Excerpt from Fair Rosaline by Natasha Solomons, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Come, good sir. Why don't we withdraw awhile? I know a spot," he said, seemingly sensing her discomfort, steering her away from the crowd and toward a quieter part of the garden. He led her along a path beside a stream and lesser Roman gods, to where Pan lolled naked beneath the sycamores' canopy. The stranger was unhurried and walked with a studied ease. Even in her agitation, Rosaline found herself watching him, observing that he was slender and wearing a fetching cloak. His skin was paler than her own.

He noticed her glance and grinned with white, straight teeth. "There was more perfection in your playing tonight, more truth, such as might melt a heart of flint."

Rosaline laughed, unused to hearing such compliments. Unused to being noticed at all.

"Who are you, good sir?" he asked.

"A gentleman of Verona," she stuttered, unable to meet his eye, embarrassed and pleased by his study of her.

The stranger bowed. "Well met, then, gentleman of Verona. We are two gentlemen of Verona, and yet I do not know your face."

He was staring at her intently, and Rosaline felt her cheeks grow hot beneath his scrutiny. She was glad of the shroud of darkness. "How could you know me? My face is hidden."

"Your name, then?"

Rosaline laughed. "What is the use of a mask if I am to simply surrender my name?"

The man bowed his head and smiled.

She had not spoken with many men before, and none like this man. He reminded her of a painting of Saint Sebastian she'd seen in the cathedral in Padua, a perfectly symmetrical and red-­lipped Sebastian stripped naked and pierced with arrows that bloodied his breast. She'd been mesmerized by the icon, gazing upon him all through mass, quite unable to concentrate on the sermon or the priest. Now, she forced herself to look away from this stranger as if fearful of burning her eyes from gazing too long upon the sun. It was his civility, the sweetness of his tongue, and, O, his fine looks. Venus herself could not have rendered him more fair.

Rosaline felt conscious of the moth holes in her hose and the dirt smeared upon her cheek. Her own tongue was not lyrical but fat and slow, wedged behind her teeth.

He reached into his jacket and produced a flask. "Have something to drink, friend."

Rosaline shook her head. "Thank you, gentle sir, but alas, I think I've had too much already."

He laughed. "A little more will help." He pressed the flask into her hands. He was so kind, so insistent, that despite the heaviness in her stomach, she drank. The wine was strong and sweet.

He seemed pleased. "Just one more sip."

"I don't think I can. Not without mishap."

"Then you must eat."

She was aware that she was swaying side to side, as if she were on a ship. If she ate, she feared she would vomit. She did not want to do that before this gentleman. This particularly attentive gentleman with a direct, bright eye. And perhaps when men were sick, they did it differently from women, and that would give her away.

He reached out and steadied her, grasping her arm and seating her carefully at Ceres's feet, upon grass already damp from dew. A table was set with food beneath the trees, and he gathered a few choice morsels and brought them to her upon a plate. A little bread. A cup of mead. Dizzy, she lay back and shut her eyes.

"Eat," he pressed, settling beside her. "And the ale is not strong. It will help."

She took them and, as she nibbled, did in truth feel better. She was aware of the closeness of his body, the warmth of him. They were almost touching.

He lay back and stretched, perfectly at ease.

Rosaline wondered what age the stranger was. Older than herself, certainly. Five and twenty. Thirty? It did not matter. Time itself was suspended here. The sand had ceased to run.

She gestured to the statues, half-­concealed among the dell of pines. She inhaled their dry scent. "I feel as if I am caught in a waking dream or have been stolen away by Queen Mab. It's at once awful, and yet I do not wish for dawn," she said.

Excerpted from Fair Rosaline by Natasha Solomons. Copyright © 2023 by Natasha Solomons. Excerpted by permission of Sourcebooks. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.