Free Follow My Lead by Kate Noble Page A

to have me correct all your students’ essays and to lay out your lesson plans.”
    “That’s not—” He tried to interrupt, but Winnifred would have none of it.
    “I have written your lectures, fixed your papers for publication, hell, I’ve written long passages of them . . . Damn it all, no wonder Lord Forrester mistook you for C. W. Marks . . .”
    “You shouldn’t swear, Winnifred,” George scolded, but Winn paid him no heed.
    “You want me for an assistant, not a wife,” she argued.
    “That is most certainly not true!” George denied. He would have made a clumsy attempt to kiss her—she could see it in his face—to prove his passion for her had she not immediately stood up and began to pace the length of the carpet.
    “And tangentially, how is it that I am intelligent enough to write your lectures and yet not clever enough to be C. W. Marks? How could you say those things to Lord Forrester? How could you?”
    “Winnifred, I . . . didn’t think you authored . . .”
    “Yes you do. Whether or not you think I could have authored those papers, you know I would never try to take credit for my father’s work, as you led him to believe. You should be ashamed.” She met his gaze and said again for good measure, “You should be ashamed.”
    And he was. George had the good grace to let his face burn raw, like the young boy she remembered him to be.
    “You don’t understand . . . How can a man have a wife who is more famous in his field than he is?” George whined weakly. “It’s preposterous. You can’t be C. W. Marks.”
    “Now thanks to you I have to go about proving it.” She shook her head. “I barely recognize you anymore. This past year . . . I should have been able to rely on you after my father’s death, but instead . . . What happened to my cousin? To my friend?”
    George’s spine stiffened. “Your friend grows tired of waiting for you to grow up. You’re not a girl anymore. You can’t run after adventures. We have a life waiting for us—it’s been planned for ages.”
    And they came to the same place again. The circuitous argument. One they were too deeply entrenched in to resolve. In the past, she had tried to extricate herself from it. Tried to voice her concerns, but instead of allaying her fears, George had merely dismissed them.
    And now, if she said she didn’t wish to marry George anymore . . . well, she would never see her father’s paintings again, certainly . . . but more than that, she would be saying good-bye to the map that had been laid out before her, by people who wanted only the best. And George . . . He had been her friend once. It was hard to let go of that.
    But if she did marry him, that fresh air, where she could breathe . . . the excitement of discovering something new and seeing the world first hand—not just in books . . . it would never be hers.
    It was time to bring the argument to an end. Its true end.
    “You’re right,” she said, causing George to look up, startled. “I’m not a girl anymore. I spent my youth in a library. And gained knowledge that I used to make a reckless wager with Lord Forrester this afternoon. So, since I’m in the mood to make reckless wagers, I have one for you.”
    She took a deep breath, while George waited, perfectly still, for what she had to say.
    “Let me go to Europe and try to discover the origin of the Adam and Eve painting. If I manage to prove conclusively that it is not a Dürer work, then you stop backing the university’s assertion that the paintings are theirs, thereby letting me have my inheritance.” And letting me go, she added silently to herself.
    “And if you fail?” George asked, taking two steps forward, closing the gap between them.
    “And if I fail . . .” Winn steadied herself. “What do you want?”
    “You know what I want, Winnifred.”
    She swallowed and nodded. “If I fail, I . . . I will come home and marry you immediately.”
    “No more delays?” His eyebrow went up.
    “If