She was a little famous. And attractive. She wasdesirable.
That felt kind of nice, actually.
Really nice.
“Yes, I can see how much you loathe the attention,” Moriarty observed dryly from beside her.
She wondered how much of that was Moriarty and how much of that was Vile. She shrugged. “It also comes with a certain kind of freedom that I enjoy that is worth the annoyance of being spoken of and speculated over. Will there be an article in tomorrow’s paper questioning whether or not you and I are now some manner of ‘item’ after our dinner? Yes, perhaps. But am I also able to auditlectures because I wish to further my own intellectual pursuits freely due to my particular standing? Also yes. I would say that is worth it.”
All right, getting into character was kind of fun, she had to admit it.
“What recourse?” Moriarty huffed. “All are welcome to audit lectures.”
“Please, Professor.” It was her turn to look indignant. “Do you think a man who works the steel mills would let his wife and mother of his three children come spend an afternoon listening to you speak? Do you think she wouldn’t sport a black eye for a week for simply suggesting the idea ofbettering herselfto him?”
He paused. Then bowed his head. “You make a fair point.”
Good. He wasn’t arrogant. Well, not entirely. Not arrogant enough that he wouldn’t listen to her. “Where shall we go?”
“I believe I know somewhere private enough to avoid…too much public attention for either of us.” The way his words dropped low at the end made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. And not in an entirely unpleasant way.
What theactual fuckwas wrong with her?
She was talking to Moriarty.TheMoriarty. And she was Irene Adler. It was tempting to sink into the fantasy of it all. But she had to remember what was really at stake.
Holding her clutch, she kept her head high as she walked from the college halls and outside. The sun was just starting to set, and the lamplighters were out—real lamplighters!
It was hard not to smile in excitement, watching the horse-drawn carriages clomp down the sidewalk, the wheels clattering over the cobblestones. London looked fairly similar architecturally, to when she had visited as a college kid. But everything around the buildings was different. The streets, the sidewalks, the railings, the people.
It was beautiful. Absolutelybeautiful.She knew the rest of England wasn’t so lucky, she’d read her fair share on the Industrial Revolution. She knew the price that the rest of society was paying forthe upper class to have their cake and to be able to eat it off clean, non-coal-soot-covered plates and silverware.
But damn it if it still wasn’t amazing to be able to see and experience.
They walked in silence for a stretch as they passed through the crowds of the campus to an area of the road that had fewer people on it.
“I should have asked if you preferred to take a carriage.” Moriarty let out a quiet grunt, the kind of sound a person makes when they suddenly remember they left the stove on. “I do not often walk with women, forgive me.”
“I would have spoken up if it was a problem, I am enjoying the walk. And I should have asked if your wife would be upset to hear of you dining with another woman.” She knew Moriarty wasn’t married—at least, not in the fiction she’d read. But this was a new story, with new wildcards. She’d apparently made up a murderous generator-crocodile. Who knew what she’d already done here?
And her feet might be angry with her later, what with the shitty shoes she was wearing—but whatever. She was enjoying the scenery.
Moriarty was quiet for a beat. “I have no time for relationships.”
Glancing at him, his expression was empty of anything at all. It wasn’t even cold, it was just…blank. When they had been in Neverland, Vile had always been split halfway with Hook—always in the driver's seat. But as Moriarty? She would never have guessed it was him in there, if she hadn’t known better.
It made her very tempted to poke the beehive. “I have an uncle who says the same thing.” She smiled, a bit wryly. “He lives with a likeminded man. I am glad they found a way to split the rent. I wonder, Professor, about your connections to a Mr. Sherlock Holmes—another man with a very busy schedule…you two are acquainted, if I’m not mistaken?”
Moriarty—who had dark eyes like the clouds of a storm just before rain breaks—flicked his gaze to hers from the sidewalk in front of her. And for just the briefest moment, he smiled back.
Not as the Professor.
But as theMastermind.
There he was.
There wasMoriarty.
“If you can call someone who comes to question you regarding what seems to be every crime in London an acquaintance, yes, I suppose we are.” There was a new life in his expression. There was engagement. It was as though he was seeing her for the first time. “And what do you know of Mr. Holmes?”
