The same silent servant cleared the salads, brought in oversize china plates heavy with sizzling meat and thin, golden slices of grilled potatoes.
Eve waited until they were alone again, then cut into her steak. “When a man accumulates a great deal of money, possessions, and status, he then has a great deal to lose.”
“Now we’re speaking of me—another interesting theory.” He sat there, his eyes interested, yet still amused. “She threatened me with some sort of blackmail and, rather than pay or dismiss her as ridiculous, I killed her. Did I sleep with her first?”
“You tell me,” Eve said evenly.
“It would fit the scenario, considering her choice of profession. There may be a blackout on the press on this particular case, but it takes little deductive power to conclude sex reared its head. I had her, then I shot her . . . if one subscribes to the theory.” He took a bite of steak, chewed, swallowed. “There’s a problem, however.”
“Which is?”
“I have what you might consider an old-fashioned quirk. I dislike brutalizing women, in any form.”
“It’s old-fashioned in that it would be more apt to say you dislike brutalizing people, in any form.”
He moved those elegant shoulders. “As I say, it’s a quirk. I find it distasteful to look at you and watch the candlelight shift over a bruise on your face.”
He surprised her by reaching out, running a finger down the mark, very gently.
“I believe I would have found it even more distasteful to kill Sharon DeBlass.” He dropped his hand and went back to his meal. “Though I have, occasionally, been known to do what is distasteful to me. When necessary. How is your dinner?”
“It’s fine.” The room, the light, the food, was all more than fine. It was like sitting in another world, in another time. “Who the hell are you, Roarke?”
He smiled and topped off their glasses. “You’re the cop. Figure it out.”
She would, she promised herself. By God she would, before it was done. “What other theories do you have about Sharon DeBlass?”
“None to speak of. She liked excitement and risk and didn’t flinch from causing those who loved her embarrassment. Yet she was . . .”
Intrigued, Eve leaned closer. “What? Go ahead, finish.”
“Pitiable,” he said, in a tone that made Eve believe he meant no more and no less that just that. “There was something sad about her under all that bright, bright gloss. Her body was the only thing about herself she respected. So she used it to give pleasure and to cause pain.”
“And did she offer it to you?”
“Naturally, and assumed I’d accept the invitation.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I’ve already explained that. I can elaborate and add that I prefer a different type of bedmate, and that I prefer to make my own moves.”
There was more, but he chose to keep it to himself.
“Would you like more steak, lieutenant?”
She glanced down, saw that she’d all but eaten the pattern off the plate. “No. Thanks.”
“De
ssert?”
She hated to turn it down, but she’d already indulged herself enough. “No. I want to look at your collection.”
“Then we’ll save the coffee and dessert for later.” He rose, offered a hand.
Eve merely frowned at it and pushed back from the table. Amused, Roarke gestured toward the doorway and led her back into the hall, up the curving stairs.
“It’s a lot of house for one guy.”