Lewis stood at the bottom of the staircase as Phoebe made her way down the sweeping golden curve, his upturned face a study in polite attention. His hands betrayed him, though. They were stiff and clenched at his sides. It was so early, she could hear the birds twittering in the park in front of her house, the sound of the traffic that usually drowned them out noticeable by its absence. “I’m sorry to disturb the house so early, Lewis, but I have too much going round in my head to sleep.” Phoebe kept her own face studiously blank. The thoughts circulating in her head were most definitely private. Very private. “I need to go out.” “Out?” The dismay in Lewis’s voice was obvious. She reached the bottom of the stairs and sighed. “I know. It sounds ridiculous, and I take the threat against me seriously, I truly do. But I forgot to mention to Wittaker last night that I need to visit Sheldrake’s staff.” All those scandalous declarations and the kissing and his bared chest.
