It had been three days, since he'd asked her to be his bride. Marianne couldn't be happier, and when Colonel Brandon had appeared, on a bright Sunday afternoon, asking if she'd like to go for a walk, Mrs. Dashwood had let them go instantly, only asking that they be back in time for dinner.

They'd past the time with good conversation; the colonel had brought a book of poetry to read from, and Marianne had come across a very lovely patch of wildflowers that she'd made a bouquet from.

And now, they turned to home. A question had been on Marianne's mind since they had started their excursion; indeed, since he had proposed to her three days past.

"I hesitate to suggest this," Marianne began. "Lest you think less of me-"

"That could never happen, I can assure you now-"

"But seeing as we are now engaged," Marianne tried to finish, and her cheeks were a bright red now. "You might kiss me."

She felt her dear colonel's eyes on her, heard his inhale, knew his gaze dropped to her lips.

"Marianne," he whispered. "Miss Marianne."

He took her hands in his. "Dearest of my heart. I-" -he lay a kiss on her hand, just a light caress- "could never-" -another kiss- "-do anything that might-" - he lay a kiss on her palm, this time lingering a moment, fairly burning her with the heat- "-be perceived as improper-" -he lay a kiss on her inner wrist, such an unexpected place that Marianne jumped- "-or could damage your reputation."

"Of course," she gasped, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed.

"We must go in now," he told her. "Your mother is probably watching for us, and I don't ever wish her to worry for your reputation."

"Colonel, I don't think she'd ever fear for me...if I was with you," Marianne said.

He smiled. "I do think you can start calling me Christopher," he teased gently. "At least in private. We are engaged now."

"Yes," she replied. "Christopher. I—my mother won't worry. Might we not stay out for a moment longer? We didn't finish the poem."

He looked down at the book in his hand. "You are quite right, Miss Marianne," he said.

"We might lose the miss," she breathed, reaching to take his hand again, firmly grasping his wrist. "Christopher. We are engaged now."

His eyes met hers, and the moment sparked both of them. Marianne was aware of her breathing growing a bit faster, and she could feel every move of Christopher's eyes on her; her eyes, her nose, her lips...and then lower, for just a second, not too long to be scandalous or lecherous, but just long enough to make her move forward again, on the very edge of her seat. "Christopher," she whispered. "I do wish you'd show me what it's like..." She licked her lips. "To kiss someone who loves you."

His pupils grew ever wider, and his lips parted. "Marianne, you tempt me so," he told her. "One kiss. And then we go to your mother."

She merely nodded, no words left in her mouth.

His hand grazed her face, gently cupping her cheek, angling her towards him. He leaned in, so close, his forehead pressing against hers, and their breaths mingled together for a moment.

"One kiss," he repeated, voice ragged, as though commanding himself to stay true.

"Yes," she said. "Please."

"Marianne," he said, and their lips met, in a quiet, brushing motion, so light and Marianne could feel the pleasure and yet the pain from how soon the moment would end.

But then his lips landed on hers, firmly, and she thrilled to his touch. They moved against hers, so warm, and she found herself responding deeply to his kiss, moving to throw her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his.

And just like that, he moved back, chest heaving, gently removing her arms from his neck. "Marianne, we must not," he said.

"Of course not," she managed, looking anywhere but him, trying to control her breathing.

He offered her his arm, after a moment had passed, once they'd both managed to calm themselves a little.

She took it, thrilling in the strength of it.

"Once we are married," he began, as they walked to the little cottage, spying Margaret in the upstairs window.

"Yes?" She wondered.

"I shall never stop kissing you, Marianne," he told her, voice very low.

They could see Elinor in the parlor, and Mrs. Dashwood was coming to the door to greet them.

"I look forward to that very much," Marianne told him, daring a glance up at his face.

He smiled down at her, his grip on her arm tightening a little. "As do I."