Guest Blogger: Deleted Scene from Shereen Vedam's A Devilish Slumber
GUEST BLOG #3 – The
Mysterious Ink Spot
A Deleted Scene:
I fight alone
Hello!
Thank you very much to Rachel Stapleton for inviting me to the Mysterious Ink
Spot blog. My name is Shereen Vedam and I write fairytale-inspired Regency
fantasy romances. Today, I’d like to talk about a scene that was cut during
final edits. The reason for the deletion was to pick up the pace and stay
focused on the main storyline.
Yet,
this scene was one of my favorites, possibly because when I was very young, I
too was a bit of a loner like Lady Roselyn Ravenstock. Like me, she pulled so
far away from her society, her friends, and family that she became an island
unto herself.
In
the deleted scene, she has been invited to a dinner party to meet the hero’s
mother. Having spent so much time alone, years in fact, Rose has become too used
to her own company, playing silent games, talking to herself, reading accounts
of the war in the newspaper, even singing songs without worrying about being
overheard.
Here’s
the EXCERPT of that DELETED SCENE:
As
each course was removed and the next presented, conversation veered onto Rose’s
hosts’ upcoming wedding. Seated next to each other, few minutes passed before
the couple’s hands brushed one another.
Would
she and Phillip ever feel that close? Not if the trouble with her sister came
between them.
Don’t
think of that now.
She
focused on the groom’s mother. She appeared serene and not in the least high in
the instep. At the other end of the table, the groom’s sister seemed lively and
excited about her first Season. Rose had been that excited once. Especially
after she met Phillip. She slanted a side-glance toward him, and realized his
attention had not strayed from her.
While
she watched the others, he watched her. Her gaze wandered across the table and
made a discordant connection with his mother. Mrs. Jones, too, had noted
Phillip's preoccupation. And it did not please her.
Feeling
out of place, Rose stared at her plate and allowed the friendly chatter around
the table to fade. Idly, she arranged her green peas in two rows of soldiers.
Her hero, Randolf, marched through the snowy potato mountains to Corunna with
his regiment, and watched in despair as many men of all ranks lost their lives
to hunger, cold and despair.
“I
hope you are not disappointed with the fare my nephew has laid out for your
pleasure,” Mrs. Jones said.
The
silence in the room interrupted Rose’s Peninsular campaign among her
vegetables. Mrs. Jones’s gaze was fixed on her battleground. In fact, everyone
at the table watched her. Her cheeks warmed. She had once again forgotten where
she was.
“Perhaps
if you were to advise us of your war strategy,” Lady Terrance said with a
mischievous grin, “we might be able to join in your fight.”
“I
fight alone,” Rose replied, far too fast.
Phillip’s
hand covered hers. “Not any longer.”
“Hear,
hear.” Lord Terrance raised his glass in a toast. “For, as of today, you have
all of us to stand by your side.
Have
you ever felt alienated, distanced, and living in a world all your own? When
you want to be left alone, where do you go or what do you do?
A
Devilish Slumber
The
Rue Alliance
Book
1
Shereen
Vedam
Genre: Regency paranormal romance
Publisher: ImaJinn Books/Belle
Books
Date of Publication: Feb. 19, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-61194-609-3 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-61194-592-8 (print)
ASIN: B00TT7UGR2
Number of pages: 224
Word Count: 85,000
Cover Artist: Debra Dixon
Book Description:
Beauty awoke, and then the
trouble began . . .
Since dealing with the death of
her sister and her abandonment by Sir Phillip Jones, the man who professed to
love her, Lady Roselyn Ravenstock has lived as if sleepwalking. Mired in grief,
she sequestered herself in her home, avoiding all callers. Then she meets Mrs.
Helen Beaumont, and Rose starts to come to life . . . until Helen is murdered.
But this time, Rose isn't going back to sleep. Vowing to avenge her friend,
Rose dons a costume and goes out into the night looking for a killer.
Sir Phillip, the Regent's favored
spy, returns from war determined to win back the woman he was forced to leave
three years ago. But when he witnesses Rose covered in blood, racing from a
brutal scene while gripping the murder weapon, he goes on a desperate mission
to unravel what he hopes is a case of mistaken identity.
The investigation leads Rose into
a world of enchantment, where people can re-shape their features, fires are
begun with a snap of fingers and objects move of their own accord. But the real
magic is the blazing attraction that is re-awakened between her and Phillip.
Will Rose ever get her
happily-ever-after? Possibly. But first, she'll have to convince Phillip of her
innocence-before the killer strikes again. . . .
Available at Amazon Google
Books BN Chapters
Excerpt:
A Devilish Slumber Chapter One
Midnight,
Wednesday, April 8, 1813, London, England
A SCREAM RIPPLED
across the misty, dockside air.
