by Piper Scott
“What do you mean by that, sir? That I’ll be fine?” Finch peered into his eyes like he might a small child he suspected was lying. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps,” Hugh said, and smiled. “I’ve arranged for you to take some time off on the morning of the ball. I’ve planned something—a surprise—and I’ve dropped everything to make sure it happens. Are you willing to hold up your end of the bargain?”
“The bargain?”
“Mmhm.” Hugh hummed. “I believe the deal was if I dropped everything, you’d owe me a conversation. I’ll have you know I had Geoff look over the terms and nowhere did it state where the conversation had to take place, so I’ve taken a few liberties. I hope you don’t mind.”
Finch looked too startled to be put upon. “You planned a surprise for me?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve arranged with the staff so that I needn’t worry about the state of the household?”
“Correct.” Hugh held out his hand. To his deep gratification, Finch took it. “You’ve worked tirelessly to make sure my ball will be the event of the century, and now it’s my turn to work just as hard to show you how much I appreciate your efforts. Say yes, Finch. Let me spoil you. I know you’re busy, but I promise you won’t regret it.”
To Hugh’s great delight, Finch smiled and agreed.
19
Finch
Finch was beginning to worry about his employer. He’d been acting much more eccentric than usual. His attention span, which had never been his strong suit, had become nonexistent, and he often stared off into the distance and sighed, which was odd in and of itself, but he also sighed whenever he looked at Finch. Most troubling of all, Hugh was losing track of his hoard. It was dribbling all over the house in an alarming fashion, particularly in places Finch tended to frequent. For example, just this morning Finch had woken up to find seven Roman coins, two doubloons, three Krugerrand, and over a dozen gold guineas in his bed.
As he did every morning, Finch gathered the coins and put them into the lovely casket Hugh had gifted him. He’d tried to give the coins back several times, but Hugh wouldn’t hear of it. That had been a shock. A dragon never turned down wealth of any sort, and especially didn’t refuse the return of part of his hoard. Finch had warned Hugh to be more careful with his treasure, but it’d done no good. Finch’s casket was now close to overflowing, and there was no end to the madness in sight. It worried him enough that, after dressing, he begrudgingly decided to call Everard.
The phone rang, then Everard answered. “Well, if it isn’t my brother’s beloved typewriter. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Finch made himself count to ten. Everard could be so provoking at times. “This is Finch, Hugh’s secretary. I’m calling because of your brother. I’m worried about him.”
“Are you indeed? How intriguing. May I ask what’s he up to that worries you? Is he ill in some way? What are his symptoms?” There was concern in Everard’s voice, although Finch had reason to suspect it was feigned. He was likely much more interested in being able to stick his nose where it didn’t belong.
“He’s himself, I suppose, but more so, if that makes any sense. That wouldn’t normally be a problem, but he’s losing track of his hoard.”
Everard was silent for a few seconds, which was quite unusual for him. “Losing his hoard how, precisely?”
“Bits of it are turning up where they shouldn’t be. Mostly coins, but some trinkets and jewelry as well. Just yesterday I found eighteen gold coins of varying types in my office, an ingot on my night table, and a handful of diamonds in my pocket when I undressed to go to bed. Just now, upon waking, I discovered two dozen more coins scattered across my bed.”
“Like rose petals?”
Finch was taken aback. “I beg your pardon.”
“Never mind,” Everard said. “I recall you’re an omega. When is your next heat?”
A blush spread from Finch’s hairline all the way down to his chest. “I’m not sure how that’s any of your business.”
Everard clucked his tongue. “You called me asking for advice. Before I can assist, I need to know all the current variables. Your heat?”
Finch huffed. “It’s a little more than a week away, but I’m always extremely cautious. I take dampeners and arrange to work from my suite until it’s passed. Your brother has always been extremely courteous of my indisposition.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure. Hm.” Everard paused again, hopefully because he was thinking up a solution to Hugh’s erratic behavior. “Well, it’s my professional opinion as a celebrated medical doctor that my brother is unwittingly courting you. I believe it’s all relatively harmless. For now, continue to humor him. If the situation escalates, I’ll step in and assess his psychiatric health. Father always was concerned poor Hugh would snap one of these days, so I suppose this shouldn’t come as a shock.”
