Plain and penniless, Sarah Compton knows her worth lies in her ability to care for her volatile young cousin Persephone. Dubbed an Incomparable by London Society, the fair Persephone is always surrounded by suitors. So why is it that the Season's greatest matrimonial catch, Lord Breckonridge, comes calling on Sarah instead?
Renowned statesman Malcolm, Lord Breckonridge, has at last decided to take a bride, a woman of intellect and substance who can help him further his Parliamentary career. With her practical nature and strong convictions, Sarah is perfect. Unfortunately, she seems bent on a love match, and the one thing Malcolm has learned to hide well is his heart. When a danger from his past threatens them both, can Malcolm open himself up to love and persuade Sarah that she is the only Incomparable Miss Compton for him?
This sweet traditional Regency romance was originally published by Kensington Zebra.
"Regina Scott delivers another solid romantic tale . . . combining charm, wit, and intrigue with insightful characterizations and glimpses into the true political mindset of the day." RT Book Reviews
"A delightful tale about two mature people who don't really believe they can fall in love but find out they can't help themselves. Funny, touching, and with characters that are flawed but eminently likable . . . a charmer." The Romance Reader
Here's a taste:
"Forgive my impertinence, my lord," she said as they waited to rejoin the set of the dance. Her voice was deep for a woman. "I must thank you for not giving me away. It was most kind of you."
"I hope you plan to reward my kindness with an explanation," he replied.
She blushed again, and he found the effect even more charming. Was she some kind of sorceress that he could not focus on his intended interrogation?
"I shall try, my lord," she said. "You had just been introduced to Persephone Compton, I believe?"
He frowned, toying with the idea that she was bent on usurping the lady in his affections. As he had not had time to form any affections, and she was not in the lady's league in looks, he threw the idea off as preposterous.
"Lord Prestwick had performed the introduction as you arrived," he confirmed.
"May I ask why you wished to be made known to her?" she persisted.
His frown deepened. That ought to have been enough to cause the most ardent campaigner to desist, but she did not seem to be affected by it. "I am not in the habit of discussing my affairs with strangers, madam."
She gazed at him. "I imagine you must convince them to vote your way out of sheer intimidation."
Surprised, he could not think of an answer.
Malcolm Breckonridge, speechless. His peers would laugh themselves sick. He was so appalled that the moment of silence stretched. As the dance ended, she dropped a curtsey, and he remembered himself and bowed.
"Your servant, madam," he managed. "I wish you luck."
She laid a hand on his arm. "I fear I have been forward. Would you take a turn about the room with me, my lord, so that I might explain myself further?"
Malcolm stared at her. He had given her a set-down calculated in look and manner to quell the most pretentious upstart, and she remained focused on her purpose. Could she be the woman he sought? She certainly had the courage to stand up to him. One could not have asked for a more queenly consort. It was too much to hope that she be intelligent as well. He decided it only made sense to investigate further.
He offered her his arm. "Very well. I'd like to hear how a sensible woman like you came to invite me to dance."
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