The Incomparable Miss Compton Read Online Free PDF Page A

not mistaken, Lord Breckonridge.”
    “Really?” Sarah looked closer, noting the powerful build, the determined carriage. “He looks more like the town bully than the orator I fancied. I’ve read reprints of his speeches in The Times . He’s quite brilliant. What on earth could he want with Persephone?”
    Norrie shook her head. “What do any of them want with Persy?”
    Sarah started. “You don’t honestly think he could be interested in courting her?”
    “I doubt he wants her to vote on an act of Parliament,“ Norrie countered.
    Sarah watched her cousin dip a graceful curtsy as Breckonridge bowed over her hand. He certainly did seem to be taking an interest. And Persy was simpering.
    “But he cannot be serious,“ she protested. “She couldn’t be more than a bon bon to him. He’d have her for lunch and still be hungry.”
    “Perhaps the gentleman is fond of bon bons,“ Norrie said darkly.
    She seemed to have the right of it, for the gentleman in question was now smiling over something Persephone had said. The duke beside her was glowering. Lord Prestwick was grinning. Sarah felt a chill crawl up her spine.
    “Do you think Lord Breckonridge could possibly be the man Persy needs, Norrie?” she asked.
    “I wish I knew,“ Norrie replied. “Justinian has only spoken of him a few times, mostly in regards to some doing in Parliament. From what little I know, he appears to be a good man at heart, loyal to his party. Yet he is a determined man, used to power. He appears to be absolutely devoted to his career. Persy would never take first place in his affections.”
    Sarah’s eyes widened. “Persy, take second place? The match is doomed.”
    “Yet if she dallies with him,” Norrie pointed out, “she may lose her chance with the oh-so-eligible duke.”
    Sarah knew the signs by now. Already Persy had turned so that the duke was behind her, as if she had dismissed him. Her warm smile was all for Breckonridge. The duke had paled.
    “I must stop this,“ she murmured to Norrie.
    “Sarah to the rescue,“ Norrie muttered, but Sarah ignored her to hurry across the ballroom. Couples were once more lining up for the next set. She must stop Breckonridge before he took the floor with her cousin. Ahead of her, Persy was tittering and batting her lashes to effect. Lord Prestwick was regarding her bemused, and the duke’s jaw was a tense line. Malcolm Breckonridge wore the slightest of frowns, but he bent his dark head closer as if to hear what Persy was saying.
    Sarah stepped boldly up to the group and laid her hand on Lord Breckonridge’s arm. Beneath the black evening coat, she could feel the hard muscle. She swallowed.
    “My lord,” she said over brightly.
    He turned to face her, and she found herself being regarded by eyes nearly as black as his hair. Up close, his face was as strong as his carriage. He was a handsome man, she decided, watching the play of light and shadow across the craggy planes. The black hair held a hint of silver at the temples, but the gleam in his dark eyes belied any lessening of youthful energy. Power, held firmly in check, seemed to coil through him like heat from a carefully banked fire. He would never be noted for the tragic glory of Lord Byron or the quiet command of Wellington. No, this man would be a silent power, more subtle, more deadly. She had a feeling that he carried his thoughts deep, and woe betide the one who made him display his passions openly. She forced a smile to remain on her face.
    “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, my lord,” she warbled, while Persephone frowned at her and the duke and Lord Prestwick eyed her curiously. “I am ready for that dance you promised me.”
    She held her breath as Breckonridge’s sharp eyes narrowed. His gaze raked her from top to bottom, and, despite herself, she felt her color heightening. Just as she thought he would give her the cut direct for her audacity, he snapped a bow.
    “Your servant, madam,” he intoned.
    Her hand