“Oh, bonnets and gowns,” Sophie said vaguely. She was really at a disadvantage in this conversation, given that she generally summoned Madame Carême to her own house. It was hard enough finding time to work.

Patrick had stopped teasing her and was looking down with a bit of puzzlement in his eyes. “Are you saying that you go shopping every day?”

“I don’t,” Sophie said guardedly. Then she remembered that Patrick was a rake. No matter how much he was pretending to be ignorant, he knew everything about ladies and their pursuits—after all, he spent all his time chasing them, didn’t he?

“What else is there to do?” Her eyes glinted provocatively at him. “As you well know, a lady’s greatest devotion is reserved for a new suit of clothing.”

“Is that so?” Patrick drawled. He pushed forward with his hips again, causing a melting warmth to flood Sophie’s stomach.

Work! Suddenly she had a deep pang in her heart for what she had given up for this marriage. Somewhere deep inside, she was not reconciled to the idea of becoming the sort of matron whose idea of work was a visit to Bond Street. Not that apparel was to be ignored, naturally, but there was such a thrill in assembling fragments of language until a sentence unfolded before your eyes.

Patrick looked down at her, a bit puzzled. What was there in the description of a lady’s day to make Sophie’s eyes turn so bleak?

“Would my very proper wife wish to retire below and take a bath?” He brushed a butterfly kiss on Sophie’s brow. “Because her very proper husband should have a talk with his captain.”

Sophie’s eyes lit up. “That would be marvelous,” she said with utmost sincerity.

With some reluctance, Patrick backed away from her body. “Off you go, then.”

Once inside the master cabin, Sophie dispatched a greenish-looking Simone to fetch a tub of hot water, then paused, her back against the heavy walnut door.

The room was spare but luxurious. Every piece of furniture was bolted either to the wall or to the floor, except for the dining-room chairs, which could be hooked over a rail attached to the wall when the weather became stormy.

And she was alone. She hadn’t been alone since the morning before she married Patrick. With a sigh, Sophie drank in the silence.

Then she moved quickly away from the door as Simone entered, directing two young crew members who were hoisting large buckets of steaming water. Without further ado, the brass bathtub (nailed down in a corner of the room) was filled with water, scented with cherry blossoms, and her maid was sent back to bed, whimpering and clutching her stomach.