by Wells, Nancy
What’s Inside
“My lord, how do you fare this fine evening?” she asked, then squeaked when she felt warm lips grazing the back of her ankle. “Forgive me, I meant, how do you do?”
Russell was having fun while making her uncomfortable before the man who was courting her. He had no issue with the man, but he was feeling territorial when it came to her.
He squeezed her bottom with both hands and nibbled playfully at her globes. She yelped and kicked him under her skirts when he pinched her bottom. Instead of leaving her in peace, he pulled her globes apart and blew on her cunny. Her knees buckled, but he kept her in place. She was standing only with his support because her own body had become boneless when he flicked her cunny with his tongue.
“Are you feeling well, my lady?”
She was not feeling well. The hellion under her skirts was hell-bent on being discovered. She doubted she could stay immobile if he did not stop licking her nether regions.
“Oh, God. No, I mean, yes. I am fine.” Her words faltered when she felt his teeth grazing the channel of her womanly folds.
Russell trailed his tongue lazily through her channel while she buckled. Her breath had shortened. He grinned, imagining her expressions. She would be trying so hard to keep her face neutral, but he had other things on his mind. He wanted her to lose her proper manners in public. He had a mind to pleasure her this very instant. She could not send the old man away and neither could she expose his presence under her skirts, which meant she was helpless at this moment. She was completely at his mercy.
“I am not sure you are feeling well. Let me escort you back inside.”
“No!” she said sharply when she saw him coming around the shrubs.
Lord Harley stopped in his tracks at her outburst and looked at her strangely. She should feel guilty for letting the old man believe that she was not feeling well, but rational thoughts had flown out the window the moment Russell touched her.
“I should probably send for a maid to assist you. You are not feeling well.”
She closed her eyes tightly shut when she felt him licking at her folds with ferocity. The slit in her drawers was proving to be awfully convenient for him. Her folds were getting swollen as he increased the fierceness of his licks and she started to lose the battle. She was trying to hold back the pleasure that was threatening to weaken her knees, but she was not strong enough against his skillful mouth.
“Stop, please,” she whined.
Her swollen lips were quivering against his mouth while she tried her best to hold back her pleasure. He knew he would win in the end. He could already feel her defenses weaken. He wanted her to lose control before the man who was hoping to have a polite conversation with her.
“Did you say something to me, Lady Isabella?”
She was feeling helpless. She wished the old man would leave her in peace and go away, but it was highly unlikely. Unlike the man under her skirts, he was a gentleman who would never leave a distressed lady without offering his help.
She kicked again to warn the rogue, but it proved to be a mistake because he started to laugh silently which made him vibrate near her cunny. Shocking waves of pleasure went through her body at the further stimulation. She squashed a flower bud in her fists, trying her best to control the reaction of her body. He was licking her folds with a vengeance while Lord Harley was looking expectantly at her face.
A Siren’s Melody
Love and Family Book Two
Nancy Wells
Published by Blushing Books
An Imprint of
ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.
A Virginia Corporation
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
©2019 by ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc. and Nancy Wells
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Nancy Wells
A Siren’s Melody
EBook ISBN: 978-1-64563-006-7
v1
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Nancy Wells
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Prologue
Colchester 1685
In the darkness of the night, two newborns were left at the door of a church in a wicker basket by a cloaked figure. In the morning, the newborns were found by the local priest. He took them inside, washed the dirt and soot from their faces with a soft cloth. The priest crossed himself in fright when he saw the faces of the newborns.
“God saves us all, what kind of sorcery is this?” he mumbled. “One child looks exactly like the other. This is the work of a witch.”
He bent on his knees, held his hands together before his face and prayed for his own soul. He believed the children were sent by a demon to test his faith.
“Oh, holy father in heaven, save me from the demon’s wicked tricks.”
The priest was not familiar with the concept of twins. He was a local priest in a small town, and it was the first time he had ever seen a pair of twins. He was afraid to go near the children. He believed them to be the product of witchcraft.
“I will take them.”
He looked towards the source of the voice and found a stranger standing near the basket. The stranger was looking down at the demon spawns with a look of adoration. Either the stranger was the devil himself or he could not see the face of evil.
“Who are you?” the priest asked. “Why do you wish to take these abominations?”
