The gentleman who paused there was worthy of their fascinated attention; indeed, it was only his just due. He was tall and muscularly fashioned; his dark hair and beard were streaked with gray; his bronzed face was so magnificent of feature that he might have been called beautiful if not for the nose that was harshly aquiline, the lips that were frankly sensuous. If any of the Baron’s attributes could be adjudged more remarkable than another, the prize would have to have been awarded to his black eyes. Set beneath strongly marked brows and heavy lids, those mesmeric orbs were irresistibly seductive.
The crowd parted silently as Lord Bligh strolled into the room. Like royalty, thought Mignon, though no prince she’d ever seen had possessed so regal a bearing or moved so confidently. Miss Montague now understood why the bolder of her uncle’s exploits had been kept from her ears. The swashbuckling Baron’s most exotic explorations had no doubt taken place in the boudoir.
As her aunt might have informed her, Mignon’s deductions were correct. Maximilian Bonaventure Bligh was the most profligate of rakehells, an unparalleled voluptuary, steeped in vice and iniquity, lost alike to virtue and shame, a libertine who even in that enlightened age would dare practice droit de seigneur; and there was not a female present who didn’t take one look at his compellingly amoral visage and wish that he would make her wicked, for there could surely be no more rapturous fate than to be led by the Baron into sin.
“Maximilian,” said the Baroness, and held out a languid hand.
“Not Bat?” he inquired, regarding his wife with a hunger that made every woman in the room more than slightly envious. “I conclude that I am in your good graces again.”
“You are.” Lady Bligh cast an assessing glance over his superb physique. Her husband was clad in an elegant blue coat with gilt buttons, a white velvet waistcoat, frilled shirt and lace ruffles, light kerseymere smallclothes and a muslin cravat with a huge ruby pin. Another ruby flashed on one bronzed hand. “As I will shortly demonstrate. But first I must make you acquainted with your niece. Mignon!”
The Baron turned and Miss Montague was subjected for the first time to the full impact of his gaze. One would have no secrets from this man, she thought, dazed; those piercing eyes stripped one to the soul, exposed every vulnerability. “Charmed!” murmured Lord Bligh, and flashed his niece a smile that left her positively weak-kneed.
So forceful was the Baron’s personality that the arrival of yet another guest had gone unremarked. Going unnoticed did not please Lady Montague, although in precedence Lord Bligh outranked her, the widow of a mere knight. With a viselike hand, she urged her son forward. Maurice wondered if Dulcie might help him to persuade his parent to return to Yorkshire while he remained unchaperoned in town.
“There you are!” said Lady Montague. Mignon blanched and clung to Ivor’s arm. “I’d like to know just what you’ve been up to, miss! Your brother has been telling me the most remarkable things.”
“Has he?” inquired Lady Bligh, looking a trifle bemused, perhaps due to the fact that Lord Bligh was caressing her bare shoulders. “Then you know that Mignon is to marry Lord Jeffries.”
“My poor girl!” Lady Montague’s faded beauty was not enhanced by the martyred expression that she wore. “It is not necessary. I will allow no one to force a marriage that is repugnant to you.”
“You misunderstand, Mama,” replied Mignon, not at all happy with this scene. “I want to marry Ivor.”
“Well!” Lady Montague was remarkably displeased at the thought of losing a live-in companion who would fetch her myriad medicines, bathe her aching brow with lavender water, and who furthermore did not require to be paid. “I consider it a shocking negligence that no one has thought to consult me.”
“There was no need.” Dulcie leaned back against her husband’s muscular chest. “Maximilian is the head of the family, and he will give his consent.”
Lady Montague, no admirer of the adventurous Baron, glanced at his swarthy face, at the supple fingers that had moved from the Baroness’s shoulders to her bare forearms, and hastily looked away. “What of this Lord Barrymore who you described in such glowing terms?” she demanded of her son. “I thought you said he was to marry Mignon.”
“He would have liked to,” replied Maurice. “Had not Dulcie shot him dead.”
“Dead!” gasped Lady Montague, and staggered back a pace.
“Dulcinea,” said the Baron, devils dancing in his eyes. “I congratulate you on your aim.”
“It is not felicitations that I would have from you, Maximilian.” Dulcie turned in his arms. “But a certain felicity.” The fifth Baron Bligh, to the scandalized gratification of their various guests, swept his wife off her feet and into his arms.
“I have it!” sighed Willie, a trifle wistfully. “ ‘The Further Adventures of the Baroness of Bow Street’.”
Copyright © 1980 by Gail Clark
Originally published by Pocket (067183391X)
Electronically published in 2008 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
Table of Contents
THE BARONESS OF BOW STREET
Maggie MacKeever
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter l4
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Maggie MacKeever Page 24