“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 to head home.” Hugh sighed. “Isn’t that enough?”