A muffled shriek echoed through the library. The intruder stumbled backward, tangled in the heavy velvet, and collapsed onto the polished wooden floor. But it was not a hardened thief, nor a paid assassin. It was a woman.
Mason froze, the derringer lowering slightly in his shock. She was gasping for air, attempting to untangle her skirts from the drapery. As she scrambled to her feet, the moonlight fell fully upon her face, and Mason felt the breath leave his lungs.
She was breathtaking, but in a chaotic, desperate sort of way. Her dark auburn hair had completely escaped its pins, cascading in wild waves over her shoulders. She wore a gown of deep emerald silk, but it was hopelessly out of fashion, frayed at the hem, and currently smudged with dust from his floorboards. Yet it was her eyes that arrested him, wide, fierce, and burning with a defiant fury that refused to be cowed by the gun pointed at her chest.
"Do not shoot," she hissed, holding her hands up, though her chin remained stubbornly high. "Unless you wish to explain to your guests why you are murdering an impoverished gentlewoman in your study."
Mason blinked utterly bewildered. He lowered the pistol completely. "Who in God's name are you? And how did you breach a locked room?"
The woman brushed the dust from her skirts with entirely too much dignity for a caught burglar. "My name is Olivia. Olivia Lynfield. And your locks, your grace, are pathetically inadequate. A simple hair pin, and three minutes of patience was all it required."
Mason's mind scrambled to place the name Lynfield. Lord Thomas Lynfield, the former Earl of Ashborne. The man had died in absolute ruin two years ago, his entire estate swallowed by vicious creditors. Rumor had it that the Earl had been swindled by none other than Gideon Carmichael, one of London's most notorious and ruthless opportunists, and incidentally a close associate of Mason's uncle, Horatio.
"Lady Olivia Lynfield," Mason murmured, his eyes narrowing as he took in her desperate state, "the orphaned daughter of the ruined Earl. What could possibly drive a peer of the realm to skulk in the shadows of my library like a common footpad?"
Olivia's jaw tightened. A flash of profound vulnerability crossed her features before being replaced by cold steel. "I am retrieving stolen property, your grace. Property that rightfully belongs to my family, which that viper Gideon Carmichael illegally confiscated and subsequently sold to you."
Mason frowned. "I buy many things, Lady Olivia. You will have to be specific."
"The Lynfield Sapphire," she stated, pointing an accusing finger at the open drawer of his desk. "My mother's necklace. Carmichael took it as collateral for a forged debt when my father died. He had no legal right to it. I learned yesterday that he sold it to you to cover his own gambling losses. I came to take it back."
Mason glanced at his desk. Indeed, a velvet box lay open, the massive blue gemstone gleaming softly in the moonlight. He had purchased it a week ago, intending it to be a bridal gift for the woman he had hoped to marry tonight.
"You broke into the Duke of Westford's home to steal a necklace?" Mason asked, a slow, incredulous laugh escaping him. "Do you realize the penalty for theft, Lady Olivia? The magistrate would have you shipped to a penal colony before dawn."
"I do not care," Olivia flared, stepping toward him, her fear entirely eclipsed by desperation. "You do not understand. Carmichael is demanding my hand in marriage. He holds my father's remaining debts.
If I cannot pay him by tomorrow morning, he will force me to the altar or he will have me thrown into the Fleet Prison. That sapphire is the only thing of value my family has left. It is my freedom. I will not let a monster like Carmichael own me."
The words hit Mason like a physical blow. Marriage, midnight, debt, freedom. He stared at the fierce, beautiful woman standing before him. She was nobility. She was desperate. She possessed a fiery, unbreakable spirit, and she needed salvation just as desperately as he did.
The astronomical clock on the mantle chimed the quarter hour. It was 11:30 p.m. 30 minutes remained. Mason slid the derringer back into his coat. He looked at Olivia, then at the clock, and then back at her. A wild, reckless, and entirely brilliant plan crystallized in his mind.
"Lady Olivia," Mason said, his voice suddenly calm, steady, and terrifyingly intense. "You require the sapphire to pay off your debts and escape Carmichael. I require a wife to secure my inheritance and escape my uncle. It seems we are two desperate souls occupying the same locked room."
Olivia stared at him, her beautiful eyes widening in utter confusion. "I... I do not understand."
Mason closed the distance between them, his presence dominating the space. "In 30 minutes, I lose my entire fortune if I am not legally married. Bishop Aldridge is currently standing in my private chapel holding a special license that requires only a bride's signature. My uncle is in the ballroom waiting for me to fail."
He reached out and picked up the velvet box containing the Lynfield Sapphire. He held it out to her. "Marry me, Olivia," Mason commanded softly. "Marry me before the clock strikes midnight.
Do this and I will not only give you the sapphire, but I will wipe out every debt your father ever owed. I will provide you with an allowance so vast you could buy Carmichael 10 times over and throw him in the Thames. You will be the Duchess of Westford, untouchable by any man. You will have your freedom and I will have my legacy."
Olivia stopped breathing. She looked from the glittering blue gem to Mason's intense, desperate eyes. "You, you are mad. We are strangers. I broke into your home to rob you."
"And I am offering you the keys to the vault," Mason countered, stepping closer, his voice a magnetic rumble. "We do not need to be in love, Olivia. We only need to be married. It is a business transaction.
My protection for your signature. But we have less than 28 minutes to execute it. If you walk out that door, you face Carmichael and a debtor's prison. If you walk to the chapel with me, you become the most powerful woman in England."
He held out his gloved hand. "Decide."
Olivia looked at his hand, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She thought of Gideon Carmichael's repulsive, sneering face. She thought of the cold stone walls of the Fleet Prison. Then she looked up into the striking, resolute face of the Duke of Westford.