Chapter 10: Cedar Hill

Cedar Hill sat at the end of a mile of oak trees, behind an iron gate with a gold T on it.

We reached it at dawn with the car muddy to the windows.

Christian leaned on the buzzer until a voice said, "Madam isn't receiving."

"This is her son," he said. "Open the gate or I'll drive through it."

There was a long hum of static.

Then the gate shuddered and swung open.

He parked on the gravel, got out, and came around to my door.

"You don't have to come in," he said.

"There's a court order that says I shouldn't," I said.

His mouth twitched.

"Then I'll argue it to the judge," he said, and offered his hand.

I took it.

The housekeeper let us into a front hall.

Black and white tiles ran under a staircase wide enough for a wedding.

Constance stood at the top of it in a gray robe, with her hand on the banister.

"Christian," she said. "You've brought that woman into my house."

"Where is my daughter?"

"Asleep, and safe, and not for you to wake."

"Mother."

"You are not thinking clearly. You were with her, weren't you? Under my own roof, in my own pool house."

"You are being used."

"Used for what?" I asked.

She looked down the long marble staircase at me.

"For a name," she said. "And a house, and a Thorsby child."

"I raised her for seven months," I said. "You took the rest."

Her face did not change.

"Giselle has gone to her lawyer," she said. "I could call the sheriff before you reach the second floor. The order says five hundred feet."

"Then call him," Christian said. "Tell him I broke it too."

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