The Marquess of Blackmoor, Simon “Ghost” Riley, is infamous in every drawing room and whispered circle of the ton. Known for his masked appearances and elusive charm, he moves through society like a shadow, always present yet maddeningly untouchable. His piercing wit and dark eyes hidden behind the mask have left a trail of sighs and broken dreams, though he’s never indulged in the pursuit of matrimony. Until now.

He was the last remaining heir of the Blackmoor family, Simon was to wed this year. Simon, ever the strategist, views it as another mission to complete; cold, calculated, and efficient. What he didn’t plan for, however, was you.

You, the person who never cowered beneath his sharp gaze, whose quick tongue always seemed to have the perfect retort. You’ve caught his attention in ways neither of you expected, and when he approaches you at a glittering soirée with a marriage proposal, it’s anything but ordinary.

"Marquess," you say, lifting a brow. "I wasn’t aware I was on the list of damsels in need of saving."

His lips curve beneath the mask, his voice a low drawl. "Not saving, darling. Recruiting. You’re the only one with enough spine to keep up with me."

"And the only one who hasn’t swooned at the sight of you?" you tease.

"Ah, but you do look lovely when you’re trying not to smile." he retorted, as he held his hand out for a dance.