Trev shrugged. "It's the boy I cared for. And Jem. But the king won't pardon me a second time. Hell's bells, he can't. It would all come out if somebody recognized the duc de Monceaux as the same man as Thibaut LeBlanc while I'm standing in the dock. And even if they didn't, Christ, just think about it—I'm hauled before the bench while my mother's on her deathbed. What an edifying prospect for her last moments."

Jock grunted assent. He crossed his arms, his great muscles f lexing. "This officer you decked knows you's LeBlanc, sir?"

Trev shook his head. "No, thank the Lord. We've a little history of another kind. But he'll be sure to lodge a charge against me and prosecute it all the way. Nothing more certain, with his friend being the justice of the peace. At best I'll be sitting in the gaol till Epiphany if I let them catch me, and fortunate if I don't rot there until the Easter assizes."

A hen clucked from somewhere in the shadows of the single stall. Jock turned his head, alert to any odd noise. But aside from a faint scratching in the straw, there was no more sound.

"Chicken pox!" Trev said, suddenly inspired. "You can tell the duchesse that I've broken out in spots, and the doctor said I must keep a distance until the contagion is past."

The manservant gave a skeptical grunt. "Chicken pox? You don't think she's such a greenhead as that, sir. Up to every rig, Madame is."

"Hmm," Trev said. He scratched his chin with the bandage. "No, you're right. Chicken pox—I think I've had it. I can't remember."

"Yer mama will. They all do."

"You'll think of something. I'd advise spots of some sort. Something that would keep me away for a fortnight or so."

"A fortnight?" Jock lifted his thick brows. "Didn't the doctor say—"

"I know what he said! It's burned between my ears. But I can't stay, Jock. For God's sake, how can I stay?"

They both stood silent. He didn't need to explain more of the consequences to Jock. If he wanted his mother to go to her final rest knowing her only living son was a criminal condemned to hang, all he had to do was get himself arrested. Thibaut LeBlanc had been given a rare royal pardon from his capital conviction for forgery, but it was provisional, based on his obliga tion to leave the country and not return. If LeBlanc broke his exile, the pardon was revoked.

"You'd surely better not get yourself snabbled," Jock said at length. "But it might blow over, eh? If they find out about yer mama being so ill, they might think twice about taking you up for a little disagree ment between gentlemen."

"I can't chance it. I can't stay here openly."