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a retreat while we are able.’ He pressed a second pistol into her hand. ‘I doubt this will be necessary now that I have frightened them. But it is better to be over-prepared.’
    He pushed her husband back against the wall for a moment, and then slung the limp body over his shoulder, staggering towards the door to the street.
    Emily held the pistol in front of her, hoping that she did not look as frightened by it as she felt. But it appeared to be effective. The man who’d hit Adrianhad been preparing to strike again. At the sight of the gun he took a large step back, his anger dissolving into submission.
    Hendricks lurched through the door and towards the waiting coach. When he saw them, the coachman rushed forwards to help his unconscious master up and into the carriage.
    As they set off, poor Adrian remained slumped against the squabs, rendered insensible by the combination of violence and gin. It was not until they were nearly back to his rooms that he surged suddenly back to consciousness, throwing a hand out as though searching the air in front of him. ‘Hendricks?’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘There was a woman in the tavern with me. I was trying to help her.’
    ‘She is safe, sir.’
    He relaxed back into the seat, with a sigh of relief and a grimace of pain. ‘Very good.’
    Once they arrived at the flat, she followed behind as the men helped him up the stairs. She noted the looks of alarm on the faces of his servants as they saw her appear from behind him. Clearly, the jig was up and they expected punishment from her for concealing the state of things, or from Adrian for revealing them.
    As she passed them, she shot them glares that would warn them to silence.
    Hendricks gave her a helpless shrug, opening the bedroom door and putting his arm around theshoulders of his employer. ‘The valet will help him from here, mmm—ma’am.’ He struggled a moment to choose an honourific, as though remembering that he apparently did not know the name of the woman who had come home with them. ‘I will find someone to see you home.’
    When she was sure that her husband would see the shadow of her head, she nodded in approval. Then she backed from the room and shut the door.
    ‘Hendricks,’ she kept her voice low, so that it would not carry to the bedroom, but used a tone of command that had served her well when dealing with employees who thought, even for a moment, that they owed more loyalty to her husband than to the woman standing in front of them.
    ‘My lady.’ She saw his spine stiffen instantly to full obedience.
    She glared at him. ‘You did not tell me.’
    ‘That he was blind? I thought you knew.’
    She was his wife. She should have known that about him, if nothing else. But what was one more regret on a very long list? But now, Hendricks mocked her ignorance.
    Then, as a sop to her feelings, he said, ‘The servants are not allowed to discuss Lord Folbroke’s indisposition. He pretends it does not matter. Often it does not. But he acts as if the careless things he does pose no greater risk to him. He is very wrong.’
    She had to agree, for it was quite obviously true.
    ‘Between the drink, and the loss of vision, he did not know me.’
    ‘Yes, my lady.’ Hendricks did not seem surprised. But she felt some gratification to see that he looked ashamed of his part in the state of things.
    ‘It will save us both embarrassment if that is the way this night remains. You will inform the servants that, no matter what they might think they have seen, he was brought home by a stranger. Is that clear?’
    ‘Yes, Lady Folbroke.’
    ‘When I have had time to think on this, I will have some words with him. But it must wait until my husband’s mind has cleared itself of blue ruin.’
    The secretary’s reserve broke. ‘While I have no doubt that you will achieve the first half of the statement, the last may be beyond all of our control.’ Then, as though he could mitigate the forwardness of the statement, he