Stolen Mistress, Captive Heart, Pt 1

Chapter One

He was ordered to follow her.

Ben Gable, the most highly recommended Private investigator on Grande Street, didn’t appreciate spending a dewy Chicago night, shadowing the trail of an insatiable mistress. With the high collar of his cloak pulled together and fully tucked beneath his chin, he watched clandestinely from the deep shadows casted by the overgrown hedges.

He could see her from where she stood. Or rather, he could see the milk white outline of her nightgown billowing with the movement of her feet. He had never met Charlena De Warrick before tonight, had never spoken to her either, yet her sultry beauty was the singular common factor reported by all his agents. He couldn’t blame Samuel Dalton, the wealthy client behind this current venture, for requesting his personal involvement. She was too much temptation for any man. A concept Ben would grasp sooner than he would ever thought possible.

A frilly bonnet slipped from its perch, a result of her robust tugging at the gates thus liberating a disarray of silver curls. The thick fall amassed around her tensed shoulders, threatening to spill like a well laden water drop. Ben, couldn’t for the life of him, halt the tremor that began in his throat, coursed through his chest and reached all the way to the last ridge of his abdomen.

A fraction of a second later, one sheer sleeve fell from her shoulder and her soft distress floored him.

She was practically undressing for him.

For a moment he looked away, positive the rushing noise in his ears spelt discovery of his position. It didn’t. Ben whipped around, scouring the dark once again for that dull white hue.

Land’s sake, was there anything in that head of hers?

It seemed like the safest avenue to proceed. Gone was the sudden affliction she’d enchanted him with and in its stead was the rising agitation that she’d put herself so carelessly in danger. This couldn’t possibly be the first time she’d decided to go traipsing at midnight. Every bit of information he had collected pointed to the otherwise. Yet here was the woman, not only hell-bent on sneaking off like a thief in the night, but didn’t have the good sense to wear clothing to blend in with cover of darkness.
Somewhere in the night, an owl’s cry swept towards him. It was low and melodic but nothing wrenched his attention from the slender form dawdling at the old back gate of Craven House.

He had to say Charlena De Warrick had one of the most voluptuous backsides Ben had ever noticed on this side of the gilded fence. On another occasion, perhaps on a night when the moon was out and suspicion didn’t dog her every movement, Ben wouldn’t have minded the opportunity to loiter over those titillating curves swaying beneath the gown. He and possibly the entire male population over the tender age of ten wouldn’t mind.

What was she doing there? Tying ribbons around the rusty hinges? He couldn’t tell from his perspective but if she spent much longer working on the gates, she was liable to be caught by one of the night patrolman or worse.

A fine gasp escaped her lips. Dark fluid slithered over her arms as she stooped to lift the bulk from her feet.

So the chit did have something more than air in that pretty head of hers. His lips tilted in a sly grin but it quickly dissipated as soon as he realized how amusing he found her antics.

It was the last thing he needed on such a high priority case. Besotted with the subject. He could just see the headline of his report now and Ben didn’t think Dalton would appreciate another man’s interest in what he considered his property.
It was a shame too, Ben thought, as he continued to await his target’s next move. From his report, Miss De Warrick was every man dream of what his wife can never be. Biddable. Sensual. Unquestionably beautiful. And not to mention as eager he’d wanted her in and out of the bedroom.

God, even under the lull glow of the sparsely starlit night, he could tell she was as stunning as he’d had been briefed. Her manner was of practiced gracefulness, her poise regal. He’d speculated she’d been some impoverished heiress who had suddenly debuted in the drawing rooms of Chicago’s finest two years ago. She was an unknown with only the vaguest recognition of her pares. Yet her elegance could not be denied. As beautiful she was, a smart man would have taken her to wife from the very moment she’d set foot in her first ball, soiree or whatever the hell they called them these days.

But that wasn’t the case.

She’d ended up Samuel Dalton’s mistress after no more than a week. And had been his property ever since.

Light motion disturbing the hedges penetrated Ben’s wonderings. He was beginning to think he’d have to assist Miss De Warrick if they had any chance of moving beyond this point before dawn. She didn’t strike him as enamored lady eager to be in the arms of her lover.

Which was what Sam Dalton had claimed.

Ben couldn’t begin to describe the greed shading the man’s eyes. How the deuce he managed to hold one mistress for so long was beyond Ben’s superficial understanding. Especially since there was truth to the rumor he was affiance dto a Miss Margaret Randall.

Fiancé number three, he’d found out.

Walking towards him, her black cloak proved to be a cumbersome task to maneuver around her small shoulders. Ben found it a wonder in itself that she had the strength to lift it and remain on her feet after noting her short, insubstantial frame. Next, she tackled the chore of containing her disheveled crown, tucking tuffs of hair beneath the night bonnet and passing so close by, he could’ve reached out and touched her if he so desired.

Ben didn’t like his perspective one bit. Nothing so far, reinforced the claims Dalton made at the beginning of this assignment and the last thing Ben intended to condone was the terrorizing of an unsuspecting woman over some fool’s jealousy.

So she finally secured the opening of her cloak and to his chagrin, Charlena De Warrick began to take stock of her surroundings. Ben almost choked in his severe attempt to stiffen his laugh. Was she serious? Dressed as she was before, a blind man would’ve noted her presence a half hour ago.

A slow understanding crept up on Ben and to find it amusing sickened his normally tolerant stomach.

Ben didn’t think he could find her any more contemptible and he, anymore gullible. Except, maybe he could after what she did next.

Right on the damp, cool grass, Charlena De Warrick fell flat on her face. And he, almost did the unthinkable.

Damn.