Dreaming of Mr. Darcy by Victoria Connelly Page B

handsome actor in the world, and he was dressed as one of her favourite heroes from literature.
    â€˜You look happy,’ Oli suddenly said.
    Kay looked up, and for a moment, she really did see Frederick Wentworth standing there.
    â€˜What were you thinking of?’ he asked.
    She looked away, distracting herself by plucking a leaf from a peppermint plant. ‘Just thinking,’ she said.
    â€˜Tell me.’
    â€˜You’ll laugh.’
    â€˜No, I won’t.’
    Kay took a deep breath and turned to look at him. ‘I was just wondering what it would be like to be Anne Elliot and live in a place like this with—with Captain Wentworth.’
    â€˜Ah,’ Oli said.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜You have Captain Wentworth fever?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜It’s like Mr Darcy fever, only slightly less acute, and that’s only because poor old Wentworth’s never had a wet-shirt moment. Not yet, anyway.’
    â€˜You’re teasing me,’ Kay said.
    Oli nodded. ‘I’m merely making an observation. As an actor, one has to be aware that some roles come loaded with expectation, and I think all the Austen heroes fall into that category.’
    â€˜But you weren’t put off by that?’
    â€˜Are you kidding? It’s a dream come true,’ Oli said. ‘Think about it—I’ll be forever associated with one of the sexiest heroes of all time. Women will throw themselves at me, even when I’m an old man and have lost all my hair. What actor could possibly say no to such a role?’
    Kay grinned.
    â€˜I mean, I know I’ll never reach the heights of Colin Firth, but I like to think that I’ll earn my place in the hero hall of fame. I mean, I might not have the wet shirt, but Wentworth does have the advantage of a uniform, doesn’t he?’
    Kay nodded, eyeing up the handsome uniform before her. ‘I’m illustrating all of Austen’s stories,’ she told him.
    Oli’s eyebrows rose. ‘Really? You’re published?’
    â€˜Oh, no!’ she said. ‘Not yet. I’d like to be, but it’s just something I do for myself at the moment.’
    â€˜And is that what you were doing this morning—drawing me?’
    Kay nodded. She could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. ‘I didn’t mean to stare. Except, well, I suppose I was, wasn’t I?’
    â€˜Looking at a person through binoculars is usually construed as staring,’ Oli said.
    Kay hid her hands in her face for a moment. ‘I’m so sorry. You must have thought I was rude.’
    â€˜Not at all,’ he said. ‘I’m used to being stared at. Comes with the territory.’
    â€˜Of being handsome?’ she said and then bit her lip. What a thing to say!
    â€˜Of being an actor,’ he said with a little smile. ‘And I suppose there’s a certain amount of staring to be done in your line of work.’
    â€˜Running a bed and breakfast?’ Kay said.
    â€˜No,’ he said with a laugh. ‘ Illustrating! ’
    Kay laughed too. ‘Yes, I suppose so. I mean, it’s what I have to do—if I want to capture a face.’
    Oli looked at her. It felt strange having those piercing blue eyes fixed on her. How many times had she gazed at them within the safe confines of her television set? And now here they were—just a couple of feet away—staring at her.
    â€˜I’ve never been drawn before,’ he said. ‘It must be a rather intimate experience.’ He held her gaze, and Kay felt riveted to the spot, believing that a tornado wouldn’t have the power to move her if it struck at that moment.
    â€˜Intimate,’ she said, and the whole world seemed focussed on that one word, its three syllables vibrating on her lips.
    Oli nodded and took a step towards her. ‘Perhaps I could sit for you sometime.’
    Kay frowned. Had she heard him right? ‘Really? You