“Oh, he’s already downstairs,” Anice said heading down the first set of treads. “Coming?”
Lyssa mouth went dry.Oh, dear.“Of course.” On the way down, trailing in Anice’s wake, she picked up the thread of their conversation. “You have a talented seamstress in Appin. This gown is exquisite.”
“Do we?” Anice shook her head. “I must tell her. She will be flattered to have a fine London lady compliment her work.”
There was no warmth in Anice’s voice. She was responding mechanically, as if her mind was preoccupied.
Lyssa’s apprehension grew even stronger as she reached the bottom stair to the entrance hall with its hundred pair or so ofglass eyes unblinkingly watching her. Anice moved into the red room decorated with daggers.
A fire now burned in the hearth. As Lyssa entered, Ramsey rose from one of two deep chairs facing the hearth and turned to welcome Lyssa. He’d changed into a bottle-green jacket, polished boots and buff breeches. He appeared more English than any gentleman she knew in London, and that irony was not lost on her.
Her image about the proud Highland Laird Davidson was apparently a fantasy. She’d prefer the common folk any day.
“You appear somewhat rested, cousin,” Ramsey said congenially. “Would you like a glass of sherry before dinner?” Anice already stood by a side table set up with sherry and the ever present whiskey in glass decanters.
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Lyssa said, aware that there was another man seated in the chair next to the one Ramsey had vacated. She took a step forward, hoping it was Ian—and knowing it wasn’t. Ian would have risen. This man did not move. Because of the high back of the chair, she could not see his face.
On guard now, Lyssa moved back toward the door leading to the great hall, pretending interest in the hunting trophies. “Did you bag all of those, Ramsey?” she asked and then stopped at the door, not going farther because the manservant Birdy and a large, ruddy-faced man—one of the three she’d seen him talking to earlier—had entered the hall from a different direction.
She wondered what her chances were of grabbing a sword off the wall to protect herself, even as Ramsey said cheerily, “You flatter me, coz, but no. Hunting is the family tradition.”
“My mother was never fond of hunting,” Lyssa said, suddenly remembering. In fact, her mother would have nothing to do with it, and looking at the room of lifeless heads, she understood.
She turned, no longer in the mood to play games, especially when she sensed time was running short. “What have you done with Mr. Campion?”
Her directness gave Ramsey a moment’s pause. He recovered. “Very well,” he said as if coming to some conclusion in his mind. “My dear cousin, there is someone I want you to meet.” He turned toward the occupied chair. A lean, balding gentleman unfolded himself from its deep recesses and faced Lyssa. The gentleman had cold, blue eyes and wore black riding gloves.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Harrell,” he said sardonically.
The moment she heard the distinctive voice, her blood ran cold. “Fielder?”
“You have my name and recognize me?” He shook his head. “Amazing. You and Campion were much wilier than I had anticipated.”
Lyssa threw aside all thoughts of her own safety. She took three angry strides into the room. “What have you done with him? Where is Mr. Campion?”
It was Ramsey who answered. “Relax. He’s fine…for now. His fate depends upon your cooperation.”
Slowly, Lyssa turned on her cousin. She should feel fear, but what vibrated through her being was anger. “Do you know this man attempted to kill me?”
Ramsey didn’t stall. “Yes. I also know he has been searching for you, desperate to find you. Of course, I have devised a plan that should serve us all very well. Shall we discuss it over dinner?”
“I’m not eating with him,” Lyssa countered, “so if you have something to say, say it now. What sort of cooperation do you need for me in exchange for Ian’s life?”
“Ian, is it?” Ramsey questioned and his eyes were alive with amusement. “So tell me, are the Irish as good as lovers as they like to claim they are?”
Lyssa ignored the barb. “What do you want me to cooperate with,cousin?”
“Our marriage,” he answered, and toasted the air with his wineglass.
Chapter Fifteen
LYSSA’Sresponse was swift. “You can’t be serious.”
“But I am,” Ramsey answered. “Anice thought of the idea. I need a wife and here you are, an heiress, no less. And one who clearly feels a connection with Amleth Hall. After all, it is in your blood and you have put everyone to considerable trouble to arrive here.”
“But we’re cousins.”
“Secondcousins,” he corrected
