Fruit of the Golden Vine

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Middle sister Adelina has remained aloof and amused by the string of suitors for her elder sister’s hand—and dowry. But when the swaggering Rafael arrives with an equally eye-catching, bold sister of his own, Adelina’s pulse stirs at last.

Aware from the first that she has caught the lovely Adelina’s interest, Silvana yearns to court her openly, but she and her brother are not what they seem. Moonlit nights in the summer gardens may lead to kisses and whispers of love, but she knows that the lady’s heart will be lost forever if the truth is discovered.

From the author of
The Diplomat
comes a sumptuous story of reckless desire, desperate honor and fearless love.

Copyright © 2016 by Sophia French

Bella Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 10543

Tallahassee, FL 32302

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

First Bella Books Edition 2016

eBook released 2016

Editor: Katherine V. Forrest

Cover Designer: Judith Fellows

ISBN: 978-1-59493-459-9

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

The Diplomat

Sophia French lives in Hobart, Tasmania. Her first novel,
The Diplomat
, was published by Bella Books in 2015.

For Li—

One and the same

A sultry, aromatic breeze stirred the silver leaves of the tree outside Adelina’s bedroom window. Her two sisters giggled as they leaned over the sill, their gazes fixed on the three figures trudging through the dust toward the front door of their house.

“He looks tall and strong,” said Felise, standing on her little toes for a better view of the lead figure. “Like a hero from a story.”

“He’s wonderfully handsome,” said Irena. “And no doubt a great warrior. See, he has a scabbard at his belt.”

“Anyone can have a scabbard at their belt.” Adelina propped her head in her hands and squinted into the sun. “Even our stable boy could if somebody bought him a sword.”

“Even so, he might still be a great warrior.” Irena spun to face Adelina. “How is my hair? I don’t want a single strand amiss.”

Adelina sighed. Every lock on Irena’s head was perfect, of course, just like the rest of her. She was slender, golden-haired, fine-cheeked, ample-bosomed—traits that ensured these infuriating suitors kept coming. “You know damn well your hair is beautiful. You just want to be flattered.”

“Oh, Ada, don’t blaspheme. You’ll frighten away my suitor.”

Felise pouted. Despite being quite as blond as Irena, she was in every other respect unlike her, a plump, mischievous tiny monster. “How do you know he’s not come courting me?”

“You’re barely thirteen, Lise.” Irena patted Felise’s fat cheek. “Grown men don’t come courting little girls.”

“Oh, to always be a little girl,” said Adelina. She leaned further. The second stranger was slight and walked with swaying hips—a woman, then, dressed much like a man. “That must be his sister.”

Irena nodded. “I suppose so. How strange she’s dressed that way.”

“Perhaps all women dress like that where they come from,” said Felise. “Oh! She has a sword too!”

“A woman with a sword.” A tingling warmth crept through Adelina’s chest. “Isn’t that the most exciting thing you’ve ever heard?”

Irena scrunched her elegant features. “It looks very unladylike.” She fussed with the broach at her neck. “I suppose you’d carry a sword, Ada, if Father would let you.”

“Of course. It’d help me fight off these grotesque suitors the day they come for me.”

Irena drifted to the side table, unscrewed a vial of perfume and dabbed rose scent on her neck. “You’re lucky Father is superstitious. You’d be married off already otherwise. Twenty-three is very old to be a maiden.”

Felise cracked open the bedroom door. The sound of conversation rose from the floor below. “They’re here!” she said. “Let’s go peek!”

“How childish.” Irena covered her lips, stifling a giggle. “But let’s.”

The sisters crept onto the landing, stole across the carpeted balcony and pressed close to the banisters. The lobby stretched beneath them, illuminated by windows around its walls and the great skylight in the ceiling. Four figures stood conversing in the sunlit space, their shadows stretched across the floorboards. Father gestured as he talked, his face split by a wide grin above his oiled beard, while Lothar, their family’s cleft-jawed, illiterate footman, stood silent beside him. Opposite them, the strange brother and sister stood in deferential postures.

“He really is handsome,” Irena said in a low whisper. “Look at his shoulders!”

“What about his shoulders?” said Adelina. “Everyone has shoulders.”

“They’re so broad. You can tell he’s a strong man.”

“So he can lift heavy things. Be still my heart.”

Adelina shifted her attention from the muscular man, who interested her about as much as folding tablecloths, to the woman standing beside him. Her heart faltered in its rhythm, and her breath drew short. The woman’s auburn hair was cropped short but for several stray locks that fell across her forehead, and her skin was bronzed by open travel, though not enough to disguise the light complexion of a foreigner. An ironic smile turned her wide lips, her dark lashes concealed narrow eyes alight with amusement, and an elaborate silver tattoo crept branch-like across one cheek and down her neck.

“Oh, Ira, look at her. She’s beautiful.”

“She’s strange-looking,” said Felise. “Why is her hair so short? It’s mannish. And the way she stands is mannish too.”

“Just because she’s not simpering and giving curtsies doesn’t make her mannish. You’re pathetic, Lise.”

“Hist!” Irena pressed her finger to Adelina’s lips. “You fools, you’re talking too loud—”

Father paused midconversation and looked up. “Girls!” The shout echoed against the lobby’s high walls. “Look at you up there, spying on us like children! Haven’t you been raised better?”

“But I am a child,” said Felise, her voice raised to an indignant shrill. “Everyone keeps saying so.”

“You may as well come down. Lothar, you’re dismissed.”

Lothar nodded, expressionless as ever, and disappeared into the bowels of the house. Father returned his attention to his daughters. “Descend in order of age, dear ones, so that I may introduce you properly.”

Irena flushed and fiddled with her broach. “Is my hair still—”

“Your hair is fine!” Adelina shoved Irena’s shoulder. “Get moving, you monkey.”

Her tightly-cinched cream dress rustling, Irena descended the staircase with affected grace. “This is Irena, my eldest,” said Father as Irena left the bottom step. “A maiden of twenty-five, a talented seamstress and a remarkable musician. She is especially exquisite on the harpsichord.”

“The harpsichord?” said the man. “Truly a beautiful instrument.”

Irena reddened to her roots and gave a stumbling curtsy. “I hope to play it for you some day, my lord. I also sing.”

Father cleared his throat. “Irena, your hand…”

“Oh! Of course!” Irena extended her thin hand, fingers drooping. The man took it and planted his broad lips on her knuckles.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said.

Irena babbled something incoherent in return, and Adelina managed by force of will to hold down her laughter.

“Next,” said Father, “is my middle daughter Adelina. A maiden of twenty-three, she is fond of reading and poetry.”

Adelina trudged to the bottom step and crossed her arms. “Hello.”

Father frowned. “Ada, you should curtsy to our guest.”

“I’d rather die of the plague.” Adelina matched Father’s look with a scowl of her own. “Father, I don’t even know their names. Isn’t it proper for introductions to go both ways?”

Father’s cheeks became as purple as wine. “I must apologize,” he said, grasping the male guest’s shoulder. “Her decorum is sometimes lacking.”

The man laughed. He, too, wore a beautiful facial marking, though his was golden and spiraled. “That’s no problem. To be honest, the standards of decorum in your lands are far above what we’re accustomed to.” He smiled at Adelina, and his shaggy eyebrows lifted. “I’m pleased to meet you, Adelina. My name is Rafael.”

“Such modesty,” said Father. “He’s also a baron, a descendant of northern royal blood. Adelina, do give him your hand, that’s a good girl.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Rafael, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you drool on my hand.” Adelina glanced at the woman, who stood watching the farce with a slanted smile. “What’s your name, my lady?”