Page 69 of Finch

gleaming, with the gemstone brooch Hugh had given him burning with inner fire? He was too

tantalizing to resist.

“So moved,” Finch continued, “that he felt the immediate need to kidnap you so he could inquire

as to who made it.”

“Oh!” Perry twittered with laughter. “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but Ignatius asked if there

was any way he could contribute, and I couldn’t say no. I entrusted the cake to him. Chaucer

was just telling me how much fun he had licking the spatula, so I assume it was homemade.”

“Chef Funfetti,” Hugh mumbled, nearly incoherent. He barely noticed when Finch took the plate

from his hand. The world was moving more slowly than it had any right to, and he was having

trouble following along.

“Hugh, darling, your eyes are awfully bloodshot.” There was a jingle. Hugh only clued in after

the fact that Perry was patting his hand. “Are you well?”

The world started to spin, and even when Hugh closed his eyes, it wouldn’t stop. To protect

Finch from being crushed should he lose his balance, he lay in the grass before him and closed

his eyes. “My cake.”

“I have your cake, sir. I’ll keep it safe.”

“My Finch,” Hugh murmured sadly. He lifted a hand and grabbed at the air in front of him, but

Finch was nowhere to be found.

“And I have your Finch,” Perry promised. “You needn’t worry. All will be well.”

Hugh couldn’t open his eyes for fear the universe would spin out of control, but he did feel the

air move around him.

“I’m here, sir,” Finch said from close by. “I won’t leave you.”

“Never?” Hugh muttered.

“Never.”

“Finch…” Hugh reached for him again and this time found a wrist or an ankle. Whichever it

was, it belonged to Finch. The pleasant, homey way the skin-to-skin contact made him feel

could not be ascribed to anyone else.

Finch laid his hand over Hugh’s. “What’s the matter, sir?”

“Cake,” Hugh despaired. “My cake.”

“I will see to it that Emma bakes you one once we’re back home and you’re better.”

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