He pursed his lips. “Past the first blush of youth, to be sure, but you’ve still got a pretty face and a trim figure.”
“Why, thank you.” He missed her subtle sarcasm, as usual, too full of his own self-importance to realize that she was mocking him.
“Your father hoped you might reverse his fortunes my marrying a man with money. Someone who could loan him something for his more pressing debts. But that’s out of the question now, of course.”
Livvy tried to keep the anger from her tone. “I would never have expected any husband of mine to pay for my father’s foolishness. His problems were of his own making.”
“Well, it’s too late now, anyway,” Hubert said brutally. “Arthur’s dead, and the only men who’ll offer for you now will do so out of pity. Or lust.”
He licked his thin lips as he glanced at her chest again, and Livvy’s skin crawled.
“I have no intention of marrying anyone, Uncle. I’ve been supporting myself perfectly well in London for the past two years, and I fully intend to keep doing so in the future.”
Hubert let out a scornful snort. “Ah yes. Your little job at the investigative agency. Being paid to listen to society gossip and run errands for the Duchess of Wansford and her friends. You’re nothing but a glorified messenger.”
Livvy lifted her chin. “That may be, but I’m free to make my own decisions. I’d rather be an errand-girl than married to a man with no regard for me except as someone to run his house and warm his bed.”
Hubert’s lips curved in a cruel smile. “How can you keep doing that job if you’re no longer welcome in society, eh? Your father owed money to half the peerage. Do you think you’ll be invited anywhere now?”
Livvy’s stomach dropped. She’d considered that, of course, but it was still daunting to hear it spoken out loud. Her greatest fear was that her friends would insist on continuing to employ her purely out of pity. She refused to become a burden or the subject of their charity. She wouldearnher wages, in whatever ways necessary. If she had to become a washerwoman, or a maidservant, to get the information they needed, then she’d do it. She wasn’t afraid of hard work.
“King and Co. don’t just get their information from ballrooms, Uncle. I can be just as useful while working as a governess. Or as a companion to an old lady. I’ll go wherever I’m needed for a case.”
“Perhaps you can start working at a brothel,” Hubert sneered. “But remember that your virtue, once lost, is gone forever. As a soiled dove, your only hope would be to catch the eye of a generous patron and become his mistress for a while.”
“You paint a charming picture,” Livvy said coldly.
Hubert sat back in the chair. “I can save you from that fate.”
“Really? How?”
“You need a protector. Someone older and wiser to provide for you. I could do that. If you marry me.”
Livvy quashed an instinctive wave of nausea. At almost seventy, Uncle Hubert was close to three times her age. He’d been widowed before she was born. The thought of spending another hour in his company was unpleasant; the idea of spending a large chunk of herlifewith him was utterly repellent. Even worse, the way he was leering at her suggested he wasn’t even offering a celibate marriage of convenience.
Ugh. Men like him were who she needed protectionfrom.
“The only reason I would ever accept a man’s proposal is because I loved him and knew that he loved me.” Livvy said, rising to her feet. “I have no interest in marriage to you, Uncle.” She emphasized the last word to remind him of the grotesque and inappropriate nature of his suggestion.
Hubert stood too, his wiry frame intimidating, even from across the desk. “You are foolish to spurn my generosity.”
Livvy shrugged. “Perhaps.”
He rounded the desk, but she held her ground, determined not to retreat.
“Do you think you’ll get a better offer?” he drawled. “You won’t. Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘better be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave’?” He raised his hand and stroked one of the curls by her ear and Livvy shrank back in revulsion.
“Don’t touch me.”
He ignored her and leaned closer, backing her up against the desk and her heart began to pound in real alarm.
“Come, now. Don’t be missish.” His cold fingers slid against her chin before he put one arm around her waist and tugged her forward, trying to press a kiss to the side of her neck, her shoulder. “Give me a kiss.”
Livvy gasped in outrage. Men had tried to grope her before, on occasion, at Covent Garden market, or while mingling with the crowds at the theater. A sharp word or a quick elbow to the ribs usually sent them packing. But Hubert seemed horribly determined. His hot breath made her stomach roll as she twisted away and gave him a hard shove with both hands against his chest. He staggered back, just a fraction, and she experienced a moment of relief before his wheeze of amusement fanned across her face.
“I don’t mind a girl with a bit of spirit,” he leered. “But your father gave you too much leeway. I’ll teach you your place, my girl.”
Livvy glared at him, abandoning all pretense of politeness as she reached behind her and grabbed the slim brass letter opener from the desk. It was long and sharp, like a little sword, and she held it up between them with a threatening scowl. “Step aside. I’m warning you.”
