Her words stalled. Standing only a few paces away, a man was in the process of hanging the lantern on a metal wall hook. His back was facing her—his very naked back.

For an eternal second, Mercy couldn’t look away. Thickly corded muscles flexed with every movement he made. Not wearing suspenders, his trousers sagged low enough to reveal a narrow but well-defined waist. From the messy locks of dark hair, broad shoulders, and tanned arms, she could see he was much younger than she’d anticipated. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected from a ship’s doctor, but certainly not this.

After making quick work of adjusting the lantern’s flame, brightening the room, he spun to face her.

Before he could catch her ogling, she dropped her sights to the floor, to his bare feet showing beneath the hem of his trousers. In her haste she’d given the doctor no time to make himself presentable before opening the door.

Not that she was naïve about the human body. In the close confines of her family’s living quarters, she’d seen all manner of nakedness. Around her neighborhood and other parts of the slums, she’d happened upon people in varying states of undress and indecency.

She ought not to be surprised or embarrassed now. Even so, there was something about this man’s sculpted physique that made her uncomfortable in a strange way.

“I beg your pardon, Doctor. I didn’t know . . . didn’t realize—”

“It is I who must apologize, madam,” he interrupted. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed him hastily reaching for a shirt from a peg on the back of the now-closed door.

“It’s just that I was hoping you could help this sweet little lamb.”

In the midst of shoving an arm into his shirtsleeve, he halted. Mercy could sense him studying her. She dared to peek at him again, this time forcing her attention away from his half-clad torso to his face.

Something about him seemed familiar. His hair was a rich dark brown, his eyes equally dark. The shadow of whiskers couldn’t hide the handsome face beneath—the long cheekbones tapering into a strong jaw and well-defined chin.

One of his brows quirked. “Have I met you before?”

She started to shake her head, but then stopped abruptly at the memory of his tired face the day she’d brought Clara to the dispensary. He was the doctor who’d tried to help the girl.

And she’d tried to pay him by offering her boots. At the memory of his recoiling in pity, Mercy dropped her attention to the floor again. He’d probably thought she was pathetic, perhaps believed she was a prostitute. After all, he’d assumed Clara was her daughter.

Maybe if she didn’t remind him of their meeting, he wouldn’t recognize her, especially now that she was clean and wearing new garments.