Today's Reading
CHAPTER ONE
MAN'S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO APPREHENDING A THIEF
SIR BENTLY ASHTON ULLINGSWICK
Never refuse sincere help.
Following two cold and dreary days of an interminable carriage ride, all Drake Cheston Kingsley, Duke of Hurstbourne, wanted was to sit by a blazing fire with a brandy to take the chill off his bones. He always looked forward to a stay at the private hunting club with his two friends. Though he seldom spent time with them anymore.
Fortunately, for them, he thought as he took in the other two dukes sitting with him in front of the fire, each swore he'd found the love of his life, and they were usually reluctant to be away from home for more than a few days. Hurst understood. Somewhat.
He didn't begrudge them their happiness, but he, still a bachelor, missed the days when pleasure was wilder and more plentiful. Marriage had reined in those carefree days, given the men's responsibilities both as dukes and husbands. Rick and Wyatt now seemed to talk more about what it had been like to settle down. Regardless, he was looking forward to their time together.
However, this night, a disturbance to his much-anticipated week began before he'd taken his second sip of brandy.
The butler of the establishment approached the trio saying a messenger had arrived and would speak to no one other than Hurst. Strange since he didn't know a soul who lived anywhere near the club. Curiosity caused Hurst to give a brief nod for the butler to show the man into the richly paneled drawing room of the lodge.
"We haven't been here long enough for our boots to warm," Rick complained, not trying to hide his annoyance at the interruption.
"True, but I am interested in whatever missive the courier has for me."
"Perhaps we could have finished our first drink before you agreed to see the man," Rick scoffed before taking a sip of his brandy.
Wyatt lifted his glass in salute to the grudging comment.
They were all fatigued from traveling the entire way in bad weather, so Hurst ignored his friends' quarrelsome remarks as he caught sight of a young, clean-shaven man walking toward the trio clutching a leather packet to his chest as if he guarded the king's crown.
"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, may I approach?" His question ended with an audible gulp. "I have a letter and was told to give it to no one but the Duke of Hurstbourne."
Shaking off his road weariness and irritation at the intrusion, Hurst placed his drink on the table by his chair, rose, and stood with his back to the crackling fire. "How the devil did you find me?"
"It wasn't easy, Your Grace."
"I would hope not." The reason for choosing such an exclusive place to hunt, and paying handsomely for it, was to make sure no other guests would be allowed for the week. The dukes didn't want to be bothered by anyone seeking their attention.
Wary, the messenger seemed to consider his next words carefully before saying, "I offer apologies, Your Grace. I expended great effort to catch up to your carriage before you arrived but failed."
"When a man is on a hunt, he isn't usually the one being hunted," Rick mumbled.
Wyatt smiled into his brandy.
"Your butler reluctantly agreed to tell me your destination when I insisted what I had was urgent."
Hurst motioned for the man to come closer. "Give it here then."
After fumbling with the leather strips binding the closed packet, the young man finally produced a letter in his trembling hand. "I-I was told to wait for your reply and return with it immediately."
Hurst's curiosity increased along with a sudden sting of tension. A quick glance assured him the seal wasn't one he recognized, so it couldn't be from anyone in his family, his solicitors, or managers. What could be the reason for such haste to find him? He broke the wax but didn't unfold the letter when he noticed the courier continued to stand stiff-necked before him.
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