It's an unlikley combination: Multi-million romance book publishers Mills & Boon and Rugby Union, but someone, somewhere, thought it might get more women into the sport.

Here's the plan, and I'm not making it up. Mills & Boon are joining forces with the RFU to produce a series of books where the familiar male hero figures are all rugby players.

The spin-off for the guys at Twickers, apparently, is the chance to lure more women into the stands, which are usually a haven of machismo, even in this day and age.

The series of books will have titles such as 'The Prince's Waitress Wife', 'The French Tycoon's Pregnant Mistress' and 'The Virgin Secretary's Impossible Boss'.

I'm still not making it up by the way. And nowhere among the list of titles can I see a realistic suggestion like: 'He spent all afternoon chewing other men's ears and tried to miss me' or 'Take off your headgear or lose me forever..'

The RFU sent us a sneak preview from one of the books yesterday, and here it is in all its sugar-coated glory:

"Oh my God." Her hand covered her mouth. She glanced at him in desperate panic. "They filmed me kissing you. And it's up on the giant screens." Her voice rose, her cheeks were scarlet, and her reluctant glance towards the stadium ended in a moan of disbelief. "Oh God, I can't believe this ... and my hair is all over the place and my bottom looks huge, and - everyone is looking."

His eyes on the pitch, Prince Casper watched with cool detachment as his friend, the England captain, hit a post with a drop-goal attempt. "More importantly, you just cost England three points."

Now I have a lot of time for rugby and the people who play the sport, I admire it's non-segregated crowds and the respect for officials on the pitch that puts footballers to shame, but if a romantic novel is going to be written about a sport, it has to stick to the facts.

So, based on my second year at the University of Hertfordshire, when I shared a house with seven members of the Rugby team, here's my attempt.

"He pulled her close, his tattered jersey still blooded and muddied from the match against the second team from the rough village down the road. The smell of the fifteen pints he'd drunk mixed with the odour of the wellington boot he'd supped them from as part of his initiation ceremony...."

I'll get my coat.