“Escalates how, sir?”
“Oh, you know.” Finch pictured Everard waving a hand in the air. “If he starts smoking at the nostrils when you’re near, or insisting that you’re treasure, or shows off his dragon to you in private.”
Oh.
The corner of Finch’s lip twitched, but he decided before opening his mouth that it was better Everard not know. The ball was tomorrow, and when it arrived, Hugh would lose interest in him quickly enough. Dragging his family into this would make things messy, and Finch abhorred the idea of having to clean it all up.
“And do try to avoid being with him in private,” Everard added. “While I’m of the firm belief that Hugh is too much of a gentleman to lay his scaly mitts on you, I could be wrong. Perhaps you should start to carry a mace.”
“A can of mace, sir?”
“No. A mace. Or a baton, if a mace is too unwieldy. Anything should do as long as it can deliver a nice, heavy blow. I’ll leave the choice of the bludgeon up to you.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll look into it, and I’ll be sure to let you know should matters escalate.”
“Excellent. Well, take care, inkpot. I’ll be there posthaste should you need me.”
After saying the necessary goodbyes, Finch ended the call and tucked the phone into his pocket. A part of him had known that Hugh was courting him, but it’d been silenced by the much larger part of him that was in denial. When he’d first come to Hugh Drake’s estate, he’d overcome his emotions by telling himself that Hugh would never want a man like him. It had helped to keep him sane when his heart had cried out for its dragon. Now that he didn’t have that excuse, old pain dredged its way to the surface. It was a cruel world when two people who desired each other could never make it work. But all Finch could offer Hugh was disappointment and heartbreak. He would rather stand by and comfort Hugh when another Disgrace failed to give him what he wanted than be the one Hugh chose to mate with to no result. Or worse, to conceive and bring shame to the Drake name by bearing Hugh a Disgrace.
The thought chilled Finch, and to stop himself from lingering on it, he fed the girls their breakfast and doted on them in all the ways he’d never been doted on as a child. No matter how badly he wanted Hugh, he would not succumb to his advances. Finch had already shamed a Drake once by virtue of his birth. He would not do so again.
The day of the ball arrived, and on it, Finch woke up swimming in pearls. Some loose, some strung, some set in precious metal and accented with other gemstones. Scooping them all up without losing any had put him more behind than usual for his morning routine, which was particularly distressing, since Hugh had requested his presence for the surprise. Whatever it was. To be honest, the stress of not being available to oversee preparations was eating at him, but telling sweet Hugh that he was too preoccupied to spend time with him was an impossibility. He’d simply have to hope that the event planner had everything under control.
Pearls collected and safely stowed, Finch went to give his girls some attention. To his astonishment, he discovered their ceramic food bowl had been replaced with someth
ing that looked like it was hammered from gold. In addition, two new hammocks that had been spun with gold thread were strung up in the cage. Elizabeth was in one of them. She gravely accepted the small chunk of strawberry he handed her and stayed put. Eleanor, on the other hand, grabbed her fruit, dropped it, then came back for more. He fished out the fruit from where she’d dropped it and presented it to her again. This time she started to eat it, thinking she’d gotten two pieces of fruit off him rather than one.
“Greedy little girl,” he said, stroking her head and ears with one finger. “What will I do with you?”
A knock sounded on his door. “Are you decent?” Hugh called out.
“Come in, sir.” Finch was not yet dressed for the ball, but he was presentable in his jeans and an old t-shirt.
“Good morning,” Hugh said cheerily as he came into the suite and closed the door behind him. “Are you ready for today?”
“I suppose so, sir. Do I need to change my attire before we leave? You didn’t give me a dress code.”
Hugh waved a hand. “No, no. You’re fine as you are. Shall we go?” He held out his arm.
Finch stared at it for several long moments. Hugh’s expression started to dim, so Finch closed the cage and took his arm. Hugh beamed at him and Finch couldn’t help but smile back. “Let’s go, sir.”
