Not about falling lanterns, of course, but in a complicated way. Usually, he knew what he wanted and persevered until he got it. When it came to Edwina, he couldn’t think straight. He wanted to bed her—of course. Marry her? He didn’t know. He’d been through one uneasy marriage and couldn’t stomach another. He didn’t quite trust Edwina; didn’t want to have to trust her, particularly over this business of the ghost. He couldn’t afford to let himself be led about by his cock, which meant he dare not agree wholeheartedly with her, dare not let her think she was succeeding, even if she wasn’t trying to succeed in anything but helping out. But what if she wasn’t lying? What if she was entirely sincere and trustworthy and as lovable as he wanted her to be? What if he was destroying his chances by treating her with circumspection? Far too complicated, but he would have to make up his mind about her soon. But not yet. Bedding her would mean marrying her, so he couldn’t bed her, and meanwhile she sat across from him, naked under very little clothing, smelling of sleep and woman, and exhausted and dispirited though he was, his cock couldn’t ignore her.
