COLIN LEANED LOW over the saddle, his hands clenched on the reins, the paper crumpled in one fist. It wasn’t possible to read it while Ebony’s pounding hooves ate up the miles of rutted road, but Ford’s scribbled words were burned into his brain. Amy is missing. Come immediately. His heart had been hammering since he’d set eyes on the cryptic note. He’d wasted no time setting out for London, his fevered imagination conjuring up scenes featuring every possibility, ranging from Amy deciding to leave on her own, to Amy lying dead in a ditch, a pistol wound in her chest.
