Sophie lay back as water lapped deliciously at the sore parts of her body. She stayed there for a long time, thinking over the night before. There’d been no time to think … and she had so much to think about.

For instance, what on earth was she to do about Braddon? His scheme was impossible. More than unlikely, it was inconceivable that a horse breeder’s daughter could fool the ton into thinking that she was a member of the French aristocracy.

Sophie had seen her mama at work, picking into shreds the gentility of the daughter of a merchant. A young lady might be docile, beautiful, and have gone to the same school as Sophie. It wouldn’t matter. Eloise and her friends were the most precise judges in the world. They would dissect the girl’s conversation, the way she waved a fan, the bend of her eyelashes, and detect the bad blood coursing through her veins.

It’s absolutely impossible, Sophie thought glumly. She’d simply have to persuade Braddon to discard the idea. Eloise would see through an impostor in a second. Let alone an impostor who was really a horse trainer’s daughter. No, Braddon must give up hope of marrying his Madeleine.

Finally Sophie woke out of her half-daze, realizing that the bathwater had become a cool caress. She stood up and wrapped herself in a towel. Without allowing herself to think too much about it, she retrieved the book of Turkish grammar from where she had carefully hidden it.

With a sigh of pure happiness she sank into a study of Turkish verbs. They were remarkably interesting, the way they changed depending on who was speaking. “Seni seviyorum,” she whispered to herself. “I love you. Seni seviyor. He loves you.” Sophie shook her head, shrugging off that dream. She turned to more mundane sentences.

She was consciously disobeying her mother—and it felt wonderful. No wonder Braddon thought she, Sophie, could train his Madeleine to be being a proper aristocrat, she thought drowsily. She had been drilled by the queen of aristocratic leaders, the Marchioness of Brandenburg. What Eloise didn’t know about proper behavior wasn’t worth knowing.

Guiltily, Sophie scooted her grammar book down beside her in case Patrick suddenly walked into the room. Depend upon it, her mother’s voice said sternly in her memory, no prudent man will ever accept a wife who knows more than himself.

Sophie sighed and thought of Patrick’s teasing confession that he was able to speak only poor French. Her mother was undoubtedly correct.