The Deepest Sin Read Free Page A

all too aware that Archer would leave him in the dust if the mood struck him. As an agent to the Crown, the man sitting across from him was highly effective, if entirely uncontrollable. A ridiculously large fortune, coupled with peripatetic leanings, allowed Archer any number of options. He’d been known to disappear for months sailing into uncharted waters in his sloop, The Brigand . As well as appearing out of thin air to rescue agents of the Crown, including his friend Rushford, from the tightest of spots. His was a daredevil’s temperament that had been effectively, if inconsistently, leveraged on Whitehall’s behalf.
    â€œAlso be aware of Giles Lowther, whom we suspect is still lurking about.” Faron’s shadow was known to execute his master’s wishes to the letter and to a fault. “He’s gone to ground since the Frenchman’s alleged death.”
    â€œStrange. An Englishman in league with a French peer.”
    â€œNothing more than a guttersnipe and petty thief, we’re told, saved from the gallows by Faron himself. And eternally grateful as a result.”
    â€œA dangerous combination, unthinking loyalty.”
    â€œIndeed. He was behind most of Faron’s maniacal assignments, the Rosetta stone only one of many.”
    â€œAll very interesting, Spencer, but I don’t recall agreeing to take this on.”
    â€œWe are simply asking you to keep Lady Woolcott well within your sights.”
    Archer asked abruptly, “Why me?”
    Spencer shrugged. “You met at her ward’s marriage to Rushford. So it would not appear suspicious to her or anyone else if you were to seek her company from time to time in the more exotic climes you seem to favor.”
    â€œTo what end?” he asked abruptly, chiding himself for asking when the answer was obvious.
    â€œNo need to be disingenuous, Archer.” Spencer folded his hands on the top of the highly polished desk. “We use Lady Woolcott as the draw. To get to Faron, if he still lives.”
    â€œEven if he gets to Lady Woolcott first,” Archer said, suddenly uncomfortable. He rose from the chair.
    Spencer’s smile was serene. “Precisely.”
    Â 
    Now in the cooling heat of the desert air, Archer watched the retreating figure of Lady Woolcott, her long strides outstripping the pace of her Arab guide. He stared hard, taking in her bright hair and supple figure before he glanced down, realizing that he was still holding the silver flask. He tossed back more of the water, the taste metallic.
    Despite his height and muscled breadth, he had learned to move silently as a shadow. He edged out from behind the low wall to follow the two figures approaching the mounts waiting for them under the sycamore trees to the south of the fortress. Lady Woolcott untied a bonnet from her saddle, along with a leather flagon. Filling a cupped hand with water, she offered both horses a drink, her movements graceful and assured.
    Once again he found it difficult to drag his eyes away. He was getting too old for this. A sudden rush of air announced the flight of a dark raven and broke his focus. The glistening black wings streaked against the sky, but Archer was already searching the horizon, every instinct on the alert. He took the pistol from his belt, the barrel glinting as the sun caught it and danced along its polished surface.
    The Egyptian guide swung up on his mount just as Archer heard the clattering of hooves pounding in the dust.

    Meredith stared wide-eyed at the three robed men looking down at her from horseback. Hawks looking for carrion. Her breath caught in her throat, her lips trying to form Murad’s name. But her guide had disappeared, along with his horse, in a cloud of dust. One of the men urged his mount forward, close enough that she could see the curve of a pistol gripped in his right hand. As long as she held his gaze, he wouldn’t shoot, she thought illogically. He was savoring the