Finch: A Forbidden Desires Spin-Off Story

by Piper Scott

  “Lead the way, then,” Hugh said. “It’s quite late.”

  Finch nodded, unsure what else to say, and opened his door to show Hugh his tidy bedroom with its neatly made bed.

  “Hm,” Hugh said. “It seems awfully small.”

  “I’ll just go sleep on the sofa, then.”

  Hugh removed his banyan and threw it haphazardly on the floor. “No, no. We’ll make do. It’ll be like an adventure.” He pulled back the covers on Finch’s side of the bed and lay down.

  “An adventure, yes.” Finch bent to pick up the discarded robe and hung it on a hook on his wall, then turned off the light and made his way by memory to the other side of the bed. He slotted himself between the sheets, laid his head on the pillow, and tried to keep his body still and as close to the edge as possible without falling off entirely.

  “Goodnight, Finch.” Hugh rolled over and squeezed Finch’s shoulder. “See you in the morning.”

  “Yes. Goodnight, sir.”

  There was silence after that, interrupted only when Hugh grunted in his sleep. The heat from his body warmed Finch’s back, and the scent of his cologne worked its way into the air, making Finch’s heart throb. Only two thin layers of cloth separated their bodies. Finch tried not to think about that little fact, but it wouldn’t leave him be. Hugh was there, so close, less than an arm’s length away in Finch’s own bed, yet Finch, bound by duty and inhibited by fear, couldn’t touch him. It was torture, yes, but it was of the sweetest kind imaginable.

  6

  Hugh

  “And so you see,” Hugh said to the pretty omega across from him, gesticulating with his partially eaten breakfast scone, “it really was no fault of yours. The blame rests entirely on me.”

  Astrid nodded mournfully, but didn’t look any happier.

  Hugh supposed he couldn’t blame her. He’d been rude in the extreme. It hadn’t been his intention to injure Astrid—rather the opposite, in fact—but it didn’t excuse the fact that injury had indeed occurred. He hoped that this morning’s talk had helped rather than hurt, but he couldn’t be sure. If only Finch hadn’t left his suite so early. Hugh had woken up in time to hear the door click, and by the time he was up and out of bed, Finch was nowhere to be found. It was a pity. Finch would have known exactly what he should say.

  Well, there was no helping that now. Hugh was on his own, and he was determined to make things right. Since Astrid didn’t look any more cheerful than she had before his apology, he had more work to do.

  “I do very much enjoy your company,” Hugh added with a sweet smile. “You’re a lovely woman, sure to make a dragon very happy someday. I simply regret that dragon couldn’t be me.”

  Astrid lowered her chin, her lashes fanning across her cheeks in a doleful, heartbreaking way. Drat. What else was there to say? He’d issued his apology and affirmed her worth. That should have been enough, shouldn’t it? All of this was so very confusing.

  “Whenever you’re satisfied with your visit, my secretary will arrange for your safe passage home,” Hugh continued. He set his scone down on the fine china plate in front of him. Astrid hadn’t touched her meal. It was a pity, as Cook had gone all out this morning. The scones were fresh and delicious, the clotted cream was a delight, and the jam was heavenly and rich, having been made from fruits grown in the back gardens. It was Finch, Hugh was fairly sure, who’d seen the bowl of halved strawberries added to the meal. He knew very well that they were Hugh’s favorite. What a treasure that man was, seeing to it that he had a small comfort during an otherwise trying time. If he wouldn’t accept a raise, Hugh would have to start slipping gold coins beneath his door.

  When Astrid continued to be silent, Hugh elaborated. “By no means am I asking you to leave. In fact, it would be a sincere pleasure to entertain you for as long as you wish to stay. However, I must make it clear that I will be doing so as your host, and not as your potential mate.”

  “I understand,” Astrid said, then fell silent again.

  Hugh’s heart hurt for her, but he had no idea what else to say. When breakfast was over, he’d seek out Finch, and together they’d make things right.

