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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.”
