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“You did, didn’t you?” Hugh’s fingers slotted between Finch’s. Finch, startled either by the
gesture or the dreaminess of his voice, whipped around to look Hugh in the eyes. Hugh’s heart
constricted. How could Finch be so beautiful?
“Sir?” It was little more than a timid and hopeful whisper, but Hugh heard it all the same. He
was attuned to Finch in the same way that the ocean was attuned to the moon—pulled in by
his gravity and bound to his every move. It was impossible to tell for sure, but by the way
Finch’s lips had parted and his eyelids had drooped, Hugh could swear that Finch felt a pull to
him, too.
Hugh came closer. It was impossible not to. With the air thick between them and his heart
racing like it was, now was the perfect time. Finch would be his, and Hugh would be Finch’s,
and he could rest easy knowing that his secretary would forever be his most cherished
possession. “I want to ask you something.”
Finch’s dark lashes fanned over his cheeks, and he tilted his chin upward the slightest degree.
“Yes?”
Hugh’s pulse rushed in his ears. The slumbering dragon inside him stirred.
Mine,it proclaimed upon spotting Finch. MINE.
“I wanted to know,” Hugh said, more excited and terrified than he’d ever been, “if you’d—”
“Sir!” boomed a crotchety old voice from down the hall. It belonged to Francis. “The guests
have begun to arrive.”
The moment shattered. Finch slipped his hand out of Hugh’s and busied himself with
smoothing the front of his jacket, then took a nervous step into the ballroom. “I should go check
in on the catering staff,” he offered by way of explanation. “I mustn’t keep them waiting.”
“Find me,” Hugh urged. “Find me at the ball, Finch. Tell me you will.”
“Of course, sir.” Finch bowed his head and fled, leaving Hugh alone with his regrets.
* * *
No guests were waiting in the front hall when Hugh arrived, but someone else was—Hugh’s
brother Bertram. Hugh came to a stop upon spotting him, instantly nauseous. How had his
family found out about the ball? He’d been so careful to cover his tracks and knew Finch had
done the same, but here was Bertram nevertheless, twisting a diamond plucked from the
staircase this way and that between his fingers like he hadn’t seen a thousand others like it in
