Page 51 of Finch

“My apologies, Finch,” Hugh whispered into his ear, his voice sweet, smooth, and devastatingly

enticing. “There truthfully isn’t anything else, but my dragon’s got it in his head that you smell

delightful. It’s quite peculiar. It’s not often I indulge the beast, but I couldn’t help myself. I had

to know the truth and lo and behold, you smell simply divine. Isn’t that odd?”

“Yes, sir, quite,” Finch managed to say, which was, perhaps, the understatement of the year.

Hugh

The next morning, Hugh met Finch at precisely eleven and ushered him into his Audi. When

they were safely buckled and George had begun to drive, Hugh hit a button on the back panel,

which activated the car’s privacy screen.

“Thank you for coming out with me today, Finch,” Hugh said when the screen was in place and

George was out of earshot. “I appreciate your company.”

“It’s my pleasure, sir.”

“Now that we have the assurance of privacy, would you like to know where we’re going?”

There was a pause during which Finch pursed his lips and nudged one of the many brightly

colored gift-wrapped boxes crammed around their feet. “I would. I assume it has something to

do with all these boxes?”

“Gifts, Finch. They’re gifts.” Hugh smiled, but even when trying his best to act positive, a trace

of sorrow sobered his voice. “They’re for my nephews. Alistair’s whelps turned seven last week,

and Sebastian’s whelps are turning eight in the next few days. My brothers have organized a

party to celebrate. I wouldn’t have asked you to accompany me, but I’m feeling especially

vulnerable after meeting my father’s mate. I’ll be the only Drake there without a bonded mate

and children of his own, and…” Hugh pushed a noisy breath through his nostrils. “Well, I didn’t

want to be alone.”

Finch’s expression immediately softened. “Sir…”

“But you needn’t worry—I organized my purchases to make sure there were presents from you

as well.” Hugh scooped the nearest box up. “See?” He examined its label, saw its benefactor

was listed as “Uncle Hugh,” and tossed the box aside. It clanked and jingled as it fell. “Not that

one. This one, though”—the box was wrapped in glossy purple paper accented with golden

pinstripes—“this one is definitely from you.”

It wasn’t.

---