  Hugh found Finch scrubbing the kitchen floor, which was curious, because every surface in the room was already polished to a shine. He watched for a while from the doorway, then cleared his throat politely, which startled the manservant so much that he struck his head on the underside of the table.

  “Finch!” Hugh said with a gasp, rushing forward to make sure Finch hadn’t been injured.

  Finch winced and rubbed the spot where he’d been struck, and while it was perhaps overly cautious, Hugh channeled some of his magic into him to undo whatever damage had been done. “My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to harm you.”

  Finch, usually professional to the extreme, looked at Hugh with gentle, partially lidded eyes and leaned into his touch. How strange. Hugh had never seen his secretary in such a state, but then again, he’d never channeled magic into him, either. Not that Hugh minded. This soft, vulnerable side of Finch was charming, and Hugh found himself appreciating him in ways he never had before. It was a crime that he’d previously failed to notice Finch’s long, slender legs and his delicate facial features. Without his mask of impartiality to hide behind, Finch really was quite stunning. His lips were modestly plump and glossy, tinted a soft pink that gave Hugh the impression they’d taste sweet, and his eyes—god, his eyes. Two deep, inky pools that held endless secrets Hugh couldn’t help but want to discover.

  Pinpricks worked their way up Hugh’s arms, lifting the fine hairs growing there. Enamored, Hugh gifted Finch with a little more magic. It was unnecessary—excessive, even—but he couldn’t help himself. If it gave him even a few more seconds with this version of Finch, it was worth it.

  Finch leaned closer, eyelids drooping, then, with a start, opened his eyes and took a polite step away from Hugh. “My apologies, sir. I, um… I… well. This is rather embarrassing. It seems I’ve forgotten what we were talking about.”

  “We weren’t talking about anything,” Hugh said softly. He looked at Finch—at how his carefully coiffed black hair had been mussed around the site of impact—and frowned. “I startled you and caused you to bump your head, so I apologized.”

  “Ah.” Finch pinched his lips and looked aside. “I see. No apologies are necessary. You are not at fault. I hit my head due to my own carelessness, not through any fault of yours.”

  “You do seem a bit out of sorts,” Hugh agreed. He stepped forward and smoothed Finch’s hair back into place with a stroke of his hand. “Now a little less so, if by appearance only. Did you sleep poorly last night? When I woke up, you were already gone, so I didn’t have the chance to ask.”

  A dreamy look flickered like shadows through Finch’s eyes before he sucked in a breath and stood with his shoulders back. “I slept well enough, sir. Thank you for asking.”

  “Good. Good.” Hugh returned his hand to his side and gave Finch a small amount of space. It seemed he had no desire to let his guard down, and that was fine. Finch was Finch no matter how he conducted himself. Hugh could respect that. “I, um, well… I was hoping you might be able to help me with the current situation.”

  “What do you mean by ‘situation,’ sir?”

  “I mean the ongoing events with Ms. Forsberg,” Hugh said with a sad flap of his hands. “Finch, I’ve apologized, but it hasn’t helped any. Poor Ms. Forsberg continues to seem awfully out of sorts. You’ve always been good at this sort of thing. What should I do? What should I say? I haven’t the foggiest idea where to begin.”

  “Well, what have you said to her?”

  “I apologized for my behavior last night, and explained that my actions were a reflection of me, not of her. I was polite, but made it clear that while I think she’s an exceptionally lovely woman, she’s not the one for me. I then offered her the chance to stay here as my guest as long as she’d like and told her that travel would be arranged for her once she decides it’s time t
o head home.” Hugh sighed. “Isn’t that enough?”

  The unyielding look on Finch’s face suggested it was not.

  “Finch!” Hugh despaired. “What do I do?”

  “It’s a difficult situation, to be sure, sir.” Finch set the scrub brush he’d been using in the sink and peeled off his rubber gloves, laying them neatly over the sink’s edge. When he was done, he rinsed his hands and dried them thoroughly, then turned to give Hugh his full attention. Only then did he continue. “Unfortunately, without being there in person to hear the words exchanged, I’m of little use to you. In this case, context is everything. While I have a feeling you may be giving poor Ms. Forsberg mixed messages, I can’t conclude that with any semblance of certainty.”

