by Piper Scott
Hugh had learned an important lesson that day—guard the things you love, because you never know when they might be taken from you. Only now the thing he wanted to keep wasn’t an object, but a man.
It was strange, Hugh thought as his gaze traced the arm of Finch’s suit jacket, that his dragon would insist he add a man to his belongings. Heaven knew his brothers would laugh if they found out he was considering it. It was simply not done. The purpose of a hoard was to demonstrate wealth and, through it, accomplishment. It was a reflection of a dragon’s success, intelligence, and cunning. Priceless artifacts, expensive jewels, and humble gold coins conveyed that quite nicely. Human beings did not.
But Finch…
Finch was a treasure. Hugh had been saying it for years now. Seeing him in his hoard chamber drenched in riches only confirmed it. The man was meant to be cherished, and Hugh was just the dragon for the job.
“The caterer is asking for our final selections from the wine list, sir,” Finch announced, stirring Hugh from his thoughts. They’d assembled in Hugh’s study, Hugh seated at his desk while Finch stood at his side, cradling a thick folder of documents in his arm. Finch produced one of the documents and laid it in front of Hugh. “I’ve gone ahead and made a list of the ones you reacted positively to during the tasting. There was only one champagne you enjoyed, so with your permission I’ll confirm it as your selection, but I’ll still need you to choose from amongst the reds and the whites.”
“Any will do.”
“Any?” Finch frowned. “Sir, there are twenty wines listed here…”
“I trust your judgment. Why don’t you make the final selection? That way it will be a collaboration.”
Finch’s expression failed to lighten. “Sir, with all due respect, this isn’t my ball, and while I appreciate the faith you have in me, it’s not my place to make these kinds of decisions for you. If you need guidance, I’d be glad to provide it, but the rest will be up to you.”
Hugh worried a gold coin between his fingers. Unlike the one he’d found outside Drake Manor, this one was of recent mint and shiny enough to bewitch even an adult dragon. For the last week, Hugh had been slipping coins just like it into Finch’s pockets in an attempt to integrate him into his hoard. Unlike before, when he’d showered Finch with gifts in the hopes that Finch wouldn’t abandon him, these gifts were meant to mark him. Eventually Finch would become so used to finding them that he’d come to accept that being around treasure was a normal part of life, that it belonged to him, and he belonged to it, and that Hugh would care for them both.
“Well…” Hugh tapped a finger on the wine list, prompting Finch to look at where he was pointing. Once the manservant was distracted, Hugh slid the coin into his pocket. “I choose this one.”
“Sir, did you even look before making your selection?”
“Of course I did. What kind of a man do you take me for, Finch?”
Finch’s lips pressed into a thin, exasperated line. “You’re pointing at the subheader denoting French Merlots.”
Hugh lifted his finger and discovered that Finch was right.
The room became awfully quiet. Hugh, too anxious to sit still, fished another coin out of his pocket and smoothed his thumb over it. Finch was mad at him. He had to be. He’d worked exceptionally hard to put the list together, and Hugh couldn’t even be bothered to look at it long enough not to make a fool out of himself.
But how could he with Finch standing so close?
Part of the reason dragons kept their most cherished possessions out of sight was to keep them out of mind. Treasure was distracting. Hugh had spent the better part of a month in pursuit of a single coin, and while quite a few hundred years had passed since then, he was still, at his core, the same easily distracted whelp. Finch didn’t glitter in the sun—thank god—but he was captivating in his own rights. Beautiful—even more beautiful than Perry, which Hugh had once thought was impossible—intelligent, diligent, charming. God, was he charming. Hugh had known it from the start, but only come to appreciate it lately. What a fool he’d been not to notice earlier.
“Well,” Hugh said with a laugh. “It goes to show what I know about wine. What about… ah, yes. This is the one the sommelier mentioned was recovered from a shipwreck, correct? What a romantic notion. Let’s make that part of our narrative.”
Finch leveled a skeptical look in Hugh’s direction, then made a note on the list. By the time they’d completed their selection, Hugh had slipped two more coins into his pockets. He couldn’t wait for the day Finch jingled when he walked.
“Guests have begun to RSVP to the ball,” Finch informed Hugh one afternoon not all that long after. There were already three coins in his pockets and the secretary was none the wiser. Hugh was positively giddy at his own cunning. “The interest thus far has been astounding. I think it’s safe to say we’ll have a full house.”
“Incredible.” Hugh dipped his hands in his pockets and felt up another coin he was plotting to plant on Finch. “How are preparations on the, uh, oh, what’s the word…”
“The catering, sir?”
“Yes!” Hugh hadn’t actually had anything in particular in mind, but he’d wanted to act present. Letting Finch fill in the blanks was a safe way to make sure he felt heard. “How is the catering going?”
“Wonderfully. We’ve locked in our appetizers and amuse-bouche, and I’ve been working hand in hand with a local pâtissier to perfect a Funfetti petit four that will be sure to please you.”
“And the, um… the people?”
“The temporary staff?”
“Yes! I meant exactly that.”
