“I’m not most. Here, as she runs away, she doesn’t believe enough.” He stroked a finger down the delicate folds of the ball gown. “She follows the rules, without question. It’s midnight, and she was in the arms of her prince, but she breaks away and runs. Because that was the rule. And she is afraid, afraid to let him see beneath the illusion to the woman.”

“She had to leave. She’d promised. Besides, she’d have been humiliated to have been caught there in rags and bare feet.”

Tilting his head, Mikhail studied her. “Do you think he cared about her dress?”

“Well, no, I don’t suppose it would have mattered to him.” Sydney let out an impatient breath as he grinned at her. It was ridiculous, standing here debating the psychology of a fairy-tale character. “In any case, it ended happily, and though I’ve nothing in common with Cinderella, the figurine’s beautiful. I’ll treasure it.”

“Good. Now, I’ll walk you downstairs. You don’t want to be late for dinner with your mother.”

“She won’t be there until eight-thirty. She’s always late.” Halfway through the door, Sydney stopped. “How did you know I was meeting my mother?”

“She told me, ah, two days ago. We had a drink uptown.”

Sydney turned completely around so that he was standing on one side of the threshold, she on the other. “You had drinks with my mother?” she asked, spacing each word carefully.

“Yes.” Lazily he leaned on the jamb. “Before you try to turn me into an iceberg, understand that I have no sexual interest in Margerite.”

“That’s lovely. Just lovely.” If she hadn’t already put the figurine into her purse, she might have thrown it in his face. “We agreed you’d leave my mother alone.”

“We agreed nothing,” he corrected. “And I don’t bother your mother.” There was little to be gained by telling her that Margerite had called him three times before he’d given in and met her. “It was a friendly drink, and after it was done, I think Margerite understood we are unsuitable for anything but friendship. Particularly,” he said, holding up a finger to block her interruption, “since I am very sexually interested in her daughter.”

That stopped her words cold. She swallowed, struggled for composure and failed. “You are not, all you’re interested in is scoring a few macho points.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Would you like to come back inside so that I can show you exactly what I’m interested in?”

“No.” Before she could stop herself, she’d taken a retreating step. “But I would like you to have the decency not to play games with my mother.”