She shot him a narrow glance only to discover him tearing his own gaze away as if he’d just beheld some ungodly horror. He was now, quite pointedly, looking away from her. He was also turning rather red about the collar.

Her eyes dropped to her chemise and drawers. The faded cotton with its twice-darned seams was wet through, nearly transparent, and clinging to her like a second skin. She inwardly groaned. Could this dreadful encounter possibly get any worse?

“Where the devil are your clothes?” he asked in a choked voice. “Haven’t you a gown or a—”

“One doesn’t wear a day dress to go swimming.”

“You weren’t swimming. You were floating beneath the water like some demented Ophelia.”

“I was strengthening my lungs.” Laura watched as his gaze slid back to her almost against its will. He jerked it away again, his face hardening into a mask of carefully controlled emotion. “And I did not look like a demented Ophelia,” she added under her breath. “What an unflattering characterization.”

“If you think I ventured into this clearing to flatter your vanity—”

“Why did you venture into this clearing? These woods belong to Squire Talbot. He has signs posted everywhere. You couldn’t have failed to notice them. Unless… You can read, can’t you?”

“Of course I can read—” He broke off. “I was trying to find—” He stopped again. “By God, ma’am, I ask again, where are your clothes?”

She folded her arms over her bosom. “There.” She motioned with a jerk of her chin. “Beneath the tree.”

Her rescuer launched himself to his feet and strode the short distance to where she’d laid out her blanket. A basket of food sat upon it, along with her corset, gown, and boots, all carefully folded into a neat little pile. She’d meant to make a day of it. There was a book and a flask of Aunt Charlotte’s freshly made lemonade waiting for her. She’d planned to let her hair and underclothes dry in the sun. But now…

Now she sat shivering on the bank, vulnerable and increasingly embarrassed by her state of undress. Her eyes followed her rescuer as he bent to retrieve her clothes. He walked them back to her, coming only close enough to toss her folded dress and corset onto the grass at her side. He turned away again without meeting her eyes.

Laura swept up her corset. It was old and worn. Quite useless, really. She scarcely had to inhale as she fastened the metal hooks of the busk. When she’d finished, she shook out her skirts and stepped into them. She hadn’t worn any petticoats, and she certainly hadn’t bothered to wear a crinoline, or even stockings. The resulting ensemble was eminently practical. It was also thoroughly indecent by any standard.