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She hastily looked away just as his powerful thighs peeked out from the water.

She couldn’t look—that was highly inappropriate.

Should she announce herself? No, she couldn’t! Better she retreat and pretend she had never seen that—him. But her feet seemed rooted to the spot, her breath caught in her chest, her gaze finding its way back to the earl’s slick, naked form.

He emerged fully from the stream and turned his back to her, moving toward the clothes neatly stacked on the boulder. As he bent to collect the clothes, Honoria finally broke free from her stupor. She spun around, heart hammering, and hurried back the way she’d come, praying he hadn’t noticed her standing there gawking at him.

Honoria ran up the path, through the garden, and then the front door of the house, mumbling something to Mr. Clarke when he asked whether she’d found the earl.

Her breathing was so ragged she feared she might pass out, she finally reached the safety of her small bedroom. She pressed her back against the door and bent at her waist, letting the ringing in her ears subside.

Her face burned with mortification—and no doubt from the mad dash from the stream—yet the image of the earl’s body refused to leave her mind. Never in her life had she imagined that beneath his formal attire lurked such a masterpiece of masculine form—all lean muscle and perfect proportion, like a classical statue brought to life.

He was beautiful. Like art.

Her fingers twitched at the urge to draw him, and also… to touch him, while a certain warmth pooled low in her belly.

She shook her head. Honoria, what are you thinking?

The only other man she had glimpsed in such a state of undress had been a person whose soft, pale body she’d rather forget. She shuddered involuntarily at the memory. It had been nothing like the earl’s magnificent physique.

“This is most improper,” she whispered, peeling herself from the door and starting to pace around the small room. “Most improper indeed.”

She fanned herself with the leatherbound journal in her hand.

She needed to compose herself before facing the earl again. What if he had seen her? What would he think of her character? She paused by the window, pressing her journal to her chest, the frantic thumping of her heart loud in the quiet room.

The grounds spread out below, and she found herself scanning the path from the stream, wondering how long it would take for the earl to return and dress. She would need to give him ample time before attempting to deliver her report about the new governess.

And she needed to do that without imagining him in his naked form. Oh, fiddle!

“Think of something else,” she commanded herself, resuming her pacing. “Anything else.”

But it was of no use. The image of water streaming down his muscled form seemed permanently etched into her mind’s eye. After several minutes of restless pacing, she turned once more to the window, the darkness now having swallowed the last vestiges of daylight.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She started, whirling toward the door and staring at it as if it might sprout horns.

Was it the earl? Why would he come to her room? Perhaps he’d seen her staring at him at the stream, and then he must have seen her undignified retreat. Mercy me!

Another knock.

Honoria smoothed her hair and went to open the door only to find Lucy, one of the housemaids, bobbing a quick curtsy. Thank God!

“Begging your pardon, Miss Hartwell, but the earl is asking for you in his bedchamber.”

Dread overtook her entire body, her limbs freezing in place. “H-his… bedchamber?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy answered airily, probably not suspecting anything untoward. Why should she? It wasn’t an odd request. The earl often asked the servants to come to his chamber if he needed anything. “Right away, he said.”

“D-did he say why?” Honoria couldn’t stop the stutter.

“No, ma’am.” Lucy bobbed a curtsy and skittered away.

Honoria’s heart leapt to her throat. Switching her journal between her hands, Honoria smoothed her apron with damp palms, trying to compose herself.

He had seen her. Of course, he had. Now he would dismiss her for such impropriety, and she would be back on the streets.

No. She would not think of that. She would face him with dignity, apologize, and accept whatever consequences came. Clutching her leather journal like a shield, she made her way toward the earl’s chamber, each step bringing a new wave of mortification.