British Bachelors: Perfect and Available: Mr. Jessica Hart

‘She must have a boyfriend already, looking like that.’

      ‘Apparently she finds it hard to find men who can get past what she looks like and be interested in her,’ said Allegra. ‘Ianthe interviewed her a couple of months ago and it turns out she’s just like the rest of us, kissing a lot of toads and still hoping to find her prince.’

      On the other side of the sofa, Max didn’t bother to disguise his incredulity. ‘And you think I could be Darcy King’s prince?’

      ‘Actually, no.’ Hmm, this was tricky. She didn’t want to discourage him, but it wouldn’t be fair to get his hopes up either. ‘I mean, even if you were to fall madly in love, it’s hard to imagine you having a future together. I don’t see Darcy wanting to go off to Shofrar.’

      ‘True. There’s not a lot of work for lingerie models out there,’ Max agreed. ‘But if we were madly in love, would that matter?’

      For one awful moment Allegra thought that he was taking the whole matter seriously, but when she shot him a worried look he didn’t quite have time to conceal the mocking gleam in his blue-grey eyes, and she grinned and shoved him.

      ‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘It’s just a fun assignment, but Darcy gets to have a good time, and you might learn something about dealing with women. If you want to get Emma back, Max, this could be just the chance you need. Are you really going to turn it down because you don’t want to be seen sucking a cocktail through a straw?’

      Max considered her. ‘That would be it? Drinking a cocktail with Darcy King?’

      ‘Well, obviously we’d need to make a few changes,’ said Allegra airily. ‘Get you a new wardrobe, a new haircut, that kind of thing, but the stylist would help you with that.’

      ‘Stylist?’

      ‘You’re really lucky.’ Allegra lowered her voice reverentially. ‘Dickie said he’d style the shoot personally.’

      ‘Shoot? What shoot? And who the hell is Dickie?’

      He really didn’t have a clue, did he? ‘Dickie Roland is only the most famous stylist in London at the moment,’ she said. ‘He’s a superstar! I think his name is actually Georges, but in the fashion world he’s just known as Dickie after his trademark bow tie. He’s worn it ever since he came to London from Paris, and it’s hard to imagine him without one now.’

      ‘I hope you’re not planning to ask me to wear a bow tie!’

      ‘No, no, that’s Dickie’s “thing”. He’ll just make you look fabulous.’ Allegra sighed. Max clearly had no idea what an honour it was to be styled by Dickie. ‘But you have to promise to be nice to him. Dickie’s brilliant, but he can be a bit...temperamental.’

      Max pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I can’t believe I’m actually discussing being styled!’ he muttered.

      ‘You’d want to look nice for Darcy, wouldn’t you?’

      ‘I haven’t said yes yet,’ he warned quickly. ‘What else is involved in this assignment of yours? It’s got to be more than putting on a shirt and slurping a cocktail.’

      ‘Once you’ve got through the cocktails, the next task is to cook Darcy dinner—and no ordering in a pizza. You have to cook it yourself.’ Darcy was a vegetarian and the meal had to be a romantic one, but Allegra would break that to Max later. For now she just had to get him to agree in principle. There would be time enough to talk him through the pesky details once he’d agreed.

      Max grunted. ‘I could probably manage a meal, as long as she’s not expecting anything fancy.’

      ‘The whole point is to make an effort to cook something Darcy would like,’ said Allegra, smoothing impatience from her voice. It wouldn’t do to put his back up now, just when she had him nibbling at her hook! ‘When you’re having a drink, you’ll have to talk to her and find out what sort of food she prefers, and if she likes fancy, then you’re going to have to cook fancy. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she likes things simple,’ she added hastily as Max’s brows drew together.

      ‘Okay. So cocktail, cooking...what else?’

      Best to take the next bit in a rush. ‘You’d need to do something cultural without looking bored—we’re thinking the theatre, perhaps, or the opening of an art exhibition—and that’s it, really. Then it’s just the ball,’ Allegra finished breezily and put on a bright smile, hoping that Max might have missed the last task.

      No such luck. ‘Please tell me you’re thinking about a round thing that you kick around a field!’

      ‘Not exactly...’

      ‘Come on, Legs, there’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’

      ‘All right, it’s a costume ball being held for charity. You’ll have to dress up—and learn to waltz.’

      There, it was out, but, as expected, Max had started shaking his head at ‘costume’. ‘No way,’ he said firmly. ‘I don’t mind having a go at the other stuff, but dressing up? And dancing? I’d rather stick pins in my eyes!’

      ‘Oh, Max, please! We have to have the ball. Darcy’s really looking forward to it, and learning how to dance would be such a great gesture. It would be so...romantic.’

      ‘What’s romantic about making a tit of yourself on the dance floor?’

      ‘I’ve always wanted to go to a ball like that. Not just a dinner dance bash but a real ball, with proper ball gowns and waltzing...’ Allegra’s eyes were dreamy at the mere thought of it, and she pressed a hand to the base of her throat as she sighed.

      She had grown up in a house full of books, but Flick’s shelves were lined with heavyweight biographies and award-winning literary novels. Flick was dismissive of commercial fiction, and as a child Allegra’s books had been uniformly worthy. It had been a revelation to go and stay with Libby’s family, where the house was full of dog-eared paperbacks with broken spines and yellowing pages.

      Best of all, Max’s mother had a collection of Regency romances and Allegra had devoured them every time she went. She loved the ordered world they portrayed with those rakish dukes and spirited governesses. She loved the dashing way the heroes drove their curricles, their curling lips, their codes of honour.

      And their tight breeches, of course.

      Best of all were the ball scenes, which were charged with sexual tension as the hero and heroine clasped hands and danced, oblivious to anyone but each other.

      A wistful sigh leaked out of her. ‘I’d love to waltz,’ she told Max, who was predictably unimpressed. ‘It’s my fantasy to be swept masterfully around a ballroom by a dashing hero, who knows just how to dance me unobtrusively out onto a terrace where it’s dark and warm and the air is sweet with the scent of summer flowers and he’s dancing with me along the terrace but he’s overcome by passion and he presses me up against the balustrade and tells me he loves me madly and can’t live without me and he’s begging me to marry him—’

      Running out of breath, she broke off to find Max watching her quizzically.

      ‘I’m glad you stopped,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if I should throw a glass of water at you to stop you hyperventilating.’

      ‘You’ve got to admit it would be romantic,’ Allegra insisted.

      Max showed no sign of admitting any such thing. He got back to the business in hand.

      ‘Why not get that boyfriend of yours to take you if you want to go so much? What’s his name? Jerry?’

      ‘Jeremy.’

      ‘That’s right. Of course he’s a Jeremy,’ said Max dismissively. ‘I bet he knows how to dance. I only met him once but he struck me as a guy who knows how to do everything.’

      Jeremy had been very accomplished,