Sense and Sensibility (The Wild and Wanton Edition) by Lauren Lane

loving kiss. His voice was gruff when he said, “If I am wise, my darling, I shall never let you out of my sight again.”
    He took her up in his arms without farther delay, and carried her down the hill. Then passing through the garden, the gate of which had been left open by Margaret, he bore her directly into the house, whither Margaret was just arrived, and quitted not his hold till he had seated her in a chair in the parlour.
    Elinor and her mother rose up in amazement at their entrance, and while the eyes of both were fixed on him with an evident wonder and a secret admiration which equally sprung from his appearance, he apologized for his intrusion by relating its cause, in a manner so frank and so graceful that his person, which was uncommonly handsome, received additional charms from his voice and expression. Had he been even old, ugly, and vulgar, the gratitude and kindness of Mrs. Dashwood would have been secured by any act of attention to her child; but the influence of youth, beauty, and elegance, gave an interest to the action which came home to her feelings.
    She thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetness of address which always attended her, invited him to be seated. But this he declined, as he was dirty and wet. He smiled at Marianne when he said this, and she blushed profusely. Mrs. Dashwood then begged to know to whom she was obliged. His name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his present home was at Allenham, from whence he hoped she would allow him the honour of calling to-morrow to enquire after Miss Dashwood. The honour was readily granted, and he then departed, to make himself still more interesting, in the midst of a heavy rain.
    His manly beauty and more than common gracefulness were instantly the theme of general admiration, and the laugh which his gallantry raised against Marianne received particular spirit from his exterior attractions. Marianne claimed to have seen less of his person than the rest, telling her mother and sisters that the confusion which crimsoned over her face, on his lifting her up, had robbed her of the power of regarding him after their entering the house. But she secretly basked in the remembrance of all of him that she had seen, and touched, and felt as a result of his own caress. His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story; the intensity in his eyes and the fire of sensations he had invoked in her were more than she ever could have anticipated even in her wildest fantasies; and his daringness in pleasuring her the way he had with so little previous formality, told her that he was the man she had been waiting for, the answer to all her hopes and dreams. For the first time, Marianne was excited by her life.
    Every circumstance belonging to Willoughby was interesting. His name was good, his residence was in their favourite village, and Marianne soon found out that of all manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming. Her imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a sprained ankle was disregarded.
    Sir John called on them as soon as the next interval of fair weather that morning allowed him to get out of doors; and Marianne’s accident being related to him, he was eagerly asked whether he knew any gentleman of the name of Willoughby at Allenham.
    “Willoughby!” cried Sir John; “what, is
he
in the country? That is good news however; I will ride over to-morrow, and ask him to dinner on Thursday.”
    “You know him then,” said Mrs. Dashwood.
    “Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here every year.”
    “And what sort of a young man is he?”
    “As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you. A very decent shot, and there is not a bolder rider in England.”
    “And is that all you can say for him?” cried Marianne, indignantly. Though fully aware that she was the only one who knew he possessed specific talents that surely far surpassed his fine riding and shooting