Read Online The Passionate One by Connie Brockway - Free Book Online

could
not
quite bring himself to wrest Rhiannon from Fair Badden and deliver her to Carr
and accept the money Carr offered for the job. Not even for Raine. Not knowing
that once at Wanton’s Blush she would in all likelihood die. All Carr’s brides
died.
    Even closed, Ash’s
eyes narrowed in concentration. He’d assumed his father had sent him here to
fetch another rich bride but Rhiannon had nothing. Less than nothing. Yet why
would his father have sent him here otherwise?
    Carr only concerned
himself with that which brought him money or influence. He’d even let his
youngest son rot in a French prison rather than pay his ransom.
    Raine’s ransom.
    Ash’s mouth
flattened. It was the carrot Carr always dangled before him. How many times had
his father cajoled and manipulated him with the promise of Raine’s ransom? How
many times had that promise been “postponed”?
    If only Ash could
earn enough money on his own. But each pigeon Ash plucked at the gaming table,
each program he undertook to earn the fantastic sum the French demanded for
Raine’s life, brought him only marginally nearer that goal. As much as Ash
hated his father, Carr alone had the wherewithal to purchase Raine’s freedom.
    But then, Ash
thought bitterly, why should he? Carr had found a faithful puppet in Ash, one
he could make dance with the tiniest jiggle of the strings. But when Ash had
arrived here and discovered that his father’s plans had been trumped by a
country boy and his doting father... When he’d seen Rhiannon...
    It was rare that
Carr was thwarted. Ash would enjoy each moment to its fullest. And finally,
with the familiar and poisoning vitriol singing in his blood, Ash fell asleep.
     
    The black stone
walls oozed cold, inky sweat. Chill seeped into the murky corridors. Ash
slumped in the middle of the slanted stone floor beneath his prized rag of a
blanket, capturing what warmth he could from his own breath, past shivering,
merely enduring.
    Behind him the
cries and mutterings of the other prisoners faded. He tensed, waiting for the
inevitable attack, the latest test of his waning strength, the newest contender
for the stinking rag he himself had fought over. Animal and base, he strained
to hear the muted approach.
    There. A touch.
Experimental and wary.
    With a thick oath,
Ash grabbed his assailant’s shoulders and pitched him to his back. He threw
himself on the prone figure. Snarling, he throttled him, meeting—
    —Rhiannon Russell’s
panicked eyes.
    With a gasp, he
jerked his hands from her throat.
    “My God.” He’d
nearly killed her. What had he become that even in his sleep he could kill? He
struggled to clear his thoughts. He needed to say something, do something. He
closed his eyes, dazed and sickened.
    Cool fingers
touched his cheek. Shocked, his eyelids flew open. She raised her other hand
and with her fingertips brushed his mouth. Then gently, soothingly, she
bracketed his face between her palms.
    “It’s all right,”
she whispered.
    No fear. No
indignation. No reproach.
    Astounded, he
realized she was
comforting
him. Comforting him with the marks of his
hands still red around her throat. With his body heavy and penalizing on hers.
    “It’s all right, Merrick,” she whispered.
    She could not have
done more or worse to him. With those simple words she robbed him of his
half-formed apology, the explanation and excuse. She cut his soul from him,
leaving him mute and exposed beneath her tender, pitying gaze.
    She’d recognized
him. Not his ruthlessness or the debauchery he’d so willingly embraced—those
were still hidden from her. No. She knew something more profound: his
vulnerability. His fear. Because she shared it.
    She, too, had
walked through nightmares. There was no other explanation for her immediate
recognition, her spontaneous understanding... the succor she offered. She had
mapped that same terror-filled geography.
    He swallowed,
breathing too hard, pressing his eyes closed against her pity. He