“How did you find me here?” she asked as she buttoned up her bodice. “There’s no possible way to see the pond from the road.”

“My horse bolted into the woods,” he said, still refusing to look at her.

If she had an ounce of sense, she would have bolted, too, leaving her blanket and basket far behind her. But her lungs weren’t likely to support such an effort. Not after she’d already taxed them to the limit.

Besides, she didn’t run from anything.

In her experience, it was a far more effective strategy to control one’s fear. To refrain from escalating a fraught situation by continuing to act as normally as possible.

As normally as one could act when one’s hair was festooned with frog spawn.

She fluffed out her skirts to no avail. They clung to her wet drawers and legs. “I’m as decent as I can be. If it makes you blush, you’d better leave.”

He cast her a cautious glance over his shoulder. “I’m not blushing.”

“No?” She walked past him to sink down onto her blanket. Modesty was impossible in such circumstances, but she made a creditable effort. Tilting onto her hip, she drew her knees up alongside her, tucking her bare feet beneath the pooling fabric of her skirts. When she was satisfied that her limbs were well covered, she opened the wicker hamper and, after a moment spent rifling through its contents, withdrew a tortoiseshell comb.

“I’m furious,” he said.

Laura concentrated on working the rest of her hair loose from its plaits. It was free in a trice, spilling down past her shoulders in a very wet—and very tangled—ebony veil. She drew a lock between her fingers and began to comb it as she waited for her rescuer to elaborate. He said not a word. “Well?” she prompted.

“Why were you doing that?” he asked abruptly.

“Doing what?”

“Holding your breath under the water.”

Her hand stilled on her comb. “I told you. I was strengthening my lungs.”

“Why?”

She had to stop herself from telling him. He was a stranger, for heaven’s sake, not her friend. “It’s no concern of yours, sir.”

He huffed. “Of course not.” He walked a few steps across the clearing, pausing to rake a hand through his damp hair. “Will you permit me to see you home?”

“Why should you wish to? I’m in perfectly good health.”

“You’re in no fit state to—”

“To what? Defend myself from strangers? I’m a little wet, that’s all.” She paused before adding, “Until you, no man has ever accosted me in these woods.”

He turned to face her. “I meant no disrespect. I—”

“Yes, I know. You only meant to rescue me. But I need no rescuing, as you see.”

“No, indeed.” His chest rose and fell on a deep breath. “I overreacted.”