"YOUR LATEST MISTRESS IS CREATING A SENSATION BACK IN London, Masters. Society finds her vastly entertaining." Charles Trescott, seated before the fireplace, downed a swallow of brandy and eyed his host with a sly expression. "As you've taken a notion to rusticate here in the country at the height of the Season for some odd reason, I thought you'd better know what's going on back in Town."

"Very thoughtful of you to go out of your way to give me the latest gossip."

"Least I could do, especially since it's your name that is on everyone's lips at the moment. I know how that sort of thing annoys you." Trescott, bored and dissolute at thirty, paused with a barely concealed air of anticipation.

"You are mistaken, Trescott. I do not give a bloody damn what the ton chooses to gossip about over tea."

Trescott was disappointed but undaunted. In the manner of a willful child intent on provoking a lion in a cage, he made another stab at eliciting a reaction. "Must admit, I'm as curious as everyone else to know why you're letting her get away with her outrageous conduct. Whole world knows that you always insist on discretion from your paramours. Thought that requirement was one of your infamous rules." Marcus Valerius Cloud, Earl of Masters, turned the crystal brandy glass slowly between his large, callused hands. He studied the reflected glow of the flames imprisoned within the heavy cut glass.

Several months ago he had grown interested in the curious properties of light and glass. He had undertaken extensive experiments with prisms and mirrors.

Those studies had led him to his current passion for telescopes. Astronomy had proven so fascinating that had left London at the height of the Season this year in order to pursue his experiments at one of his more remote estates. The night skies here in Yorkshire were pristine and clear, unlike the smoke-filled air of the city which impeded the view through his new telescope.

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?"

Marcus smiled slightly but said nothing. Unsatisfied with that reaction, Trescott recklessly tried another sort of prod. "You know very well that you are considered to be the most mysterious and quite possibly the most dangerous man in all of London."

"As is the case with beauty, Trescott, mystery and danger are in the eyes of the beholder."

"The rumors about your past guarantee that you qualify as a full-fledged legend, Masters. Naturally any woman who has the nerve to throw you over is bound to excite comment and speculation."

"Naturally." Trescott narrowed his eyes. "I will allow that the lady is unusual, even for you, sir. Where did you ever discover such a charming widow?" "You have seen her?" "Of course." Trescott chuckled. "Mrs. Bright is seen everywhere. No soiree or ball is a success without her. Your mistress is by far the most fascinating creature Society has viewed in years."

"Do you find her fascinating, Trescott?"

"Certainly. Everyone does. They call her Lady Starlight, you know." "Do they?"

Trescott shrugged., "Not that she's a great beauty, of course. But then, you world know that better than anyone. Still, there's something about her that draws the eye, is there not? Expect her nickname was derived from her choice of attire."

"Ah, yes. Her gowns."

Trescott grinned malevolently. "Imagine, the recent paramour of the most notorious lord of the ton going about in Purest white as though she were a bloody virgin. utterly outrageous.

Marcus stopped rotating his brandy glass in his hands. He looked at Trescott. "She still favors white? "Never wears anything else," Trescott assured him. "A genuine Original. By the bye, that ridiculous little white and gilt carriage of hers is the envy Of every woman in town. I'll wager it cost you a packet. Mind if I ask how much of the ready you put out for it?"

I do not seem to recall at the moment." Marcus glanced into the fire.

"I expect you bought her so many expensive trinkets and baubles that the white carriage and those excellent white mares that go with it went unnoticed, hmm?"

I pay very little attention to such matters." Trescott groaned. "Must be pleasant to be as rich as Croesus. Well, no offense, sir, but it's obvious that she got her little claws rather deeply into you before she decided to look for another lover."

"Widows frequently inherit vast sums from their late husbands."

"Word is that the late Mr. Bright was quite elderly and lived a reclusive life somewhere in Devon." Trescott gave Marcus a shrewd glance. "He may have left her some money, but the whole world suspects that she did very well out of you, Masters."

"You know how these things are. A man must pay for his pleasures."

Trescott smiled thinly and then boldly stuck his hand ad the way into the lion's cage. "How does it feel to have been well and truly fleeced by a scheming mistress who is now determined to find another man to replace you in hex bed?"

"The sensation I am experiencing at the moment is somewhat difficult to describe, Trescott."

"I vow, there's scarcely a man in Society who would not give a fortune to take your place in her boudoir."

"Indeed." "Certainly all of your acquaintances, especially those with whom you occasionally play cards, are seen in her vicinity on a nightly basis," Trescott continued. "Lartmore, Darrow, Ellis, and Judson are usually clustered around her. And there are several fops and dandies such as Hoyt, who contrive to amuse her so as to be seen in her company."

"Some men will go to any length to be in fashion." "Speaking of fashion," Trescott added, "her knowledge of classical antiquities has drawn a number of ladies into her circle of associates. You know how it is these days. Every female in Society is anxious to redecorate her house in the classical style. Each wants her decor to be more authentic than anyone else's."

"Antiquities," Marcus repeated softly. "All the rage right now and your Mrs. Bright seems to know a remarkable amount about the subject. Apparently she spent a year touring antiquities in Italy." Trescott shook his head. "Must admit, I'm not overly fond of females endowed with intellectual natures."