  “Is that all?” Hugh’s expression brightened. “So the message is the problem? Then not all is lost.”

  Finch looked taken aback. “Sir, I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “It’s simple, Finch!” Mood considerably uplifted, Hugh grinned and presented a hand to Finch, who stared at it like it was about to bite him. Hugh didn’t let it deter him. “I may have botched the delivery of my message face to face, but there are other methods of communication that can and will fix this mess. We’ll write Ms. Forsberg a letter—a florid and sincere apology she can cherish for all of time. Will you help me? I need you now more than ever. Without you at my side, I’m sure to fail.”

  Was it a trick of the light, or was that a flicker in Finch’s eyes? “I will, sir.”

  “Excellent.”

  Delighted at the outcome of their conversation, Hugh took Finch’s hand and led him away. There was nothing more to worry about—with a little ink and Finch’s excellent diction, everything would soon be well.

  7

  Finch

  Another balled sheet of paper landed in the bin. Finch exhaled steadily, prepared a fresh sheet, and set pen to paper once more. He’d been informed by Bella that the visiting Opal Disgrace was crying her pretty little eyes out in her room, so drafting an apology should have been his topmost priority, but he kept getting distracted by the dragon perched on the edge of his desk. “Sir,” he said politely when yet another botched sentence forced him to start again.

  “Yes?” Hugh looked quite excited. “Have you finished the note, Finch?”

  Finch shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sir. I’m finding it difficult to concentrate.”

  Hugh sprang up, his expression morphing from pleased to concerned. “Is it your head?”

  Unconsciously, Finch touched the place where he’d been struck. There was no knot swelling and only the barest hint of pain. It must have been enough to make him wince, however, because Hugh stood and came rushing over to his side.

  “It is your head. I knew it!” Hugh laid his hand on Finch’s brow, and before Finch could protest, utter bliss swept through him.

  Finch had never been told in all his years at the cloister that dragon magic could feel so good. He’d been taught it could burn and even kill, were a dragon to be disobeyed, but this was more like sitting by a cheery fire while you sipped a hot cup of tea, snuggled in your favorite chair while draped in a much beloved quilt.

  It made Finch want to bask in his employer and that was entirely unacceptable. He pulled away from Hugh’s touch. “Sir, I do apologize, but this might be easier if you didn’t… ah… hover.”

  Hugh was affronted. “I wasn’t hovering. I was sitting clear across the desk, minding my own business.”

  Finch sighed. “Yes, sir. But do you think you might be able to find something to engage your interest elsewhere?” At the hurt look that immediately formed on Hugh’s face, Finch hastened to add, “You want this to be perfect. Let me do my best for you.”

  “Oh. Right. Of course.” Hugh stood, looking around the study at its dark wood bookcases filled with old books like he’d never properly seen it before. “I’ll just leave you alone, then. I suppose.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Finch again bent his head and went back to writing, trying to think of words that were correct, but could also be believed as Hugh’s own. When he looked up again, Hugh had gone, and while the room was no longer vibrating with his nervous energy, the air now felt flat, like soda with no carbonation.

  Finch finished the apology. He put his pen down and stretched. He was stiff from sitting in one position and he also had a headache. Nevertheless, he’d accomplished his goal. Astrid would have a credible apology and Hugh would not burn any Opal bridges. It was a balancing act, to be sure, but one Finch thought had been achieved.

  Before Finch set off in search of Hugh to inform him that the task was completed, he massaged his temples. Blast this headache. It throbbed behind his forehead and irritated him like nothing else. After he delivered the letter, he’d have to take something for it and have a soak in the tub to relieve the tension it had caused. He—

  A hand touched the crown of his head, and before Finch could startle, he was filled with utter bliss. His headache disappeared, his muscles unkinked, and all was well with the world once more. He sighed in appreciation.

  “Better?” Hugh asked.