Finch turned his attention to the folder in his arms, providing Hugh with an opportunity to slip the coin into his pocket. Hugh did so. The blasted thing clinked against another one he’d stowed there earlier, making Finch startle. Hugh whipped his hands away and ever so smoothly folded them behind his back, a picture of innocence. Finch’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment, a glimmer of something sparkling behind his professional facade, then cleared his throat and proceeded to tell Hugh all about the job listings he’d posted on some ‘Attendant network’ in search of the right men and women for the job. Hugh didn’t hear much of it. He didn’t really care. As long as Finch had the help he needed, that was all that mattered. What interested Hugh was the way Finch kept subconsciously brushing his pocket, like he was taking pleasure from feeling the coins within it. That thought kept Hugh up well into the night and ultimately drove him into his hoard, where he lay on sheets woven with threads of gold and came again and again imagining that a pretty Disgrace who looked alarmingly like Finch was there in bed with him.
18
Hugh
“Finch,” Hugh said out of the blue over lunch several weeks later. “You’ve been under my employ for, what, five years?”
Finch lowered his forkful of quiche. “Thirteen, sir.”
“Thirteen! Thirteen whole years.” Hugh crossed his arms on the table and leaned over his untouched meal. “It makes it even more bizarre that I know so little about you. All this time you’ve been so focused on me that you’ve never shared much about you, and I find that sad. Will you share your story with me?”
Finch was, by nature, pale, but when Hugh put forth the question he turned nearly transparent. “My story, sir?”
“Your history,” Hugh clarified. “Where you come from, what experiences you’ve had, and what makes you the man you are. I know small things about you—like that you enjoy the company of two chocolate-chip loving ladies, and that you’re originally from England—but there must be more. What was your childhood like? What are your hobbies? If you were given the choice between a vacation to the mountains or to the beach, which would you choose and why?”
“Sir… are you fishing for information so you can send me on vacation?”
Hugh shrugged, but he also smiled. “Would you go if I was?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Not even after the ball?”
/>
Finch said nothing for a long while as the joy in his eyes deteriorated. It was alarming. But right as Hugh was about to say something, he shook his head and spoke. “Perhaps it would do me good to get out of the house around then. I’d go to the mountains, if given the choice. I’m not the type to lounge in the sun—I burn far too easily to tan, and beaches tend to be packed with people, who I’d rather avoid, if possible. I’d much rather the quiet that comes with an isolated cabin on a forested peak.”
“I thought that was what you’d choose.” Hugh sat back in his chair and picked up his fork to poke at his quiche, but only because he was sure that if he kept looking at Finch, he’d make a fool of himself. The omega was far too stunning. It was a crime he wasn’t a Disgrace. “You do seem like the type who’d appreciate a good mountain. I imagine you curled up with a book in a comfortable chair in front of a window overlooking an ocean of evergreens. Is that something you would do?”
“Yes.”
“So you enjoy reading?”
Finch’s lips quirked in what might have been a smile, had he not been so stubbornly professional. “Yes.”
“What kind of books do you like?”
Finch raised a brow and picked his fork back up again. “I’m starting to feel as though this is an interrogation.”
“It isn’t!”
“I know, sir.” He paused to eat his morsel, then added, “I read fiction.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sir. Romantic comedies, to be more specific. I especially enjoy novels set in the Victorian era, although I’ll never pass on a novel set during classical antiquity. But for the most part, romantic comedies are written in contemporary settings, so they’re the ones I read most often.”
Fascinating. Hugh divided a forkful of quiche from his slice and considered eating it, but paused. There had to be a question that could get Finch talking. If only he could find it…
Inspiration struck.
“How does a man like you end up working as an Attendant?” Hugh asked as he prepared his bite to eat. “Your tastes are sophisticated enough that I’d assume you’d want to pursue higher education, not shackle yourself to the world of dragons, no matter how alluring the compensation.”
“I’m afraid it’s a delicate situation.” The gentle clink of a fork on china marked Finch’s words. “And it wasn’t one I took without investing a great deal of thought. In the end, I decided the small passions I had would lead to careers that wouldn’t permit me the comforts I wanted. Working as an Attendant for a dragon is not only far more lucrative, but is also surprisingly fulfilling.” Hugh looked across the table to find Finch had folded his hands in his lap. His quiche was mostly eaten. He seemed disinterested in the rest. “Not all Attendants are so lucky, I know, but I was fortunate enough to end up under your employ, and I thank the forces that be every day for it.”
Hugh’s heart fluttered. “Then you enjoy it here?”
“Very much so.”
“I’m so glad to hear it.” If that was the case, with just a little more coaxing Hugh would be able to add Finch to his hoard, where he would guard him jealously forever. “Since you’re able to judge, you must have spent some time under the employ of other dragons. Is that right? Or perhaps your parents were Attendants before you?”
Finch lowered his gaze. “In a matter of speaking, but not entirely.”
“What about them, then?” he continued. “Would it do you good to go back to England while on vacation to visit? I can arrange for that.”
Hugh might as well have offered to throw him into a volcano for the look Finch gave him. “No. That won’t be necessary.”
“What’s wrong?”
