Mr. Jasper.

She had been a sweet enough girl, but what he had seen as charming innocence in their courtship, he soon found was in fact the blandness of a leaden mind. Conversation was dull, everything about her was dull. She lacked any spark of intellect or imagination.

Fortunately the unusual diversity of his enterprises took him away a great deal. The evading of his wife's company became a simple matter.

He was a brute and he knew it, but he never let her become aware of his true feelings. It would have been crass to do so. When she perished of the Scarlet Fever after three years of connubial tedium, he was secretly relieved. Allowing society to believe he mourned so deeply that he would never marry again, kept the predatory 'mamas' at bay.

It was a condition he had savoured.

Regrettably now he needed a wife. His elder brother had most inconsiderately died, having neglected to supply the requisite 'heir and spare'. It fell to Theobald to take on the onerous obligations of securing the Jasper line.

The chit he was to marry was personable enough. Young, with a child already, giving him a reasonable expectation of offspring. And he daresay doing his duty would not cause him too much distress.

But lordy, women could be such a trial.

###

Her wedding day almost over, Rose lay staring at the canopy above the bridal bed. Embroidered cupids hugged each other, their pink baby faces insipid, wide eyed in pretence of innocence.

Was that what Mr. Jasper thought of her? Did he notice her blushes, how she looked away when Uncle Walter made lewd remarks at the wedding supper? Of course he knew she was not chaste, her child attested to that, but did he think her worldly wise? Would he know the blush real; that her downward glance hid genuine mortification?

Did her new husband expect a woman familiar with the physical desires of men? Oh, dear God, she hoped not!

The single candle at her bedside flickered, caught by a sudden draft.

The door had opened.

Theobald Jasper coughed discreetly to determine if his bride was awake. The rustle of bed linen, and softly hesitant exhalation told him she was.

Rose lay uneasily inspecting the cupids.

"Good, you are awake...Good, good..." He paced, his long form casting an even longer shadow. "Forgive me, madam, but I would speak with you before we...er..." He coughed again, sought out words appropriate to the situation. "Before we consummate our...arrangement." He stilled at last, ramrod straight, hands held behind his back.

Rose carefully eased herself up.

"Hmm, better, better." He sniffed. "I have no wish to converse with a bed sheet."

Rose bit her lip. Mr. Jasper addressed her as if she were a naughty school girl. She felt a giggle rise in her. He was wearing his nightshirt, and probably little else. His manner seemed faintly...absurd.

"I think we should discuss expectations, yours, and of course my own. Obviously you are aware of what is about to take place." He sat abruptly on the side of the bed, his tone slightly less stern. "I mean no disrespect when I say that you being possessed of some experience in bedroom...being no weeping virgin, is a matter of great relief to me."

Rose closed her eyes and whispered, "It was once sir. I...succumbed only once."

"What?" He looked at her incredulous. "You have a child from being tupped but once?"

"Henry was...It was...a thing of sudden passion."

"He forced himself on you?"

"He persuaded me, sir." She must seem such a ninny.

"So...you have little knowledge of the act?"

"Very little." She felt herself flush, and mumbled, "Over and above the discomfort."

Mr. Jasper vigorously rubbed the bridge of his nose and frowned. "This is a dilemma." He looked about him, as if the answer to his difficulties could be found written on the furniture. Then, straightening his shoulders, he took on a look of cheerful forbearance. "Then it seems I must be your tutor. Not a situation I would have sought." He turned, studied her in the candlelight. "But not one I will protest, I think."

Leaning forward he ran a long, and surprisingly calloused, finger down her cheek. On reaching her chin, he tilted it, making her look up at him. "Do I displease you, madam?"

Rose regarded him, assessing fully. After a pause she looked demurely away. "No sir, your face...and form are...most acceptable."

Theobald Jasper had not expected so direct an answer, but it pleased him. "I am not overly fond of the shy, retiring sort. I require a partner whose sensual sensibilities equal my own." He drew closer. "I trust I may kiss you...in the appropriate manner?"

"I would expect no less, sir." She was almost indignant.

Smiling, he nudged her nose with his, touched his lips to hers.

Mr. Jasper kissed his bride.