Magic In His Kiss

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, Anabelle Bryant, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Published by Oliver-Heber Books Copyright 2023 Anabelle Bryant 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Contents 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 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Author’s Note You Can Become Part of This Story’s History. Also by Anabelle Bryant About the Author For my husband, David And my family, who have always offered support and encouragement. One Sofia Gallo was a thief. A common pilferer. Pickpocket. Swindler. She knew better than to soften the harshness of that reality. By definition, anyone who stole another person’s property, especially by stealth and without use of force or violence, deserved the label. And Sofia fit the profile. Maybe not in the conventional sense of the word. Although, that could be true. English was her second language and Italian her mother tongue. Nuance and innuendo weren’t often taught in textbooks. Dismissing the idea, she tucked an unruly curl behind her ear and ducked into a shadowy alcove at the corner of Jermyn Street so she could survey the throng of well-heeled afternoon shoppers as they bustled along with their business. Smoothing her bag of stolen treasures further beneath her cloak, she waited for an opportune moment to blend into the mix. Perhaps thief was too strong a label for what she did every Thursday morning. She was more a rescuer of sorts, a salvager who cared about reclaiming what was otherwise discarded and cast aside, unwanted, and terribly undervalued. She wrinkled her nose at the ignorant assumption made by others. So many things in life were carelessly discarded. Scraps of paper and lace, leftover food, broken hearts… people. Drawing a deep breath, she focused on the busy thoroughfare, unwilling to allow sadness to permeate her successful outing. She’d learned in several difficult lessons not all opinions were valued equally. Some people automatically considered her the worst kind of thief because they’d decided she’d stolen Luca from his wife. Which wasn’t true. Sofia hadn’t even known he was married at the time they’d taken up with each other and fallen in love. That essential fact made it difficult to bear responsibility for everything that had happened afterward. Even if the same series of events had proven terribly unfortunate. Her brothers discovered the truth before she did and with that knowledge they’d turned her world upside down, removing her from Italy, separating her from scandal, and subsequently moving their tumbling act to England, where they now lived and worked at Vauxhall Gardens, the ideal location for a new beginning. A place where the ordinary became the extraordinary. Where people imagined their past, present, and future with the fickle creativity of a whimsical daydream. How very convenient. She sighed an exhale composed of frustration and despair, aware the swift, dizzying series of events had left little time for her broken heart to mend. However, this was not a morning for looking back. She was in a race against the clock, and the road ahead was the only decision worth considering. Literally. Assured in her timing, she stepped from the alcove and continued toward Bond Street, on through the crowded walkways with the confidence and agility that served her well during her tumbling routine. Petite in stature, she moved with an innate, effortless grace few refined ladies or obedient debutantes mastered despite a lifetime of etiquette training and ballroom dancing tutelage. No one gave Sofia a second glance. Not the profligate dowagers out to add an expensive bonnet to an already excessive collection, or the reckless gentlemen rushing off to waste money at their club. She went unnoticed, nothing more than a fleeting shadow on the cobblestones. Let the haute ton assume she was just another overburdened maid out to do her lady’s bidding. Except she wasn’t a maid, she didn’t have a lady to attend, and the bag she clutched against her ribs was filled with stolen valuables. Possessions no member of better society would offer her. Or could offer her because the items in the bag provided hope and possibility. Bond Street and the surrounding shopping district was a world beyond Sofia’s reach which made the coveted pouch nestled against her heart all the more priceless. No one knew of her secretive jaunts into better London to accomplish the task. It was dangerous and enthralling, and just a little bit frightening, like the first time she attempted a triple-twist double-somersault combination. Whenever she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could relive that precious moment. The pulse of fear that transformed into a beat of pride and accomplishment, the thunder of her heart so pronounced she barely heard the swell of applause that followed her successful tumbling feat. Every Thursday morning when she filled her bag and scurried home, a similar feeling bubbled up inside her. She turned the corner toward Oxford Street and pulled up short, melting into the shade of a nearby awning. Across the street, her brother Alessandro was making his way through the bustle with a purposeful stride. Why would he be in this part of London? His appearance was