"Old enough to know the difference between being naughty -and downright rude!" retorted Julie.

Rhys shrugged, the movement parting the lapels of the black leather waistcoat he was wearing over a bronze denim shirt. "Would you have me discipline the child, Miss Wood? Don't you think there's enough violence in the world without creating more for ourselves?"

Julie flushed. "It's nothing to do with me what you decide to do."

"No, it's not," he agreed briefly, and she was still smarting under that, in her eyes, unwarranted reproof, when the door opened again to admit a middle-aged woman in a gingham overall, carrying a heavy silver tray.

Rhys moved to take the tray from the woman, but she indicated that she could manage and set it down with evident relief on the end of the table. Now Julie could see that the tray held covered dishes and cereal bowls, toast and coffee cups, and a tall percolator.

"It smells good, Mrs. Evans," remarked her employer, approaching the table as the woman went to get silver cutlery from a drawer in the sideboard. "Oh, and I don't believe you've met my new secretary, have you? Miss Wood, this is Mrs. Evans, she's our cook and housekeeper rolled into one."

Julie said "Good morning" in return to the housekeeper's mumbled greeting, but she had the distinct feeling that Mrs. Evans did not want her here any more than did Nerys Edwards. She wondered why.

Perhaps the housekeeper was a particular crony of Rhys Edwards'

sister-in-law, and took her orders from her. And then another thought struck her. No doubt, this had been Nerys's home, as the wife of the first Marquis of Llantreath, for a great number of years. Yet remembering the neglected state of the hall, and this room's shortcomings, Julie decided that Mrs. Evans' qualifications as a housekeeper were sadly lacking.

Still, the food did smell delicious, and Julie found she was ravenously hungry, surprisingly so after the hostility of the last few minutes. Mrs.

Evans departed after setting two places at the end of the long table, and plugging the percolator into a connection beside the sideboard.

Rhys Edwards waited until the door had closed behind her, then he indicated that Julie should sit down.

"Now, what will you have?" he asked, after she was settled, and he had come to take the chair at the end of the table. "Fruit juice? I see Mrs. Evans has forgotten to bring any, but I'm sure we have orange juice in the refrigerator."

"I'll have some cornflakes," replied Julie stiffly, choosing something that was available, and he handed her a bowl and one of the individual packets standing on the tray.

While she poured out the cornflakes and added milk and sugar, Rhys examined the plates beneath their metal covers. An aroma of bacon and sausages came to Julie's nostrils, and she looked up to find him watching her and not eating himself.

Consequently, colour filled her cheeks again, and he made a deprecating gesture.

"I'm sorry," he said, a half smile tugging at the corners of his thin mouth, "but I'm not accustomed to seeing anyone enjoy their food as you do. William eats sparingly, and Dulcie ... Well, she eats too many of the wrong things between meals to really do justice to her appet.i.te."

If his apology was intended to put Julie at her ease, it succeeded in doing quite the opposite. She felt ridiculously like a schoolgirl, wolfing a midnight feast, and the fact that the sun was shining outside the tall windows made little difference to her embarra.s.sment. There was nothing she could say that would not sound trite, but after that she kept an eye on him, waiting until he started eating himself before continuing with her meal. She noticed he ate very little considering he was such a big man, but did not have the nerve to comment upon it.

When she was drinking her second cup of coffee, he asked her whether she would mind if he lit a cigar. Shaking her head, Julie watched as he lighted a spill from the fire, applying it to the end of the narrow cigar with a steady hand. Then he turned to face her, and she waited for him to speak.

"Are you disappointed?" he asked, disconcerting her.

"Disappointed?" She frowned.

"With Devil's Mount? You must have had some notion of the kind of place it would be."

"Oh, I see." Julie recovered her composure. "Well, I haven't really given it a lot of thought It's-very big."

"And very draughty, and very old," he added dryly. "I am aware, of its shortcomings. But I like it. I was born here, anci I lived here until I was old enough to be sent away to school. After that-well, after that, it was different."

Julie listened with interest. "And-your name is-Edwards?"

