The Passionate One by Connie Brockway Page A

he’d settled on her for his wife. That and
his father’s prodding.
    The old man had
specifically chosen Rhiannon Russell as his youngest son’s mate, explaining
that Rhiannon was kind and loyal and grateful. She would quietly accept
whatever Phillip did. She would not demand things a man could—
would
not give.
    The old man was
right. Rhiannon was the perfect choice for a wife. Besides he was fond of her.
    Yes, it was time he
wed. Though still young, he felt this subtle resistance to the idea of marrying
grow each year. If he waited too long he might not be able to bring himself to
do the deed at all—there was so much about living a bachelor’s life that
appealed to him. Freedom. Not being accountable to a woman for his whereabouts
or his actions. Friends. And of course, he added as an afterthought, other
ladies.
    But he did want a
family. He quite looked forward to having a couple brats, and the old man
wanted grandsons, something his older brothers had yet to provide. Rhiannon
would make a good mother.
    As if he had read
his mind, Merrick suddenly spoke to him. “Your darlin’ bride-to-be is at
tonight’s festivities, is she not?”
    “Yes.”
    “And any number of
other rich young wenches,” John Fortnum added. “Now that Phillip here is going
all connubial, me dad’s all in a lather for me to marry. Perhaps I should take
advantage of this evening’s sport to look over the prospects, unbeknownst to
the prospects, of course. Just because Watt can sustain a penniless bride does
not mean I can.”
    Merrick slew about in his saddle, peering at Phillip. “Just how is that, Watt?
How came you to offer for the penniless, if lovely, Miss Russell?”
    “Phillip here is
proof of an old man’s passion,” Fortnum supplied before Phillip could speak.
“And his father does therefore love him dearly. If it would keep Phillip in
Fair Badden, his father would let him marry a tavern wench.
    “A rich wife might
want a London house. A well-connected wife might have family to visit on long
extended trips away. Miss Russell has no reason to leave Fair Badden, nor any
desire to do so.”
    Sober Phillip might
have taken exception to such revelations, but he wasn’t sober. He was
deliciously drunk and surrounded by his bosom friends and on his way to a fine
piece of sport. What and why would he keep anything private from these men?
    “True,” Phillip
confessed. “But that’s not the only reason. Rhiannon’s clever enough to spend
the rest of her life being grateful to me for making her my wife.” He grinned.
“What other woman would have that sense?”
     
     
    Chapter Ten
     
    They were rough,
uncouth fellows. And they were exquisitely, hilariously, vibrantly alive. Fair
Badden had never seen their like.
    Other traveling
performers measured Fair Badden’s high society as the self-conscious, priggish
band of yawners it was and suited their talents accordingly, somberly enacting
philosophical vignettes or singing plodding chorales. Not these fellows. Rude
and boisterous and bawdy, they had about them a joie de vivre that was
infectious. True, the big silent fellow had no more important a role than
letting his smaller fellows clamber over him, but he played the part of
mountain well. Another masked man circulated through the room, snatching
goblets of wine from Lady Harquist’s guests’ well-manicured hands and giving
back salacious ditties in a high, inane falsetto.
    They were
unpredictable, thrilling, and novel. Even the most consummate snob in Lady Harquist’s
company could not restrain an occasional smile at their antics. They sang
ribald songs with leering enthusiasm, mocked their betters with uncanny
insight, and quaffed expensive wine as though it were cider dregs. They tumbled
and juggled, danced and somersaulted one over the other. Their short morality
plays dissolved into delicious double entendres.
    Rhiannon welcomed
their vibrant company with relief, taking the opportunity to escape her
unwelcome