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"Wait over there." Hurst nodded toward the door. "Yes, Your Grace." He tucked the folder under his arm again, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a quill, a jar of ink, and several sheets of folded foolscap. Keeping his gaze on Hurst as if he expected to be stopped at any second from continuing, he slowly bent and placed the writing implements on the small table beside Hurst's glass.

Hurst stared at the man in disbelief. Glancing at his friends, he saw they also appeared astounded by how prepared the courier was.

Clearing his throat, the man explained, "When I was told your destination, I knew I needed to be ready in case you were in a field or forest when I caught up to you. I wanted to make sure you would be able to respond."

He certainly did. Perhaps whatever was written in the letter was more urgent than Hurst first assumed. The man walked over to the door and Hurst retook his seat between his friends.

"After all that," Wyatt remarked, "you must read the message aloud."

"What are you saying?" Hurst huffed a laugh. "Are you telling me to read my personal correspondence to you before I peruse it myself?"

"You must," Rick added to Wyatt's bold statement, and pointedly looked at the quill and ink while stifling a grin. "If you don't, the suspense of it will finish us off. The chap followed you for two days in a sleeting storm to deliver that. By the looks of him you would think someone had fetched him from the Thames."

In truth, Hurst had few, if any, secrets from his two broad-shouldered friends who wore their privilege as well as they wore their clothing, which was damned well. He'd known them since their last year at Eton. All three were restless and reckless, but only Hurst had already learned to manage and harness both impulses. He'd had to. Over the years he'd kept the two from attempting one daring and risky escapade after the other. Until their marriages, of course. That had finally settled them down.

Wyatt and Rick were shrewd enough to know they needed a sensible friend. And Hurst was. Most of the time. He'd had to be sensible when he was growing up. His father never was. But, with his father long passed, Hurst did his best not to think about those days anymore. He rolled his shoulders to ease stiffness from the carriage ride and brushed his blond hair away from his forehead, a long-held habit he'd had no success breaking. Without guilt, he muttered a couple of oaths under his breath, opened the letter, and read aloud, "Dear Your Grace, we haven't spoken in years, but I hope you will remember me."

Hurst glanced down at the signature. His heartbeat thumped up a notch. Yes, he remembered Winston Stowe.

A stitch of concern tightened the back of Hurst's neck as he stared at the page. Marry? That was an incredibly serious matter. Hurst remembered Winston had a sister, but she was still young enough to be in the nursery when Hurst last saw him. Even if she'd been older, girls wouldn't have been allowed to tromp around in the icy snow or boggy woods the way Winston and he had when they were together.

Wyatt casually leaned forward and rested an elbow on his knee. "I don't recognize the name."

"No reason for you to," Hurst answered, his eyes scanning the words again as he tried to assimilate what he was feeling about Winston's unusual request.

"Who is he?" Rick asked.

"A childhood friend who lived on the estate next to where I lived at the time. We were like brothers and often explored the woods, ponds, and marshes together." Hurst recalled fondly the tawny-haired boy with rounded cheeks and a friendly smile. "I don't think I've seen or heard from him in several years."

"More importantly," Wyatt remarked dryly, "did he save your life?"

"Yes. And then he taught me how to swim." Hurst stared at the serious expressions on their faces and realized he didn't want to relive that memory from his past any more than he wanted to think about the years with his father. Bad memories made a person feel bad, and Hurst was at the private lodge to hunt, drink, play cards, and enjoy himself.

He folded the letter and laid it on the table before picking up his drink and downing a hefty swallow.