The upper lounge was much quieter than the bustling main hall below. Thick carpets muffled footsteps, and heavy velvet curtains framed the wide balcony that looked down over the entire room like a private viewing gallery. The air up here carried the faint scent of expensive tobacco and aged brandy, and only a few low lamps cast soft golden light across the polished wood.
The three Ashford brothers had claimed this spot early in the evening, arriving well before most guests. They had a clear view of everyone who entered, and they had been watching since the doors first opened.
Bennett stood at the carved railing, leaning forward with his elbows resting casually on the wood. He stood tall and lean, with honey-blond hair that fell in loose waves and refused to stay perfectly neat no matter how many times he pushed it back. His pale blue eyes sparkled with constant interest. He wore a deep burgundy coat, unbuttoned at the top to show a sliver of throat and collarbone.
In his gloved hand, he toyed with a small magnifying glass, holding it up to one eye as he scanned the crowd below.
He paused when his gaze landed on Noel, who was clapping politely with the rest of the room as the host finished his opening remarks.
Bennett lowered the glass slowly and turned to his eldest brother with a mock frown.
"You never told me he was this attractive," he said, voice low and teasing. "Now I understand why Eve is so determined to have him."
Arthur stood just behind him, tall and with his broad shoulders filling out a severe black coat. A single black leather glove covered his left hand, the material stretched tight over long fingers.
His silver blond hair was combed straight back, exposing a strong forehead and steel blue eyes that took in every detail without effort.
"I didn't notice it myself," Arthur answered evenly, his deep voice steady. "I simply hadn't realised how striking he would be in person."
Cedric, the last brother, sat sprawled in a deep armchair a few steps away. He was with straight jet-black hair that fell severely across his brow, and pale, soft brown eyes that gave little away. He had one long leg crossed over the other, his black coat open, his waistcoat unbuttoned at the bottom.
"I still don't see what the fuss is about," Cedric said, tone flat. "We're only here because you two insisted."
Bennett laughed under his breath. "You're hopeless."
Arthur didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on Noel below, watching as the young man smiled at something a nearby gentleman said... too warmly. The smile lit up Noel's face, made his eyes brighter, and softened the line of his mouth.
Arthur's jaw tightened just slightly.
"He's more handsome than I expected," he admitted quietly, almost to himself.
He shifted his weight, as if considering moving closer to the railing for a better look, then caught himself and adjusted the fit of his leather glove instead, flexing his fingers slowly.
"Control yourself," he muttered under his breath.
.
.
Down on the main floor, the evening moved forward. After the initial welcome, the host called forward the men who had married in the past week. Each stepped up to warm applause, received congratulations and a small engraved gift, and returned to their seats amid good-natured toasts and laughter.
Then came lighter games... riddles, small wagers, drinking challenges that had the room cheering and groaning in turns. The mood grew easier, voices louder, coats loosened.
Noel sat on the edge of the Hartwell lounge, watching everything with open curiosity. He sipped his drink slowly, careful not to take too much.
His brothers leaned in close to him.
"We have to leave now before it gets pretty late," Alaric said quietly, his voice firm. "Stay here. Do not leave this spot until the event is over."
Lucien nodded in agreement. "We won't be long, but if we don't return... You may head home without us."
Noel raised both hands in surrender. "I'll stay right here. Promise."
Alaric turned to Rowan, who stood a respectful distance behind Noel's chair.
"If anything happens to him while we're gone," Alaric warned, "Father will hear about it. And so will I."
Rowan inclined his head, expression unreadable. "Understood, my lord."
The two brothers moved off into the crowd, leaving Noel alone with his guard.
Noel shifted in his seat and glanced up at Rowan.
"You can sit, you know," he said softly. "You've been standing for hours. It must be uncomfortable."
Rowan hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to the departing brothers, then to the room around them. Finally, he lowered himself into the chair beside Noel, sitting straight, hands resting on his thighs.
Above them, Bennett noticed the movement immediately.
"Look," he whispered, leaning closer to Arthur. "The Hartwells have left him. He's alone now... well, alone with that guard who clearly can't stand him."
