London was dark and cold as Gregory hurried to Evie’s. He hadn’t wanted to wait for his horse to be saddled or his gig to be hitched. Her note had been short but terrifying: Ash was gone.

Gregory hadn’t even bothered with a cravat or a waistcoat, and he’d run a good measure of the distance, heating his body so that he wasn’t chilled in the slightest. Except internally, where fear for Ash kept his veins the temperature of ice.

The door to her house was answered almost as quickly as he’d knocked. A young woman with a blonde braid from which many strands of hair had escaped greeted him. “They’re in the garden.”

Gregory followed her to the back of the terrace, where the door to the garden stood open. Lanterns illuminated the darkness, making it easy for Gregory to spot Evie. She rushed toward him, a dark cloak billowing about her legs.

“Someone left the gate open. Just the barest amount. I didn’t notice it.” She looked pale and frightened. “I brought Ash out so he could relieve himself.”

“He got out through the gate?”

She nodded as a shiver rolled through her. “I confess I closed my eyes briefly. He seemed to be taking a long time. When I went to see what he was doing, I couldn’t find him. We’ve searched the garden thoroughly. Thrice. Foster has gone out through the gate to look.”

Gregory gently clasped her upper arms and looked into her worried eyes. “We’ll find him.”

Clapping a hand over her mouth as tears pooled in her eyes, Evie nodded. Gregory resisted the urge to pull her into his arms—both because he doubted she wanted that, and because he needed to find Ash.

He looked to the young woman, certainly one of Evie’s household, who’d let him in and inclined his head toward Evie. The servant moved to stand with Evie, and Gregory asked if there was a spare lantern.

“Here, my lord,” another young woman said, coming toward him with her lantern.

Gregory thanked her and strode toward the gate, which opened into a narrow alley that ran behind the row of terrace houses. Glancing up and down the alley, he saw a light toward St. James’s. That must be Foster. With long strides, he walked quickly to catch up to the butler.

“Foster, what say you?”

The man turned, his hat pulled low on his brow. “I’ve been looking for open gates in case the dog ran into another garden, but so far, they’ve all been shut tight. I mean to keep going to the end.”

“What about the other direction?”

“Haven’t been that way yet.”