Page 65 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
“Some of us don’t need the crutch of the pipe to reach the Muse, Darwen,” Kieran answered smoothly.
Hoots rose up from the group, and though Darwen joined in the laughter, his jaw tightened.
“A duel, a duel,” someone cried.
“Give us a duel!” the crowd chanted.
Alarmed, Celeste stared at Kieran. “Will youreallyduel each other here?”
“Not in that way. But,” he added with eager expectation, “it appears we’re going to have to give the people what they want.” He kissed her hand—her belly jumped at the sensation of his lips on her skin—but again uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Before she could ask him about it, the apprehension was gone, and he stood.
Darwen also got to his feet, and as he and Kieran stalked to the middle of the stage, the cushions and pillows were pushed back to give the men room. Kieran pulled off his coat and threw it carelessly to one side before he and Darwen began to pace, circling each other.
Mystified as to what exactly was about to happen, Celeste could only stare.
“Who goes first?” a gorgeous Black woman in a flowing yellow gown asked.
Kieran mockingly bowed at the other man. “I cede the floor to you. Show me how it’s done, Darwen.”
After clearing his throat, Darwen struck a pose, one hand on his hip, the other lifted up toward the heavens.
“The ebon’ sky doth shine like ink,
Whilst here on earth, I raise my face,
And were I to bow, sigh, and shrink
The night etern’ would lose its grace.”
The crowd clapped politely, and Celeste joined them, even as she blinked in surprise. This was apoetryduel?
Kieran joined the applause, though his expression seemed underwhelmed. “A decent effort, Darwen.”
“Decent?” The other man’s face reddened. “And you can do better?”
His posture relaxed, yet, his deep voice resonating, Kieran said:
“On time’s great voyage, I have lost my way,
Adrift, unmoored, eyes to horizon trained.
All stars I seek fade with the light of day
Yet to this cold prow my body is chained.
Each question I pose, one answer is true—
My guide is the constellation of you.”
The audience shouted and clapped its approval as Celeste could only gape at Kieran.
He... he was a poet.
Of all the secrets he kept, of all the facets to his personality she’d yet to discover, this above all was the most wondrous, the most unexpected, and yet the most fitting. She should have known that a man with such a depth of feeling wrote poetry. He was a libertine, and perhaps in that seeking of pleasure and sensation, he reached out to the profundity of experience to channel that into verse.
The woman in the yellow gown got to her feet and strode over to Kieran and the other poet. She held her hand over Darwen’s head, and more restrained clapping rose up from the guests. The woman then held her hand above Kieran, and the crowd exploded into loud applause and whistles.
Kieran was the winner.