Arthur's mouth curved into a slow, faint smile. "Perfect timing."
He flexed the fingers of his gloved hand again, the leather creaking softly.
Cedric sighed and unfolded himself from the armchair, rising to his full height.
"I guess it's finally time..."
On the main floor, the host clapped for attention once more.
"Gentlemen! It's time for the final event of the night... the games you've all been waiting for!"
The room erupted in cheers.
A series of quick drinking games followed: rapid rounds, bets placed, glasses emptied amid shouts and laughter. Noel watched, amused, but stayed seated. He had no intention of joining in and risking his brothers' disapproval.
Then the host's voice changed, becoming lower, more dramatic.
"And now, gentlemen...the Nightmare Game."
A wave of excited murmurs and nervous laughter swept through the hall.
Noel turned to Rowan, curious. "What exactly is the Nightmare Game?"
Rowan leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low. "They choose one guest by drawing a name. That person is taken to a private room, blindfolded, and their hands are lightly bound. Then they're left alone in complete darkness...with whatever they fear most."
Noel blinked. "That sounds...unpleasant."
"It's meant to be," Rowan replied. "Fifteen minutes. Most find it thrilling. Some do not."
The host held up a large velvet basket filled with folded slips of paper.
"One name only," he announced with a grin. "One unlucky... or lucky... gentleman will face his nightmare tonight."
Laughter rippled again.
Noel lifted his glass in a small, ironic salute...
"And the name drawn tonight is...Noel Hartwell!"
Noel froze mid-sip, sherry catching in his throat. He coughed once, eyes wide.
A bright spotlight swung across the room and landed directly on him.
The hall was immediately filled with gasps, whispers, then enthusiastic applause.
Rowan stood immediately, body tense. "His name shouldn't even be in that basket. He's never played before."
The host looked genuinely surprised. "I assure you, sir, all eligible names were included fairly."
Several men approached Noel's seat, smiling encouragingly.
Rowan moved to follow, but two club attendants stepped forward politely but firmly to block him.
"Guards remain outside, sir. House rules."
Noel stood, smoothing his coat, forcing a shaky smile. "It's fine, Rowan. I'll be back in fifteen minutes."
He let the attendants guide him through a side door and down a dimly lit corridor.
Above, the Ashford balcony emptied silently. The three brothers slipped down a separate staircase, moving quietly.
Rowan watched the door close behind Noel, with his jaw tightened, and a heavy feeling settling in his chest.
At the end of the corridor, Noel was brought to a heavy oak door with a brass plaque: NIGHTMARE ROOM.
One attendant produced a length of soft black silk.
"We'll need to blindfold you, sir. Standard procedure."
Noel swallowed. "Is all this really necessary?"
"It heightens the experience," the man said with practised cheer. "You'll be perfectly safe."
Noel exhaled slowly and nodded.
The blindfold went on... cool silk pressed gently over his eyes, tied at the back of his head.
The door opened. A rush of cool, pitch-black air greeted him. He was guided inside, two steps forward.
The door shut with a solid click.
Complete darkness. Complete silence.
Noel stood still, breathing measured, listening.
Then slow footsteps. It was more than one set.
His pulse quickened.
"Who's there?" he asked, keeping his voice steady.
A low, calm voice answered from very close in front of him.
"Twelve minutes left, Mr Hartwell."
Another voice....this one softer, amused... came from his left, near enough that he felt warm breath against his ear.
"Let's not waste any of it, shall we?"L
A third voice, deeper, from behind him, barely above a whisper.
"We've been waiting to meet you properly."
Noel's skin prickled. Heat rushed through him despite the cool room... part nerves, part something else entirely.
He turned his head blindly toward the closest voice.
"What...exactly are you planning to do?" he asked, voice quieter now, breath catching.
A gloved fingertip brushed lightly along his jaw, tracing down to the edge of his cravat.
The deep voice behind him answered, lips almost brushing the shell of his ear.
"Whatever we like...for the next twelve minutes."
Noel shivered, a slow, involuntary heat spreading low in his stomach but... He didn't pull away.