp raps rattled again.
“I’m coming,” he shouted.
He made quick work of lighting the taper on the bedside table before yanking a sheet from the bed. Bunching it round his hips, he jerked the door open, and scowled at the nervous little man who stood there. A wide yawn forced its way past his mouth as he quirked an eyebrow in askance. “Yes, Bates?”
Bates twisted his cap in his gnarled hands. His eyes darted from Ewan’s hair-matted chest to his bare toes.
“Yer needed at th’ War Off”ith, Yer Lordthip.”
Scratching his chest, Ewan looked to the window. Dawn would not arrive for hours yet.
“At this hour?”
Bates shrugged his scrawny shoulders. “Lord Yancy thaid, ‘twath moth’ urgent.”
“So urgent it could not wait ‘til morn?” Ewan returned his annoyed gaze to Bates, who shuffled his feet in his well-worn shoes, before offering a timid nod.
Ewan blew out a long-suffering breath. Bates wasn’t to blame for disturbing him at this ungodly hour. He was only doing Yancy’s bidding. “Very well. Please saddle Odin for me. Have him out front in five minutes and there’s a half-crown—no make that a crown—in it for you.”
Bates grinned revealing a missing front tooth and shoved his hat onto his head. “Thank ye, Lord Thethwick.”
Ewan offered a half-smile before shutting the door in the lackey’s face. Turning round, he dropped the satin sheet and paused, his eyes riveted on the rumpled bedding. His lips compressed in mild exasperation.
Yvette Stapleton.
He had met her only once, right before her father had moved his household to America to expand his shipping enterprises. He had danced one memorable waltz with her at her cousin’s wedding reception. It was expected. He was the best man, and she, the maid of honor.
Her perfume had been intoxicating that evening. He’d even dared to sniff her hair— jasmine and honeysuckle. The swell of her décolletage had wreaked havoc on his senses, turning him into a besotted fool. As tongue-tied as a wet-behind-the-ears-pup, he didn’t recall speaking a single word to her the entire dance.
Ewan stretched, spreading his arms wide. He could almost feel her slender form swaying in his embrace. She had trod upon his foot—twice. He let his arms fall to his sides with a thud.
Kicking his feet free of the sheet cocooning them, he moved to the armoire. Yanking the doors wide, he stood staring at his clothes.
One dance, two years ago. Why, in God’s name, had he become so obsessed with her then? She filled his nights with erotic dreams, his days with sensual musings.
He grabbed a pair of buckskins, clutching them with white-knuckled fists.
Demme, this fixation with Yvette Stapleton was . . . worrisome. No—it was more than that—it was disturbing. And distracting. His mind skipped to another emotion. . . . One he daren’t even acknowledge, even to himself.
Closing his eyes, he pulled in a deep breath. Nostrils flaring, he slowly forced the air out. He was a rational, self-controlled man. His profession demanded it. His survival mandated it. His lips twisted in self-reproach. Passionate dreams of her though, tested his control, luring his body into carnal responses, while something indefinable stirred in the untouched caverns of his spirit. There it was again; that odd twisting in his gut.
Ewan ran a hand through his hair, hoping the motion would wipe her from his mind.
It didn’t.
Irritated at his musings, he shook his head, and pulled the buckskins on. Stifling another yawn, he growled, “This had better be as bloody-well important as Bates said it was.”
