Patrick finally appeared at the cabin door at supper time, feeling faintly ashamed of himself. The Lark was sweetly rocking at its moorings, ready for him to inspect a messy pile of half-built fortifications the next morning. But Sophie hadn’t ventured from the cabin all day.

He had steered the ship, admired Henri’s new skill at tying knots, reviewed the captain’s log, and looked again and again at the staircase leading to the master cabin, hoping that Sophie would appear. But she hadn’t. And he’d missed her.

None of the crewmen twitched an eyebrow when the master finally gave up and dashed down the stairs to the main cabin. They had become inured to such goings-on, especially after Captain Hibbert warned them to turn a blind eye to any irregular activity or it would be the worse for them.

But Sophie wasn’t waiting for him. She was tucked into their marriage bed, fast asleep. With some surprise, Patrick saw traces of tears on her face. Somehow he’d thought she would simply appear if she wished to come above board. Now he really felt ashamed. Why hadn’t he fetched her?

Sophie woke up as Patrick stroked her hair.

“What’s this about?” Patrick’s finger trailed over her cheeks, his voice slightly rough.

Sophie smiled. “I had a blue afternoon, that’s all. You know, it’s a woman’s privilege to cry.”

Patrick brushed her lips with his. “Were you crying because I didn’t issue a formal invitation to join me on the deck for backgammon?”

“No,” Sophie said.

“I missed you.” His warm breath sent shivers down Sophie’s spine. “I kept hoping you would appear, O wife of many languages.”

Sophie looked at Patrick intently, but his dark eyes gave nothing away.

“Do you dislike it that I speak Welsh?”

“Lord, why on earth would I dislike it?”

His voice sounds genuinely surprised, Sophie thought.

“I was shocked,” Patrick said, “not so much by your Welsh—that was a delightful surprise—but by what you said about your childhood. It cannot have been easy, growing up with your parents.”

Sophie didn’t see any point in discussing it further. “What about your parents? Did they argue?”

“I have no idea,” Patrick replied, lying down on the bed beside her, propped up on one elbow. “I saw my father only on formal occasions. They must have dealt tolerably well together. I never heard anything to the contrary.” He didn’t need to add that Sophie’s parents’ incompatibility was known far and wide among the ton.

“What was your mother like?” Sophie asked, her eyes curious.