Free An Eligible Bachelor by Veronica Henry Page A

things he didn’t mean because what he really wanted to do was flirt with her but he didn’t quite dare. Henty had told him one night, rather aghast, that Honor had gone for nearly seven years without sex, and Charles had become rather obsessed with the information. Though he wasn’t quite sure if he believed it. He suspected it was a myth Honor had built up around herself, to make sure other women weren’t threatened by the fact that she was both single and incredibly attractive. He followed the girls out of the living room, running his eyes over the little buttons that ran down Honor’s back, wondering how long they would take to undo.
    In your dreams, mate, he thought wryly.
    The ball was in an enormous marquee in the grounds of a nearby country hotel. The committee knew from experience that there was no point in knocking themselves out to decorate, as the guests were notoriously hardened drinkers and wouldn’t notice their surroundings afterabout an hour. And the less that was spent on fripperies the more money would be raised for the hospice, which was, after all, the point. Half decent food, a decent band and plenty of booze was all that was needed to make the evening a success.
    And tonight they had a bonus novelty which would make everyone feel they’d had their money’s worth. Guy Portias had brought along Richenda Fox. Their engagement had been splashed all over the Daily Post that morning. The Post was one of those papers that no one admitted to reading but secretly did, full as it was of celebrity gossip and right-wing mantras. As long as you took their editorial with a pinch of salt it was a jolly good read.
    Everyone had slavered over the pictures in the paper over their Saturday morning croissants. It was a typical Hello!-magazine style spread, with Richenda in sumptuous designer outfits posed in various different parts of Eversleigh Manor, while Guy hovered next to her in his jeans and a dark blue linen shirt, rumpled and bemused. Those who knew him well smiled inwardly, knowing he would have hated the attention. Guy was as popular locally as his father had been; both of them affable, charming, unaffected. Madeleine, of course, was a different story. She had an edge, though many of the wives locally protested that she had to stand her ground, as the Portias men were laws unto themselves. Utterly impossible in the nicest possible way.
    Having had their fill of the tabloid gossip that morning and duly exchanged notes over the telephone, none of the guests at the ball were star-struck by Richenda’spresence. They’d been used to having stars in their midst for the past six months with the film crew, after all, and anyway they were all far too well brought up to gawp. They all agreed, however, that the two of them made an absolutely stunning couple. Richenda was in a shimmering pale gold sheath; Guy looked as ever as if he had pulled on the first thing he could find when he got out of bed, in this case his dinner jacket. But they both looked incredibly happy, and couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
    Guy had indeed found the photoshoot a trial. He had resolutely refused to put on any of the clothes that had been brought along for him to wear.
    ‘I’m not a bloody footballer,’ he’d protested, chucking the cream satin shirt with the pointy cuffs back at the stylist, who’d winced.
    ‘That’s five hundred quid’s worth of shirt!’ she shot back, replacing it hastily on the hanger before it got creased.
    ‘Says who?’ said Guy amiably. ‘Something’s only worth what someone will pay for it and personally I wouldn’t give you tuppence for it.’
    In the end, Richenda had intervened, picking out the most understated shirt and agreeing he could wear his jeans.
    ‘I’m not changing for every picture,’ he warned. ‘I never change! I wear the same clothes for weeks on end.’
    ‘I had noticed,’ said Richenda drily. ‘And that’s fine. You look gorgeous. Just smile.’
    She kissed