“Oh, believe me, I understand that man’s appeal. I’d even toyed with the idea of having a discreet affair with him myself.” The wound to her vanity was raw and throbbing. “A woman’s entitled to a wild fling with a magnificent animal now and again. And his artistic talents and reputation are certainly in his favor. But his background is nothing, less than nothing. Gypsies and farmers and peasants. I have the experience to handle him—had I chosen to. I also have no ties at the moment to make an affair awkward. You, however, are on the verge of making a commitment to Channing. Do you think he’d have you if he ever learned you’d been taking that magnificent brute to bed?”

“That’s enough.” Sydney moved forward to take her mother’s arm. “That’s past enough. For someone who’s so proud of the Hayward lineage, you certainly made no attempt to keep the name yourself. It was always my burden to be a proper Hayward, to do nothing to damage the Hayward name. Well, I’ve been a proper Hayward, and right now I’m working day and night to be certain the Hayward name remains above reproach. But my personal time, and whom I decide to spend that personal time with, is my business.”

Pale with shock, Margerite jerked her hand away. Not once, from the day she’d been born, had Sydney spoken to her in such a manner. “Don’t you dare use that tone with me. Are you so blinded with lust that you’ve forgotten where your loyalties lie?”

“I’ve never forgotten my loyalties,” Sydney tossed back. “And at the moment, this is the most reasonable tone I can summon.” It surprised her as well, this fast, torrid venom, but she couldn’t stop it. “Listen to me, Mother, as far as Channing goes, I have never been on the verge of making a commitment to him, nor do I ever intend to do so. That’s what you intended. And I will never, never, be pressured into making that kind of commitment again. If it would help disabuse Channing of the notion, I’d gladly take out a full-page ad in the Times announcing my relationship with Mikhail. As to that, you know nothing about Mikhail’s family, you know nothing about him, as a man. You never got beyond his looks.”

Margerite’s chin lifted. “And you have?”

“Yes, I have, and he’s a caring, compassionate man. An honest man who knows what he wants out of life and goes after it. You’d understand that, but the difference is he’d never use or hurt anyone to get it. He loves me. And I…” It flashed through her like light, clear, warm and utterly simple. “I love him.”