Mason stopped, turning to look at the velvet box resting on the vanity table, the box containing the Lynfield sapphire. "Olivia," Mason asked slowly. "When you broke into my study, why did you not just take the necklace and run? Why were you dismantling the velvet box?"
Olivia blinked, her mind racing back to the desperate moments in the library. "Because the sapphire itself is beautiful, but it is not what my father hid. The jeweler who crafted the setting was a master of mechanisms, the heavy silver backing of the pendant. It opens.
My father told me on his deathbed, he didn't give Carmichael the real ledger. He gave him a fake. He hid the true bank drafts, the ones bearing Carmichael's forged signature inside the sapphire's casing."
Mason stared at her. Utter silence stretched between them for five long seconds. Then a brilliant, terrifying smile spread across the Duke's face. "My brilliant, beautiful Duchess," Mason whispered. "Get dressed. We are going to destroy them both."
The grand chamber of the King's Bench was suffocatingly warm, packed to the galleries with the most influential peers of the realm. The scandal had spread through London like wildfire. The Duke of Westford had married at midnight to a ruined, thieving orphan. It was the spectacle of the decade.
Lord Horatio stood at the plaintiff's table, practically vibrating with triumphant glee. Beside him sat Gideon Carmichael, wearing a somber suit and an expression of wounded dignity.
"Magistrate Sterling," Horatio boomed, addressing the stern man presiding over the chamber. "The facts are irrefutable. My nephew, driven mad by the pressures of his inheritance, was preyed upon by this desperate woman. She was caught red-handed in his private study, attempting to abscond with a jewel worth thousands. This marriage is a mockery of the law, a desperate bargain struck by a criminal to avoid the hangman's noose."
Whispers erupted from the gallery. Olivia sat beside Mason at the defendant's table, her spine straight. Wearing a magnificent gown of midnight blue velvet, she looked perfectly regal, betraying none of the terror fluttering in her stomach. "Lord Carmichael," the magistrate prompted, peering over his spectacles. "You swear under oath that Lady Olivia stole this gem."
Carmichael stood, bowing his head. "I do, your honor. The Lynfield Sapphire was rightfully mine, taken as collateral for her late father's staggering debts. I sold it to his grace in good faith. Lady Olivia, consumed by petty vengeance and greed, sought to steal it back."
"A compelling tale." Mason's voice rang out, silencing the room instantly. He stood up, towering over the assembly, his presence dominating the King's Bench. "Except for the fact that Lord Carmichael is a liar, an extortionist, and a traitor to the crown."
The gallery gasped. Horatio turned purple. "Objection. This is slander."
Mason ignored his uncle, walking slowly toward the center of the room. In his gloved hand, he held the velvet box. "Magistrate, my wife did not enter my study to steal a jewel. She entered to retrieve stolen property. Property that Lord Carmichael extorted from her father to cover up a massive fraud against the Royal Navy."
"Absurd!" Carmichael shouted, his calm veneer cracking. "He has no proof. He is a desperate man clinging to a fraudulent bride."
"No proof?" Mason arched an eyebrow. He stopped before the magistrate's elevated bench and opened the box, pulling out the massive Lynfield sapphire. "Lord Carmichael claims this jewel was mere collateral, but he was too arrogant, or perhaps too ignorant, to inspect his prize closely."
Mason turned toward Olivia and nodded. Olivia stood up. Every eye in the chamber tracked her elegant movements as she walked to her husband's side. She took the heavy sapphire pendant from Mason's hands. Finding the microscopic seam along the silver backing, she pressed her thumbnail into the hidden latch.
With a sharp click, the back of the pendant sprang open. A collective gasp echoed through the courtroom. Olivia reached into the hollow cavity behind the gemstone and pulled out two tightly folded squares of translucent vellum. She handed them to Mason.
"Magistrate," Mason said, his voice echoing like thunder. "I present to you the original bank drafts from the Liverpool shipyards signed by Gideon Carmichael authorizing the purchase of condemned timber while billing the crown for premium oak. The difference over £50,000 was deposited into accounts controlled by Lord Horatio Brooks." Horatio's knees gave out. He collapsed into his chair, his face entirely ashen.
Carmichael bolted for the doors, but Mason had anticipated this. At his signal, two massive Bow Street Runners whom Mason had handsomely bribed that morning stepped from the shadows and seized Carmichael by the arms, dragging him back to the center of the room.
"These documents," Mason continued mercilessly, placing the vellum on the magistrate's desk, "were secured by the late Lord Lynfield. Carmichael threatened Lady Olivia's life to silence him. My wife did not break into my home to rob me. She came to clear her family's name and expose a traitor."
The magistrate examined the drafts, his expression hardening into a mask of fury. He looked up at the trembling Horatio and the struggling Carmichael. "Guards," the magistrate barked. "Place Lord Carmichael and Lord Horatio under immediate arrest for fraud, extortion, and high treason against the crown."
Chaos erupted. The gallery roared in shock and approval as the two men were shackled and dragged from the chamber. Horatio screamed curses while Carmichael wept openly.
Mason turned his back on them. He looked down at Olivia, his expression softening entirely. The fierce, untouchable Duke melted away, leaving only a man profoundly moved by the woman standing before him. "You did it," Olivia whispered. A tear of pure relief slipped down her cheek.
"No," Mason corrected gently, lifting a hand to cup her face. "We did it." He didn't care about the hundreds of eyes watching them or the chaotic shouting of the courtroom. Mason pulled Olivia into his arms, wrapping her in a fierce, protective embrace.
"The agreement we made at midnight," Mason murmured against her hair, his voice rough with sudden emotion. "A business transaction. My protection for your signature." Olivia pulled back slightly, looking up into his dark, mesmerizing eyes. "Has the transaction concluded, your grace?"
"It has," Mason said softly, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "Which means I must ask you a new question. Will you stay, Olivia? Not as a proxy, not as a shield against my uncle, but as my wife, because in the last 12 hours, I have realized that the dukedom is meaningless if you are not by my side to share it."
Olivia's heart soared. The last remnants of her fear melted away under the heat of his gaze. She smiled, a radiant, triumphant expression that illuminated the dusty courtroom. "I will stay, Mason," she vowed, her voice steady and full of fierce, sudden love. "Until the end of our days."
He kissed her then, not as a theatrical display to defeat an enemy, but as a genuine promise. It was a kiss that sealed a bond forged in desperation, tempered by danger, and destined to become the greatest love story the Ton had ever known.