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success, for centuries.
But maybe, just maybe, Finch’s hard work would make Hugh’s dream come true.
The thought was bittersweet. While Finch longed to see Hugh happy, there was a part of him
that didn’t want to give up the fantasy that one day, Hugh might sweep him off his feet and add
him to his hoard. It was an absurd notion, of course. Finch was too old for a dragon, and even
if he weren’t, the fear that he would break Hugh’s heart by failing to bear him offspring was too
great to overcome. He would much rather remain Hugh’s faithful servant and daydream of
what could be than risk the happiness of his employer in the name of pseudoscience.
Disgraces were not and would never be dragons. His kind—the human children of dragon
sires—had been tossed away for hundreds, if not thousands, of years, and for good purpose.
To assume a mistake had been made eons ago, and that Disgraces had been dragons all this
time, was…
Finch paused briefly at the upper landing of the staircase to think of the word he was looking
for. He thought of it and proceeded onward to Hugh’s bedchamber.
It was untidy. And Finch hated anything that was untidy.
Without knocking, Finch let himself into Hugh’s bedroom. He kept his back to the massive bed
and placed the tray on Hugh’s breakfast table.
“Is that you, Finch?” came Hugh’s voice from the four-poster. “Bloody hell, is it breakfast time
already? It seems I just managed to fall asleep.”
“It is, sir.”
Hugh stifled a yawn. “I was up far too late last night delving into that list you made for me. If
you wouldn’t mind, would you bring breakfast to me and come sit for a while? I may have found
a candidate, but I’d like your opinion, if I may.”
“Of course, sir.”
Displeasure ran through Finch like a crack across ice. Despite it, he collected the tray and
turned to face his employer. The esteemed Mr. Drake was sprawled in the middle of the bed,
entirely nude. His modesty was barely shielded by a thin sheet. All Amethyst dragons were
attractive, but Grimbold’s brood of seven was particularly handsome. To Finch’s eye, though,
the best and the worst of the lot was Hugh. He was, quite simply, lovely, with silky black hair
unmarred by gray, perfectly sculpted features, and striking plum-colored eyes. Something