20
Finch
George met them at the door. He said nothing, but when Hugh wasn’t looking, he smirked at Finch.
“You know this isn’t my doing,” Finch hissed sotto voce to the chauffeur.
“Of course it isn’t. We all know that. Well, except for Emma, but you know how she is,” George said, then he winked at Finch.
Actually winked.
Perhaps everyone in the household was running mad.
Finch bristled and was seconds away from reminding George that they were professionals on the job when Hugh swung around and beamed at Finch like nothing else in his world existed. Finch, enamored, forgot why he’d been so angry and hurried to catch up to Hugh while George snickered behind him all the way to the car.
Once settled in the back seat, Finch asked, “Well, sir, are you going to tell me our destination, or must I wait until we arrive?”
“Destinations,” Hugh corrected. “And I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you our first stop. It’s Lorenzo’s.”
Finch was relieved. “Oh, good, sir. I was very worried about the state of your hair.”
“I know you were,” Hugh said with a soft smile that made parts of Finch feel things they had absolutely no business feeling. It wasn’t helping that Hugh had put a hand on his knee, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, bring himself to tell Hugh to move it.
Once at Lorenzo’s, both men were swept into one of the private salons. Finch was directed to a comfortable chair and offered refreshment, which he declined, having just eaten breakfast. Hugh, on the other hand, was sat down in a very plush barber’s chair.
The first thing they did was tip back the chair and raise it so Hugh could be given a shave. Finch had to admit that he had a bit of a nasty moment when Lorenzo brought out a straight razor, but Hugh seemed unconcerned and the stylist indeed used it deftly to scrape the dark stubble from Hugh’s face. After that, they applied a hot towel and then Lorenzo moved on to start snipping Hugh’s hair. Finch could’ve read any of the magazines or books found in the room, but he was so fascinated with watching Hugh that he couldn’t even begin to concentrate on the written word.
When Lorenzo was done, Hugh was an absolute vision. His hair was styled exactly how he liked it and his face was perfectly smooth. He looked, perhaps unsurprisingly, breathtaking. Finch could only stare.
Hugh clapped his hands once he was out of the chair and standing. “Your turn now, Finch,” he said.
“Excuse me?” But Finch was already being assisted out of his comfortable seat and into the barber’s chair. “I assure you, I don’t need—”
“Hush,” Hugh retorted. “Sit and let Lorenzo work his magic.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hugh clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit! Good man.”
Much like Hugh, Finch was given a hot shave and a haircut. It wasn’t often that he treated himself to something so luxurious, so despite his initial reluctance, he let loose and enjoyed. Once freshly shorn, Hugh took him back to the car and George drove them to their next destination, which turned out to be a rather small but elegant storefront. The sign out front read, “Tailor Shop.”
“Are we here to pick up your suit for tonight’s ball?” Finch asked. “You usually have such things delivered.”
Hugh took Finch’s hand and squeezed it. “Some things have to be done in person.”
They were greeted by a handsome man in a beautiful suit. “Good morning, Mr. Drake. It’s good to see you again. And you’ve brought your companion, I see. Mr. Finch, it is a pleasure. I’m Roger, and this is my shop.”
Finch didn’t correct Roger to tell him that Finch wasn’t his last name. “It’s a pleasure, Roger,” Finch said. “I’ve seen the work you’ve done in the past. It is, I must say, worth every penny.”
“Thank you, sir. Let me take you back to Ashley. It might be my shop, but he’s the genius.”
They were shown into an extremely large private fitting room. There was a low bench to stand on, presumably to get cuffs the correct length, a few plush chairs to sit in, row upon row of fabric bolts in a large glass display case, and a wispy little omega who was at least a head shorter than Finch’s rather average height. Finch could only presume he was the Ashley in question.
When they entered the fitting room, Ashley swept over, took Hugh’s hands, and stretched up. Obligingly, Hugh leaned down and let Ashley kiss him on both cheeks. “Darling, you look positively nummy, but who is this delectable creature you’ve brought me? Could this be the fabled Finch? Oh, Hugh, he’s so very pretty. I approve. And I do believe you were quite close in your measurements. Did you spoil the surprise and tell him so you could get them?”