  “Much, yes, sir. Thank you.” Trembling on the tip of his tongue was an unspoken, “Can I please have some more?” Dragon magic was exhilarating, flowing through him like warm syrup, coating all his raw nerve endings, relaxing his body, and taking away all discomfort and pain.

  Except in one area.

  Finch was grateful he sat at the desk, his lap and legs hidden from view, because he was now sporting an uncomfortable erection. Hugh’s dragon magic did nothing to ease it and Finch prayed it would subside soon so he might stand up without embarrassment.

  “I was thinking,” Hugh said.

  “Yes, sir?” Finch willed his erection to subside.

  Hugh moved so he was beside Finch rather than behind him. He touched Finch’s chin and tilted it up so that their eyes met. Hugh’s plum-colored eyes shone with excitement. “We should have a ball.”

  Finch had a difficult time following that. “A what?” His pulse was pounding in his throat. Could Hugh feel it as well?

  “A ball. Fancy dress, dancing, that sort of thing. We can bring all the candidates together at one event. It’s ever so much more efficient than meeting them one at a time and hoping for the best.”

  Something constricted hard within Finch’s chest. “Ah… yes, sir. I suppose a ball might do.”

  “I know it’s a lot of work for you and the staff, but we can bring on additional help. When do you think you might have invitations ready to be mailed?”

  “I… er… a few days, sir. Would you like to see your apology?”

  Hugh practically bounced on his toes. “Oh, yes. Thank you, Finch. I’ve got no idea how I’d get anything at all accomplished without you.”

  “Thank you, sir. Your faith means a lot to me.”

  Hugh skated his thumb over Finch’s cheek. “My Finch. How I do rely upon you. Never leave me.”

  Finch was silent. That was a promise he feared he wouldn’t be able to keep. He imagined Hugh and his mate, seeing only each other and their offspring. While they would stay young and beautiful, Finch would grow old and frail until one day, having used his life to see to it that Hugh never suffered from want, he’d die. It was not a fate he thought he could face with equanimity.

  “I do my best to assist you,” Finch told his employer. “But I think it’s an exaggeration to say that you can’t survive without me.”

  Hugh frowned. “Promise me, Finch. Promise you’ll never leave me. My household, I mean. Promise that you’ll always be here for me.”

  Finch blinked up into Hugh’s twilight eyes. When the day came that Hugh did find a mate, would Hugh still feel the same? It was impossible to tell. “I’ll stay as long as you need me,” he finally said.

  “Which is forever. You know that full well.” Hugh swept his thumb over Finch’s cheek one last time, then withdrew his hand. “You are my rock.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Finch handed the
apology over to Hugh. “Here. I would recommend writing it out in your own hand.”

  With a huge smile, Hugh took the letter from Finch. “What a very sensible suggestion, Finch. You are a treasure, you know.”

  Finch grunted. He opened his laptop and began to make arrangements for a ball. There would be a great deal of work to be done, and if he was to have it organized before the end of Hugh’s sanctioned period to produce a clutch, he’d need to start right away. Soon he had several tabs open.

  One of them had nothing to do with the ball, however. The site was called The Attendant Exchange. On it were job listings for skilled Attendants looking for new positions within the dragon community. Finch made note of a few promising entries. There was nothing as good as his current position, unfortunately, but for as long as his future in the estate was uncertain, he would keep looking.

  It never hurt to look.

  8

  Hugh

  Preparing for a ball was no easy task. Nothing could be overlooked. From the floral arrangements to the catering to the date and time, every detail was important. If anything was botched, Hugh would besmirch his good name to every one of his potential mates, and with so much on the line, that absolutely could not be allowed to happen.

  It was a good thing he had Finch on his side. The man truly was perfection personified. Hugh would be hopelessly lost without him.

  “Finch!” Hugh called out one afternoon several weeks after Astrid’s departure as he hurried from the privacy of his study toward the grand staircase. “Finch? Where the devil have you gone?”

  Hugh proverbially flew down the stairs and headed into the sitting room, where he found Francis enjoying a nap on his favorite armchair. Since it was neither time for naps nor enjoyment, he cleared his throat, startling Francis awake. “What?”