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Had someone jumped off?

In a moment, a form bobbed to the surface and began lazily swimming on his back toward her.

She froze, curious and yet wary.

Who was it?

After a few minutes, he turned around and swam back to the dock, and she relaxed.

Until he climbed out, and she saw his naked bum. His very taut, very muscular naked bum, thighs, and back. And for the life of her, she couldn’t look away.

She swallowed a sudden rush of . . . Whatever this feeling was heating her blood that prevented her from tearing her rapt gaze off his beautifully sculpted form. The Adonis grabbed a towel from a chair and wrapped the length about his waist before turning in her direction.

He gave a cocky wave.

“Eden, do you always lurk about the shore at night? Or were you spying on me?”

The next morning, Eden left the cottage before Mama awoke. She hadn’t even taken the time to drink a cup of tea or eat a piece of toast.

Wearing her nicest frock, a jonquil and ivory empire-waisted morning gown, years out of fashion but quite lovely, she drove the dogcart down the deserted lane. She’d even donned her bonnet, its emerald ribbon tied in a jaunty bow to the left side of her chin, and wore her only pair of gloves. Her crocheted shawl lay on the seat where Mr. Wiggles usually sat.

She couldn’t risk becoming covered in his hair. Her task was too important, and she must present herself as a lady. Perhaps not in the first tulip of fashion, but neat and poised. Respectable and modest. Qualities pastor’s wives must master.

That peculiar tranquility that had overcome her last evening had abandoned her.

There’d been no remnant of calm composure as she’d dashed home, Lord Sterling’s laughter pealing in her ears. She had not gone to the lake to spy on him, the conceited knave.

Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could see his magnificent form outlined in the moonlight. She’d unabashedly looked her fill too, until he recognized her.

More fool she, thinking he might’ve been called up to London and that’s why he hadn’t returned as he said he would. He’d been lazing about at the Lake House, uncaring of her plight.

Why did she feel such disappointment? Almost as if he’d betrayed her?

He owed her nothing. Had promised nothing.

Well, her petulant side, the side she usually kept subdued, complained, if he hadn’t insisted you stay at Perygrim Park, you wouldn’t be in this awful situation.

Not fair, her unbiased and logical side denied.

You could have asserted yourself. Refused to stay. You wanted to stay.

And there was the truth of it.

Eden had brought this catastrophe upon herself. She’d been weak. Had been beguiled by a pair of gray-green eyes and an unforgettable masculine face.

An unforgettable body too.

A flash of him standing in the moonlight, a glistening marble sculpture, plunged into her recriminations.

The miles passed quickly as she ruminated. She knew from the times she’d volunteered at the parish, handing out food and clothing to the poor, Vicar Wright rose early. Like she, he enjoyed gardening and usually spent an hour in his vegetable patch after breaking his fast. Four times he’d asked her to marry him since assuming the rectorship of St. Nicolas Priory two years ago. Every time she’d polity refused, and he’d given her a tender smile, vowing to persevere until she said yes.

Parking the dogcart before the church, she raised her eyes to the bell tower. This would be her life now. Not altogether unpleasant. Just not what she’d wanted.

In a few moments, Mrs. Bidwell, the parish’s housekeeper, had shown Eden inside. Attired all in black with her hair pulled back into a severe, no nonsense knot, she marched along the dark corridor.

“Gracious, Miss Eden, you’re out and about early today.”

Too polite to ask directly, Mrs. Bidwell wore a mantle of curiosity as obvious as Vicar Wright’s purple lent stole.