Follow My Lead Read Online Free PDF

ardently desire to be introduced to Lord Forrester, I will endeavor to have him invited to dine, and I’m sure he will find you and your infatuation with art history extremely diverting. But not here.” His voice lowered to a desperate whisper. “And not now!”
    As Winn’s reaction ratcheted from a weak queasiness to annoyance to utter lividity at George’s impassioned speech, she clutched her small folio of papers all the tighter to her chest. When he was finished, she spoke in a very low, very clear voice.
    “George, if you want me to leave this establishment, you will have to physically drag me away, kicking and screaming.” Her gaze bore into his, so sharp it could cut diamonds. “In front of all these people you are dying to impress. Now, you may be a foot and a half taller and five stone heavier than me, but do you really think imposing yourself on a tiny female in such a manner is something you should do?”
    George paused. For the first time, he seemed to recognize the potential they had for making a scene. Right now, talking low to each other, they were just two ordinary people—although one suspiciously other-gendered—but all it would take was one scream and suddenly those men in top hats and coats who walked past with their noses in the air would know who they were.
    And as Winn knew, for George, there was such a thing as bad press.
    His hand slackened on her arm. Only slightly, but enough that Winn could wrench it away from him.
    And smack said arm directly into the young man who was rushing past them.
    “Amomph!” was the muffled, indistinguishable cry from said gentleman, who staggered back some paces.
    “Oh my goodness!” was the sharp, anguished cry that came from Winnifred as her folio fell to the paving stones, spilling its contents into disarray. “Oh no!”
    “I was thinking the same thing,” said the flame-haired gentleman as he squeezed the bridge of his nose in pain.
    “Your . . . Your Grace!” stammered George, apparently recognizing the victim of Winnifred’s hand as a Duke of some kind. Of course she would accidentally smack a Duke, she thought, flushing red. But could not stop to curtsy. She had to collect her papers before they all flew away! Her articles . . . her letter of introduction!
    “I’m so terribly sorry!” George was saying, attempting to bow and neaten the poor man’s coat at the same time.
    “It’s quite all right,” His Grace was saying. “I knew I wasn’t going to survive the day without being smacked.”
    “I beg your pardon?” George asked.
    “Nothing. And no harm done, I think.” He straightened to his full height, then apparently, having noticed Winn’s own distress, said, “Do you need any help, miss?”
    “I . . .” She stooped to pick up another page, then another. “Oh dear, is that all of them?” She looked around wildly. And her heart stopped when she saw the lone piece of paper, floating in the fountain.
    And by the folds in the paper, she knew which one it was.
    “My letter!” she cried. She reached out her arm, but it was beyond her grasp. She was about to throw caution to the wind and climb over the edge into the fountain’s low pool when a hand on her shoulder stilled her.
    “Allow me,” the flame-haired Duke said, and reached for the floating paper himself. He had her in height by a foot, but it was nearly out of his reach, as well. At last he managed that final inch and handed the dripping page to Winn.
    “Thank you, Your Grace,” Winn breathed, but she only had eyes for the paper. Please don’t let it be ruined, please don’t let it be ruined . . .
    “No trouble—although now I know the benefit of using a walking cane.” He smiled and then gave a short bow. “Miss . . .”
    But Winn, her heart in her throat, could not answer. And so, George stumbled into the void.
    “Crane, Your . . . Your Grace,” he stammered, giving a short bow. “And I am George Bambridge, her cousin. I have often seen you in the Historical