“Not a bit of it, Ashley. I’m just very good at estimating volume and surface area,” Hugh said, his face a bit pink.
Ashley raked Hugh with an amused glance. “I just bet you are, you naughty boy.”
Finch cleared his throat. He was not at all fond of where this conversation was going. And for reasons he didn’t quite understand, he longed to push Ashley out a ten-story window.
Ashley went to where Finch stood and eyed him up and down critically. “Yes. We’ll have to make a few adjustments, I think, but nothing too dire. Just a quick little fix here and there. It shouldn’t take long at all.”
“Thank you, as always.” Hugh sat down in one of the chairs and looked on expectantly. Finch had no idea at what until Ashley said, “Disrobe, please.”
Finch stared at him. “Excuse me?”
The omega sighed, sounding put-upon. “How on earth are we to get the final fitting done for your suit if you won’t disrobe?”
“I—”
Hugh looked at his watch. “We are on a tight schedule, I’m afraid. We don’t have time to waste, Finch.”
Finch felt like he’d been sucked into a mirror universe. It was supposed to be him hurrying things along while Hugh stood around and goggled at everything, and he wasn’t sure he liked this turn of events. “Yes, sir,” he said, then reluctantly began to disrobe under Ashley’s calculating and Hugh’s avid eyes until he was only wearing his old, saggy boxers.
“Oh, honey. You are far too pretty to be letting yourself go like this.” Ashley turned his head, and like magic out sprang an assistant from one of the side rooms. Finch yelped and covered himself to best preserve his modesty. Neither Hugh, Ashley, nor the assistant seemed fazed. “Buford, we’re going to need a new everything from the socks on up. I’m thinking black to start, just to see what kind of canvas we’re working with. Size small. Oh, and while you’re back there, see what else we have that’s comparable. Thank you. You’re a doll.”
Bufo
rd scurried off and came back with a few packages, which he handed to Ashley. Ashley pawed his way through them, then held up a pair of black boxers for Finch. “There you are, hon. Now, put these on, please.”
“But—”
Ashley gave Finch a very scary look.
Hugh chuckled. “Just do as he says, Finch. You’ll find it makes life much easier and quite a bit more pleasant.”
“Yes, sir.” He knew he had no reason to feel body shy. That was one of the first things they drummed out of you in the Pedigree. Nevertheless, he hadn’t been in his cloister for over a decade and he couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. He wasn’t as lithe as he used to be, his body not as supple or delicate. Still, he could do this. They were all men, after all, or men and a dragon, and there was nothing Finch had the other two hadn’t seen before.
Finch slipped his old underwear off and put on the boxers. They fit perfectly and were made of a material that was as light and cool as wearing gossamer. He looked up at Hugh, not able to help himself, and saw him sitting with his head cocked to the side. “Try the briefs, Ashley. I want to see the comparison.”
Ashley handed Finch a very small pair of briefs, also black, and looked at him expectantly. With a sigh, Finch took off the boxers and replaced them with the briefs. To his embarrassment, they sat just below where his pubic hair started. He tried to tug them up but to no avail. His cheeks blazing, he looked at Ashley and said, “They’re too small. I need the next size up.”
“No, you don’t,” Ashley pronounced after running a jaundiced eye over Finch. “They fit like a dream. Do you see how you were chafing before? I can see the irritation on your thighs.” Ashley gestured, much to Finch’s horror, at the insides of his thighs, which were slightly irritated. “Those sad boxers you were wearing before were too loose and were riding up. When you get chafing like this, it’s a sign it’s time to go down a size. Underwear that fits shouldn’t ride. The ones I’ve got on you now won’t bunch or pinch or chafe. Sure, you’ll probably want to go in and manscape a little, but it’s nothing that can’t be taken care of. And can I just say, you look ravishing? If I were having Mr. Drake for dinner, I’d want to gobble you up for dessert.”