Sir Phillip
Jones's pulse lurched at that mournful cry. Gripping his walking stick, he
raced down the hilly road of the deserted warehouse district in Wapping. A
second muffled scream rang out and was then abruptly cut off. No longer
concerned about keeping his movements covert, he ran toward those terrified
shrieks. Rounding a corner, he tore past a man staring toward where the screams
had come from.
"Imbecile,"
the large man grumbled from behind him.
Phillip was ten
feet away before it registered that the man had sworn in French. By then, the
woman who ran out of a warehouse gripping a bloody dagger had captured his
focus. For a split second, her face was clearly highlighted by a stray shaft of
moonlight piercing the mist. He stumbled to a halt, his chest heaving for air
as stunned recognition sank in.
Rose?
The lady started
and swung toward him. Had he spoken aloud? Pulling her hood up, she then
sprinted off into the night.
Phillip
instantly gave chase, but when he reached the open warehouse door through which
she had fled, he pulled back. If that had been his Rose, he knew where she
lived.
Rapidly
retreating footsteps behind him suggested the irate Frenchman, probably a
sailor, was also prudently withdrawing from this possible crime scene.
Inside the
warehouse, despite the wide open door, it was pitch black, but that coppery
scent of fresh spilled blood was unmistakable in the chilly sea air. Instead of
blindly stepping in, Phillip pulled out his candle and circular silver
tinderbox from his pocket. He had not survived the dangers of being an
intelligence officer for the past five years by acting foolishly during a
crisis.
He methodically
placed the candle's wick end into the hole on the lid and struck the flint
until the candle lit. Then, with flickering candle attached to the tinderbox's
socket, he cautiously proceeded inside, his walking stick, with a sword hidden
inside, raised to act as a club. If someone lurked within this warehouse, he
would need blunt force, not blade finesse.
The warehouse
was empty except for the victim who was slumped on the grimy floor, blood
pooling at her side. Her throat had been slit. Her eyes were wide open as if in
shock. He lowered his weapon, placed his candleholder on the ground, and knelt
to check for signs of life. Her arm was limp and there was no pulse at the
wrist, and not even a hint of a breath. Her skin was still warm, but her spirit
had been effectively extinguished.
With a defeated
sigh, he searched her reticule and found calling cards which confirmed her
identity. This was indeed Mrs. Beaumont, the woman he had come to meet tonight.
Not many from this riverside section of London could afford the luxury of
calling cards. Her gown was serviceable, but not of high fashion. He strode
restlessly around the empty warehouse, kicking aside empty crates and litter,
poking at the walls in search of a hidden door, anything to prove that Rose was
unlikely to be the culprit of this crime.
Anger built as
he returned, empty handed, to the body. With a grunt of frustration, he flung
his weighty walking stick across the room. It struck the wooden wall with a
satisfying bang and then clattered as it rolled across the hollow chamber.
Shoulders set
with resolve, he proceeded with his last distasteful but necessary search. He
examined the underside of Mrs. Beaumont's sleeves and delved into her bodice.
Nothing. He then lifted her gown in case she had strapped something to her
limbs. Disappointed there too, he removed her boots and stripped off her
stockings. Finding nary a clue, he carefully redressed her, making sure she
would be respectably covered before the river police arrived. All the while,
words rang through his mind. That cannot have been Rose running away.
As he
re-positioned her arms at her side, he noticed one of the lady's clenched
hands. Pulse speeding in anticipation, he raised her fist for closer study.
Probing with his forefinger revealed something held inside her fist. He pried
her fingers apart until they revealed a scrunched-up handkerchief. Drawing his
candle holder closer, he carefully spread apart the material on the floor.
There, on the top right, was a small, black, neatly embroidered crest of a
raven.
That further evidence
of Rose's guilt left him in choking silence as he battled the urge to compare
it to the handkerchief now burning a hole in his breast pocket. Finally,
knowing he had no choice, he pulled out the other and gently unfolded it beside
the crumpled one. The two crests were a match. His handkerchief had been a gift
from Lady Roselyn Ravenstock.
About
the Author:
Once upon a time, Shereen Vedam
read fantasy and romance novels to entertain herself. Now she writes
heartwarming tales braided with threads of magic and love and mystery elements
woven in for good measure. She’s a fan of resourceful women, intriguing men,
and happily-ever-after endings. If her stories whisk you away to a different
realm for a few hours, then Shereen will have achieved one of her life goals.
Website: http://www.shereenvedam.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ShereenVedam
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ShereenVedam
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/shereenvedam/
Blog (A step beyond the
ordinary): http://shereentwo.livejournal.com/
Thanks for having me over, Rachael!
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