The stranger’s name was Simon, who was a coachman for a duke. He was on his way to return to the estate of his master when he heard cries of newborns coming from inside a church. It was already late. He should have left without bothering, but the wailing of the babes was so heart wrenching he could not stop himself from investigating the situation.
Inside the church, he saw a priest praying to God to save his soul from the demon. Simon went near the wicker basket, where the heart-wrenching sobs of the babes were originating. In the basket, he found two sets of green eyes and two heads with soft blond hair. A card was tucked in the middle of the two babes. There were only two words written on the card, Shane and Russell. Someone had already named the babes
“I am sent by God himself. He was testing your faith, Father. I am here to take the babes with me. God is pleased with you. You have passed his test.”
The priest fainted when he realized the stranger was an angel sent by God. Simon chuckled at the fool who thought the innocent babes were sent by a demon and he was actually a messenger of God.
He held out his fingers to the babes, both of whom grabbed the same finger at the same time and pulled his finger towards their mouths. Simon understood the reason for their wailing. They were hungry. His conscience would not
allow him to leave the newborns at the mercy of the priest.
Simon picked up the basket and placed it in the carriage waiting outside the church. On his way back to his small quarters at the duke’s house, Simon bought goat milk for the newborns.
Simon was a forty-year-old bachelor. He had never wished for a wife or children, but God had different plans for him. In one night, he had become the father of two boys. Oddly, he was not upset, but rather giddy at the prospect of looking after the two lads.
* * *
Ipswich, 1693
Seven-year-old Isabella was standing in a cemetery in black mourning clothes. Her father was murdered by bandits. He had gone to meet a friend of his in Colchester, but he never reached the estate of his friend.
Her father was an Earl and now that title was left to her uncle. Because of that, she was moving to a house on the outskirts of town with her mother and sister. Her uncle asked them to leave their family home so his family could move in.
“When can we go home, Bella?”
She looked at her two-year-old sister, Margaret. Her sister could not utter her name properly, so she had shortened it to Bella. Isabella had gray eyes and auburn hair while her sister had blue eyes and blonde hair.
Her sister had no inkling about the gravity of their situation. She did not understand that they could never go back to their home. Her father had not written a will; hence all his property was shifted to his brother. Their uncle was kind enough to fix a stipend for them and allow them to live in a house of their own. He could have kicked them to the street without giving them a penny and no one would have stopped him because he had every right to take everything away from them, but their uncle had a kind soul.
“The carriage will be here soon, Margaret,” she said.
She could not bring herself to tell her little sister the unfortunate news. Her sister was fond of running around their estate. It would crush her if she realized she could not live in that house anymore. Isabella was cursing the bandits who had taken everything away from them. Their greed had cost them their father.
A carriage rolled up in front of the cemetery gates. Their trunks were already loaded and their faithful servant, Philip was driving the carriage. He had been with them for as long as she could remember. He was loyal to them. When everyone else was leaving them, he was staying behind with them.
Both sisters sat inside the carriage and started their journey towards a new life. Their mother was already waiting for them at the new house with the few servants her uncle had allowed them. She looked out the window and said a silent farewell to her old life.
* * *
Colchester, 1695
Shane was sleeping at the foot of his brother’s bed. It had been two years since their father died and the young duke took them in. Shane did not fully comprehend the events that transpired two years back, but he knew his brother was still in pain.
He loved horses and enjoyed spending time in the stable. That night, he had fallen asleep in a corner of the stable when a commotion disturbed his slumber. He watched from a corner when a group of men killed his father and his brother was left alone to fend off the attackers. He was so scared he did not step out from his hiding place when his brother called to their dead father for help. His brother was chased by the men when suddenly, the door to the stable burst open and his brother was knocked unconscious from the blow of the door. A man entered in fury, gun raised and sword at the ready.
Shane crawled slowly towards his brother when the man started to slaughter the attackers. He lay atop his brother, shielding him from further harm. He closed his eyes, mumbling a prayer his father had taught him to say before every meal. Once the commotion had died down, he was picked up, along with his brother, in strong arms and carried outside a burning stable.
Shane looked up towards his brother when he heard him mumbling something in his sleep. Two years had passed, but Russell would still call for their father in his nightmares. Shane did not have to listen closely to know that his brother was repeating the same words he had been speaking in his sleep for the past two years.
