It had always been thus for him. Ever since he had been a lad growing up on his family's farm in Yorkshire, he had been endlessly enthralled with matters of a mechanical, technical, or scientific nature.

From carriage springs to clocks, from music boxes to the stars, he had a passion for discovery, invention, and a need to comprehend the rules and laws that dictated the way things worked.

Marcus Red rules, especially his own. He had a per sonar set which he had formulated several years ago and from which he never deviated. They were simple and straightforward:

Never remarry.

Never discuss the past.

Never explain his actions to others.

Never retreat from an objective or alter a decision.

Never get involved with virgins or other men's wives.

Marcus looked up from his contemplation of the brandy glass. He had never particularly cared for Trescott. The man was typical of so many of the self-indulgent, licentious rakes of the ton, men whose own personal rules allowed them to prey on the innocent and those whose social ranking was lower than their own.

"Tell me what the lady has been doing to cause such comment," Marcus said in a deliberately disinterested tone.

Trescott's gaze glittered with malice. "Rumor has it that she has dismissed you and is trolling for a new lover. All of London is agog."

"Indeed." "Mrs. Bright descended on the ton a fortnight ago and has taken it by storm. No one can believe that you. have actually allowed your mistress to hand you your conge. Really quite extraordinary, given your, shall we say, notorious reputation?"