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like Lord Andrews, who was reputed to be very wealthy andhad a title, was so opposed to taking a wife. True, he was still young—she doubted he’d seen his thirtieth birthday yet—but most men in his position understood about duty.
    Not that it mattered. She most definitely did not want a promiscuous rakehell for a husband, no matter how good-looking or smooth-mannered, so his fears were entirely unfounded.
    “I must admit I am out of my element.” He sat back, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I don’t have a lot of options.”
    Having absolutely no idea as to what specifically he was referencing, Elena just looked at him.
    He gestured at the window above with his half-full glass. “The sun is going down. The light is fading.”
    She wasn’t enlightened.
    “The floor or the bed?” he elaborated with a slight ironic lift of a brow. “Soon it will be pitch-dark in here, I imagine. Where will I sleep? It is up to you.”
    “Oh.” It was disconcerting to realize exactly what he was saying and even more so to face the reality that he was absolutely right. A cold stone surface was not particularly fair to him when the bed was large, but the alternative…
    “I will take the floor,” he told her, effectively reading her mind. “Or you can take my word that I won’t touch you.”
    The pragmatic tone of his voice moved her. That, as well as the fact that so far he’d been remarkably restrained and not overcome with lustful urges. Just the opposite. She couldn’t decide if she should be piqued or not that the normally scandalous Lord Andrews was more interested in a decent night’s sleep than in her.
    But if he was as tired as she was perhaps that wasunderstandable. It could be the wine and the rich food or the aftermath of the kidnapping, but she was already drowsy, relaxed in her chair, though she had to acknowledge that even as sleepy as she was growing—and he was right; the illumination was fading—she couldn’t imagine huddling on the hard floor.
    Or making someone else do so either.
    It seemed fair enough, even in the company of London’s most notorious libertine, when she offered, “We’ll share the bed.”

Chapter 4
    H e’d never thought of a doorknob as an ominous thing. It was just a household fixture, one that operated a simple mechanism, but at the moment it represented much more.
    How much more?
Ben had to wonder as he eyed the closed door between his wife’s bedroom and the earl’s suite he currently occupied. He handed his cravat to his valet. “Has Lady Heathton returned yet this evening?” he asked as casually as possible.
    Morton nodded, taking the snowy white cloth and folding it neatly. “An hour ago, my lord.”
    Ben made a noncommittal sound and sat down to take off his boots. Alicia had attended a rout with her sister but he’d declined, preferring instead to stop over at his club, with a calculated side trip to the theater where Lady Elena had last been seen the night before. There was no performance that evening but a rehearsal was in progress, and he’d persuaded the caretaker to let him in. He’d examined the lobby, finding that indeed there were side doors behind the thick crimson curtains that led to service corridors that had access to the back of the building. Amid the chaos of the sets and props anddressing areas for the actors, there was certainly ample opportunity to hide if one wished, and he had strolled through unnoticed, no one giving him a second glance. The alley behind the building was dark but wide enough for a carriage, and there were several doors to allow the cast to arrive and leave without having to use the main lobby meant for the patrons.
    An orchestrated escape would be easy enough.
    Slip through one of those doors, go through the backstage bustle and out to a waiting vehicle…he still wasn’t at all sure the beauteous Elena did not run off with a lover. The difficulty was how to gain information about her personal life without spreading her disappearance