His features hardened "I gather the name means something to you.

Thomas thought it might."

"Thomas?" Julie was momentarily confused.

"Henry Thomas. My solicitor. You read the columns of the gutter press, I a.s.sume."

Julie gasped. "I don't know what you mean!"

"But you do know my name."

"You told me it was Llewellyn-"

"I beg your pardon, you a.s.sumed that."

"Well, it was the name William used."

"Agreed."

"But your name is-Edwards?"

"Llewellyn-Edwards, to be exact. Llewellyn was my mother's name."

He sighed, studying the glowing tip of his cigar. "So what do you know of me, Miss Wood? What juicy pieces of gossip have you heard?"

Julie wished she had not started this. "I-I just wanted to know what I'm supposed to call you," she said, with remarkable calmness.

His eyes narrowed, their darkness glittering between the thick lashes.

"You're not about to offer your resignation, then?"

"Why should I?" Julie felt a twinge of anxiety in spite of her brave statement. "I-couldn't help noticing how your- sister-in-law introduced herself last evening, and-and Hag- gar called you Mr.

Edwards."

He was watching her closely, and she wondered whether he entirely believed her. His smile when it appeared was vaguely sardonic, but he shrugged and said: "Very well, Miss Wood, shall we get to work?"

Julie licked her lips. "And-I'm to call you Mr. Edwards?"

A mocking quirk lifted one dark eyebrow. "You may call me Rhys, if you prefer it," he replied wryly, and her colour deepened once more.

"Thank you, Mr. Edwards."

He shook his head as he walked towards the door, and following him, Julie wondered at her own determination to stay here and make a success of this job. It was so different from what she had expected, and after what Mr. Hollister had told her, she ought to be wary of this man. But in spite of her antagonism towards him, their relationship was stimulating, in a way she had hitherto never experienced before.

They crossed the chilly hall and Rhys opened the door into a comparatively small room by Devil's Mount standards, but which was still generous when compared to her mother's sitting room back home. It was obviously the library, the walls lined from floor to ceiling with books, and a narrow gallery reached by an iron ladder gave access to those nearest the top. There was a musty odour of ancient leather and mouldering decay, and not even another of the fires, which seemed necessary everywhere, had been able to dispel the damp atmosphere. Julie couldn't suppress a shiver, and Rhys regarded her frowningly.

"You're cold?"

"Only a little." Julie looked round the room with interest "I've never seen a library like this outside of a stately home."

"And Devil's Mount is no stately home," he commented dryly. "I know. But I intend it to be. Or at least, a-home."

Julie advanced into the room across the beige patterned carpet, halting beside a leather-tooled desk on which reposed a tray of papers and a modern typewriter, which looked slightly incongruous in these surroundings. There was a b.u.t.toned leather armchair, soft and squashy, and totally unsuitable for her tp. work from, a couple of upright dining chairs, and a Victorian chaise-longue beside the fireplace. She looked expectantly towards her employer and he moved from his position by the door to indicate that she should sit down at the desk.

"I prefer to walk about while I'm dictating," he said, one hand moving to support a momentary stretching of his spine.

"Please-sit down. We must discuss the methods I want to employ."

Julie looked doubtfully at the soft b.u.t.toned leather. "I'd rather use one of those," she said, pointing towards the dining chairs. "This is-too low."

"All right" He pushed the leather armchair aside, and set a tapestry-seated chair in its place. "Remind me to acquire an office chair next time I go into Llantreath."

"That's not necessary-" she began awkwardly, but he gave her a wry look.

"I can afford it," he told her, and she was silent.

After she was seated, he came to the desk and pulled open several drawers at the right-hand side. His nearness was disturbing, she found, particularly as she could smell the soap he used and the warm heat of his body.

"Paper," he said, and she tried to concentrate on what he was showing her. "Carbons. Typewriter ribbons. I think that's everything you need.

Oh, and these pads and pencils, of course."

"Yes." It was inadequate, but it was all she could manage right at that moment, and he nodded.

"You needn't bother trying to open the drawers at the other side," he went on. "They're locked, and their contents need not concern you."

