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    of problems, especially given the rapidly rising tide of disasters that he was attempting to hold at bay.
    Nevertheless, knowing that Caroline Fordyce considered him an excellent model for a villain rankled.
    His intuit ion told him that it was not his fierce features alone that had given her such a low opinion of
    him. He had the distinct impression that Mrs. Fordyce did not hold men from his world in high esteem.
    She, on the other hand, had commanded his immediate and cautious respect. One look into her
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    intelligent, curious, exceedingly lovely hazel eyes had told him that he was dealing with a potentially
    formidable adversary. He had warned himself to take great care in his dealings with the lady.
    Unfortunately, respect was not the only reaction Caroline Fordyce had elicited in him. She had aroused
    all of his senses at first sight. Exhausted as he had been after the long night of fruitless inquiries, he had
    nevertheless responded to her in a very physical, extremely disturbing way.
    Damn. He did not need this sort of complication. What the devil was the matter with him? Even as a
    youth he had rarely allowed himself to be controlled by his passions. He had learned long ago that
    self-discipline was the key to survival and success both on the streets and in the equally perilous world of
    Society. He had established a set of rules for himself and he lived by them. They governed his intimate
    liaisons just as they did everything else in his life.
    His rules had served him well. He had no intention of abandoning them now.
    Nevertheless, he could not stop thinking about that first glimpse of Caroline Fordyce and wondering at
    the compelling sensations that had gripped him. The image of her sitting at her dainty little desk,
    illuminated by the bright glow of the morning sunlight, seemed to have become fixed in his brain.
    She had worn a simple, unadorned housedress of a warm, coppery color. The gown had been designed
    for ladies to wear in the home and therefore lacked the ruffled petticoats and elaborately tied-back skirts
    of more formal feminine attire. The lines of the prim, snug-fitting bodice had emphasized the feminine
    curves of her high breasts and slender waist.
    Caroline's glossy golden-brown hair had been drawn up and back into a neat coil that accented the
    graceful line of the nape of her neck and the quiet pride with which she carried herself. He calculated her
    age to be somewhere in he mid-twenties.
    Her voice had touched him with the impact of an inviting caress. From another woman it would have
    seemed deliberately provocative, but he sensed that the effect was not premeditated in this case. He was
    quite certain that Caroline's manner of speaking was an innate part of who she was. It hinted at deep
    passions.
    What had become of the late Mr. Fordyce? he wondered. Dead of old age? Carried off by a fever? An
    accident? Whatever the case, he was relieved that the widow did not feel compelled to follow what, in
    his opinion, was the extremely unfortunate style for elaborate mourning that had been set by the queen
    after the loss of her beloved Albert. Sometimes it seemed to him that half the ladies inEngland were
    attired in crepe and weeping veils. It never ceased to amaze him that the fair sex had managed to elevate
    the somber attire and accessories indicative of deep sorrow to the very pinnacle of fashion.
    Regardless, he had not noticed so much as a single item of jet or black enameled jewelry on Caroline's
    person. Perhaps the mysterious Mrs. Fordyce did not deeply regret the loss of Mr. Fordyce. Perhaps
    she was, in fact, in the market for a new attachment of an intimate nature.
    This is no time to be drawn into those deep waters, he thought. There was far too much at stake here.
    He could not take the risk of allowing himself to be distracted by the lady, no matter how attractive or
    intriguing.
    He crossed a street,