“With all due respect, sir, I’d rather not talk about my family. The reason I’m so glad to be involved with your life is that I don’t much like being involved in mine. Now, I believe we were supposed to be discussing centerpieces? I’ve had some ideas since the last time we spoke. What do you think about camellia?”
Hugh didn’t even know what a camellia was, but it seemed to make Finch happy, so it was what he went with. Finch had never steered him wrong before, and Hugh had doubts he ever would.
Two weeks before the ball on a gray and snowy day, Hugh sat with Finch on a couch in the solarium while Finch explained the selection of petit fours they’d be serving at the ball. The lot of them had fancy descriptors—Madagascarian this and ganache-topped that—but what Hugh saw on the tray in front of him were four varieties: chocolate, vanilla, lemon, and Funfetti offerings. He spent a moment peering at them, then folded one of his legs beneath him and scooted around so he was facing Finch and not the table. “How do you know so much about all of this?”
Finch blinked and looked Hugh in the eyes, which made Hugh almost forget what he’d asked. “So much about what, sir?”
“So much about the ingredients and the work that goes into making these cakes. I don’t imagine that’s something that’s taught in school.”
“I…” Finch hesitated, and something tightened his lips that Hugh thought might be worry. “I strive for excellence in all things, but in particular I take pride in having as complete an understanding as I can in matters that pertain to you and the estate.”
“I would go absolutely batty trying to remember every little detail.”
That chased a smile out of Finch’s worry, and while he didn’t join Hugh in lounging, he did allow his shoulders to relax to a visible degree. “It certainly isn’t for everyone. Several of my peers simply were not suited for it no matter how hard they tried, but they made do as best they could. That’s all anyone really asks for—an attempt. And those who struggle to memorize excel in other ways. Most of the young men and women I knew who had no head for detail were great conversationalists. I’m not sure I can say the same for myself.”
“Are you joking, Finch?” Hugh grinned and hooked an arm over the back of the couch, eyes on Finch and only Finch. “Of all the men and women in this place, you’re the one for whom I’d drop everything were you to show up at my door with tea.”
A touch of pink came to the tips of Finch’s ears. “Thank you, sir.”
“I mean it.” The snow had stopped, and while the day was still gray, the clouds parted enough that light filled the room. A sparkle at Finch’s wrist drew Hugh’s attention. “Finch, are those the cufflinks I gave you several years back?”
“They are, sir.”
“They look good on you.” Hugh smiled at him, and even as rigidly professional as Finch was, he could have sworn he saw the man melt the tiniest bit. “I’m glad you enjoy them.”
That day, not only did Hugh get to sample delicious cake, but he also smuggled three more coins into Finch’s pockets. That night, there came a tapping at his bedroom door. Hugh opened it and discovered a cup of herbal tea and a note placed on a small tray left in the hallway.
I’ll owe you one conversation if you’ll owe me one moment when you drop everything.
x Finch
To other dragons, a plain piece of paper was no treasure, but Hugh was not other dragons, and he stored the note in a place of honor—front and center in his hoard—which was where it, and everything relating to Finch, belonged.
Time was running short. One week remained until the ball, and Hugh had yet to find the courage to ask Finch to become part of his hoard. To be honest, he wasn’t sure how. As far as he was aware, there was no etiquette for asking such a question because no dragon had ever claimed a man as one of his precious belongings. What he did know was that it wasn’t a question that could be asked casually. If he wanted Finch to say yes, he’d need to prove he was serious.
It seemed, then, that the best time to ask wouldn’t be before, but on the day of the ball.
Buzzed on wine, spirits high from seeing the fruits of his labor, Finch would be in an incredible mood, and Hugh would have a far easier time persuading him than he would otherwise. It would take some additional effort to plan when and where it would happen, but Hugh had nothing if
not time, and even had he been outrageously busy, he would have made space in his schedule. Finch was more important than any of his preoccupations, and Hugh intended to prove it.
Early that same morning, Hugh checked in with Francis, George, and Emma to make sure affairs around the house would be handled the morning of the ball, then went to find Finch, who was fretting over the cleanliness of the hardwood in the ballroom. When Hugh entered, Finch lifted his head and shifted his worry onto matters far more reptilian. “Sir, it only just occurred to me that you may be in need of a haircut before the ball. Should I book you an appointment?”
Hugh patted his hair. It was, admittedly, a little shaggy. “Yes, but later.”
“Later? I’m not sure I understand. The longer I put it off, the less likely it is there will be an appointment available. That, or we’ll have to entrust your appearance to a stranger, and with so much on the line, I’m not sure that would be wise. It took your current barber quite a few attempts to learn how you best like your hair cut and styled, and while I think you look dashing in a good trilby, I will not have you wear a hat to the ball.”
Hugh had never seen Finch so anxious. He laid a hand on his manservant’s shoulder and squeezed, and while he hadn’t thought it’d do much good, some of Finch’s tension eased. “All will be well,” Hugh assured him. “I know you, and I know you’d never let anything slip through the cracks. My hair will be fine. The floor will be fine. You will be fine. And I’m here to make sure of it.”
