“It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Cousin,” Lyssa said politely.
Anice smiled and opened the door. “Please come in.” She entered, expecting them to follow.
Inside, the house was not anything like Lyssa had anticipated. In her imagination, she pictured an old, established mansion with ancient furniture that had survived the generations.
There was no furniture in the front hall or a place to put it, since the room was completely taken over by hunting trophies. The heads of stags, red deer, whitetail, and even what appeared to be a reindeer covered every available inch of wall space. Stuffed grouse, quail, and pheasants lined the floor around the walls. The showpiece was a wildcat posed to be fighting a badger in an alcove by the stairs of what had been designed to be a stately room.
Lyssa was all too conscious of so many lifeless eyes staring down upon them. Attempting to defuse her unease, she commented, “Someone is quite a hunter.”
Anice smiled. “All Davidson men are hunters.”
Nodding her head in acknowledgement, Lyssa caught a glimpse of the next room. The red walls there were covered with swords and dirks. She was aware that Ian stood by the closed front door, his arms crossed. She knew he was no more comfortable than she was.
Footsteps came from a side hall off to the right and a portly manservant entered the room. He had a bald pate with a tuft of hair over each ear and a bulbous nose that commanded his face. “Och, Miss Davidson, I dinna hear you return.” His accent was so thick, Lyssa could barely understand him.
“Birdy, please tell Ramsey we have visitors, and perhaps Cook will prepare a tray for our guests? They have traveled quite a distance.”
The servant eyed both Lysse and Ian in a bold manner that Lyssa didn’t find appropriate. She stared right back. Birdy’s gazedropped. “Aye, ma’am,” he said, bowing and leaving the room by way of the hall.
“Shall we go into the sitting room?” Anice asked and led them into the weapon room without waiting for a response.
Lyssa glanced toward Ian. A muscle worked in his jaw and she could tell he was on guard. She didn’t feel comfortable herself. The air in the house was as cool as the mossy dampness of a stream bank. She wondered if the windows had ever been opened to let in a fresh breeze. The whole atmosphere gave her goose bumps.
Anice sat on one of two grand leather settees facing each other in the middle of the room. There also were two large, high-backed leather-upholstered chairs positioned in front of the marble fireplace, their backs to the rest of the room. Anice motioned for Lyssa to sit on the settee opposite her, before looking up at Ian expectantly. “You have not introduced your companion, coz.”
The familiarity of the name “coz” struck a jarring note with Lyssa. “This is Mr. Ian Campion of London,” she said quietly. “He is—” She hesitated. How should she introduce him so as to not create the wrong impression with these new relatives?
“Her bodyguard,” Ian interjected smoothly.
“A bodyguard?” Anice gave him a speculating glance. “I am certain you have been in good hands with such a brawny man to protect you,” she purred with a slyness that would have served the Widow Potter well.
“He has seen me safe,” Lyssa confirmed stiffly.
“Would you care to sit, Mr. Campion?” Anice asked, patting the place on the settee beside her.
“I’m content here,” he replied dutifully, having taken a post by the entry between the weapon room and the front hall. Lyssa noted he was using his brogue and she didn’t know why.
Anice’s gaze slid to meet hers. “He’s Irish.”
“Yes. From Dublin.”
Her cousin’s gaze turned lazily knowing. “I’ve always liked the Irish.”
Lyssa released her breath slowly, caught by her cousin’s open sensuality. Ian didn’t move, not even a muscle, and Anice’s smile grew larger.
Fortunately, Lyssa was saved from making any reply by the appearance of her cousin, Ramsey Davidson.
He was of average stature with a lean, hungry face and slashing eyebrows. Whereas she and Anice were fair of skin and hair, he was the opposite. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes…and a dark smile.
“Cousin,” he said holding out his hand in greeting. Lyssa stood and offered her own. He gallantly kissed the back of it. “Welcome to Amleth Hall.”
“I appreciate your welcome, sir,” she murmured.
“Sir?” He laughed. “We are cousins. I’m your second cousin. My father was Osgood Davidson, your mother’s uncle.”
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said dutifully.
Ramsey glanced round at Ian. “He is her bodyguard,” Anice supplied. “Mr. Campion is Irish.”