“Take me, but spare my father,” Russell mumbled.
Shane crawled up in the bed. He wrapped his arms around the knees of his brother and put his head on Russell’s thighs. As soon as Shane’s hands were wrapped around Russell, the shaking and mumbling were dialed down to a great extent.
Russell could not tolerate someone touching his face or chest. He had pushed Shane away for a long time, screaming at him to not touch him, but with time he had allowed him near him. Shane did not understand the exact nature of his brother’s feelings, but he was aware that his brother was fighting with some frightening demons and he would never win against them alone. Shane had to support his brother in every walk of life. If Russell tried to push him away, he would still remain by his side.
Russell was also a very proud person. No one, not even the young duke, was aware of the demons he was fighting. The only person who was allowed in his close proximity was his brother, Shane. Their similar faces helped a lot in the healing process. If his brother’s touch made him uncomfortable, he could pretend they were his own hands.
Chapter 1
London, 1707
The season was in prime. Everyone was looking for a suitable match for their sons and daughters. So far, Isabella had been approached by an older gentleman, but the bachelors who were close to her age did not even look her way. Despite her pretty face she was found repelling by everyone else.
The old man, Lord Harley, was a wealthy merchant who was looking for a young bride. Her choices were limited because her dowry was not grand enough to attract a young and wealthy suitor. She did not care for the station of the person, but she would have appreciated it if someone close to her age had courted her. Like every other maiden, she had dreams and wishes, but she was not fortunate enough to see those dreams come true.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Isabella?” Lord Harley asked.
The party was a bore. Everyone was dancing and laughing while she was forced to endure the company of a withering man. Life could be so unfair sometimes. If her father were alive, she would have not been forced into enduring the company of an old man. She would have been a titled lady and her dance card would have been full. The same people who were avoiding her would have been standing in line to get acquainted with her.
“Yes, my lord, I like the festivities,” she said.
She looked around the ballroom and found her mother standing amidst a group of ladies. Her mother was once a very beautiful woman, but time and stress had made her skin wrinkled. Her mother worried about her and Margaret. Her uncle had agreed to sponsor one season for her, which meant it was her only chance to find a husband for herself and reduce the burden on her mother. Margaret was young. It would be a long time before she was ready to step foot in the marriage market.
“I am glad to hear that, Lady Isabella,” he said. “By the way, you look very pretty tonight.”
She was wearing a golden ball gown of the latest fashion. Her uncle had commissioned a new wardrobe for her for the whole season. Her hair was styled into fontange-coiffure, the latest fashion that was all the rage these days.
“You are very kind, my lord.” She remained silent for a moment and then turned back towards him. “My throat is parched, my lord. I am fetching a glass of lemonade for myself. I will be back in a few moments.”
She went to all this trouble of dressing up as pretty as possible and the only man who noticed her was thrice her age. He could not dance with her either because he was suffering from pain in his knees. The amount of fat he had on his body could justify the cause for all these pains.
“I would have brought you the drink myself, but I am afraid the aches in my knees would get worse,” he said apologetically.
She went towards the table laden with food, picked up a small cake, waited for a few moments and then went towards the nearby balcony. She needed fresh air to breathe. The current company was suff
ocating her. He was a reminder of her failure in her debut in society.
She leaned against a pillar, closed her eyes and hummed a melody. It was her habit to hum whenever she felt alone and sad and she certainly did. Her debut into society was a failure. Due to life playing a cruel trick on her family by taking away her father, she was staying at the London residence of her uncle. A house that once belonged to her family. She poured all her feelings into the music when life became depressing for her.
* * *
Russell was sitting on the roof of the ballroom. He was skilled at stealth and discretion. It was part of his job to remain unseen. He and his brother worked as spies for the authorities. To others, they might look like a pair of morons, but there was more to them than what met the eyes.
He had snuck inside the building where the current ball was being held to watch his friend adjusting to society. Elliot and his wife had been dancing ever since the evening had started. He was ensuring that no one mentioned the dark past of his friend, and so far, no one seemed to remember his sketchy past.
He was about to sneak out through the roof of the building when he heard the call of a Siren. He heard the plea for help in the dejected tune. There was only one possible explanation for the amount of hurt and emotion he heard in the voice: only someone who had nothing left in the world to live for could narrate so much sorrow in a tune.
