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Charles chuckled and gave her shoulder an affectionate rub. “You’re a sweetheart for putting up with me, Delia. You must be bored to death.”
“No, I’m not.” She glanced up at his marvelous face, smiled. “I’m just art-stupid.”
“There’s nothing stupid about you.” He bent down, gave her a light kiss.
She wanted to sigh. It was still next to impossible to believe she could be in a place like this, dressed like this, with a gorgeous man on her arm. And it galled, galled to think that she was much more suited to takeout Chinese in McNab’s pitiful apartment.
Well, she was just going to keep going to art shows, operas, and ballets until some of it rubbed off on her, even if it all made her feel as if she was acting in some classy play and didn’t quite have her lines down.
“Ready for supper?”
“I’m always ready
for supper.” That line, she realized, came straight from the heart. Or the gut.
He’d reserved an intimate private room at some swank restaurant with candlelight and flowers. He was always doing something like that, Peabody mused as he pulled out her chair at a pretty table with pink roses and white candles. She let him order for both of them because he’d know just the right thing.
He seemed to know all the right things. And all the right people. She wondered if Eve ever felt so clunky and out of place when she found herself with Roarke in posh surroundings.
She couldn’t imagine her lieutenant ever feeling clunky.
Besides, Roarke loved her. No, the man adored her. Everything had to be different when you were sitting across candlelight with a man who thought you were the most vital woman in the world. The only woman in the world.
“Where have you gone?” Charles asked quietly.
She jerked herself back. “Sorry. I guess there’s a lot on my mind.” She picked up her fork to sample the saucy seafood appetizer. The perfection of it on the tongue nearly had her eyes crossing in ecstasy.
“Your work.” He reached across the table to pat her hand. “I’m glad you were able to take a break from it after all and come out tonight.”
“We didn’t work as late as I thought we would.”
“The Draco matter. Do you want to talk about it?”
It was just one more perfect thing about him. He would ask and listen if she chose to unburden herself. “No, not really. Can’t anyway at this stage. Except to say Dallas is frustrated. So many levels and angles make it slow going.”
“I’m sure it does. Still, she seemed her usual competent self when she spoke to me.”
Peabody’s hand froze as she reached for her wineglass. “She spoke to you? About the case?”
Caught off guard, Charles set his fork down. “She didn’t mention it to you?”
“No. Did you know Draco?”
Charles cursed himself, briefly considered dancing around the truth, then shrugged. He’d never been anything but honest with Peabody and didn’t want that to change. “No, not really. I happened to be with Areena Mansfield the other night when Dallas and Roarke dropped by to speak with her. I was working.”
“Oh.” Charles’s profession didn’t bother Peabody. He did what he did, just as she did what she did. Maybe if they’d been lovers, she’d have a different attitude, but they weren’t.
Damn it.
“Oh.” She said again, because his profession did a lot more than bother her lieutenant. “Shit.”
“Put simply, yeah. It was awkward, but Dallas and I came to terms.”
“What kind of terms?”
“We talked. Delia, I’ve tried not to say too much because it puts you in the middle. I never wanted that.”
“You never put me there,” she said immediately. “Dallas did.”
