Under my scrutiny, his blush deepened. "Since you judge my verse worthy," I pressed, "does this round concede victory?"
"Indeed. Shall we proceed—"
"One moment," I interrupted. "Is it fair the challenger sets no theme? A true contest requires balance."
He inclined his head. "Name your challenge, Madam."
I smiled. "Then prepare to—"
I stopped. The atmosphere had shifted. Men stared at me with the same fervent adoration they'd bestowed upon Sterling moments before. Eyes glazed, lips parted… I had become a new object of worship.
Dread coiled in my stomach. This was too much attention. "Lord Sterling," I said hastily, "urgent matters recall me. Our contest must wait."
Ignoring his startled, "But your name, Madam?", I seized Primrose. "We depart. Now."
"Milady, why?" Primrose whispered as we fled. "They hail you as London's foremost bluestocking!"
"Precisely the problem!" I hissed. "That title is a gilded cage!"
Behind us, Sterling's voice carried, tinged with melancholy: "Farewell, Madam. I shall recall where we met."
Primrose, ever impulsive, called back: "Lord Sterling! You painted her five years past! Surely—"
"Primrose! Silence!" I snapped.
Sterling's laugh was soft, haunting. "Ah! Then our paths were fated to cross again. Until next time… Lady of the Unspoken Name."
We burst onto the street. Chants rained down from the windows: "London's Muse! Stay!"
Primrose beamed. "They name you London's Muse, Milady!"
I dragged her faster, cold sweat chilling my neck. A Muse cannot flirt unnoticed in Vauxhall Gardens!