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