Julie was stung to impulsive defence. "I was not about to pry, Mr.

Edwards."

"I'm sure you weren't." He straightened to look down into her indignant face, and she averted her eyes from his compelling gaze.

"Now-so far as working methods are concerned, I suggest I dictate in the morning, you transcribe what I've dictated in the afternoon, and then I can read the typescript in the evening and decide whether any alterations need to be made." He paused, and when she said nothing, added: "Does that sound reasonable to you?"

Julie nodded.

"Is there anything you want to ask, Miss Wood?"

"No." She glanced up at him then. "What could there be?"

"Indeed." He moved away towards the marble- fireplace, throwing the stub of his cigar into the flames. "What indeed?"

Julie sighed. "There is one thing..

"Yes." He turned to face her, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of moccasin-leather pants.

"It's-William, actually. Would you mind if I had my lunch with him?"

He frowned then. "You've-spoken to William this morning?"

Julie felt uncomfortable under that accusing stare. "Yes. Oh, yes. But, please, don't be angry with him. He came to my room. He wanted to welcome me to Devil's Mount, and-and you stopped him last night"

Rhys's expression was not encouraging. "In spite of what you may have heard to the contrary, Miss Wood, you are not here to be a companion to my son."

"I never thought I was-"

"I suggest you think twice before committing yourself to a situation that could very easily get out of hand.'

"What do you mean?"

"You've seen William. You know what he's like-what he's capable of. Aren't you afraid he may demand more of your time than you will ultimately be prepared to give?"

Jylie moved her shoulders in a defensive gesture. "He's lonely, that's all," she said. Then, looking at him squarely: "How much time do you give to your son, Mr. Edwards?"

As soon as the words were uttered, she wished she could withdraw them. Did she went to be dismissed from this post before she had even begun? What business was it of hers how the members of this family conducted their affairs?

His eyes could have challenged agate for hardness, and she found it increasingly difficult to sustain their penetration. He seemed to be staring into her very soul, stripping away her shallow defences, making her aware of her own hopeless inadequacy. Who was she to dare to criticize him, to take him to task for his own shortcomings when she really knew so little of his background-his wants, his needs, his loyalties? But someone had to stand up for William, she justified herself silently, aware that just now she would have traded that right for a minute's s.p.a.ce to breathe without constriction.

However, when he spoke, his tone was quiet, if no less compelling. "I see my son has found himself a champion at last," he said, withdrawing his hands from his pockets and flexing them by his sides. "What possible power has he exerted over you that you should feel such protection for him? Believe me, William is no shorn lamb.'

Julie shook her head. "When-when children are difficult-"

"You're little more than a child yourself, Miss Wood!"

"-there's usually a reason behind it. I don't think William is a very-happy child," she finished rather breathlessly.

"Don't you?" There was impatience in his tone.

"No." She had to go on now she had started. "You say he's been thrown out of three schools. Haven't you ever asked yourself why?"

"Spare me the psychoa.n.a.lysis, Miss Wood!" he retorted shortly.

"Right now, you are beginning to sound like more trouble than William has ever done."

Julie was dismayed. "You-you asked me if there was anything I wanted to say," she exclaimed indignantly.

"No. I said-was there anything you wanted to ask," he corrected her harshly. "As I keep having to remind you, Miss Wood, you are not here for William's benefit, nor particularly for mine! However, if you prefer governessing to being mysecretary, then I suggest you answer different advertis.e.m.e.nts in future!"

Julie felt foolish. "I'm sorry," she muttered with ill grace.

"No, you're not You're just paying lip service." He approached the desk and for a moment she wondered what he was going to do and tensed because of it. But he merely lifted the metal tray containing the loose papers and said quietly: "I suggest we deal with a few of these first"

Julie reached for her pad and pencil. It was obvious that so far as he was concerned their conversation was at an end. She chewed irritably on the end of her pencil. So much for her intervention on William's behalf. If anything, she had made the situation even more fraught than it had been before. And he still hadn't given her permission to have lunch with his son.