I hope that all of you who celebrate it had a lovely Christmas, and I look forward to seeing you all again in 2017 when this story should start winding up to its conclusion. Probably.

Rhett had not been speaking idly when he'd told Scarlett they would be hard pressed to make it to the restaurant on time. To be fair, it probably would have been a struggle even if he had managed to pick her up on schedule, which, of course, he hadn't.

Scarlett had been close to pulling her hair out when he'd finally strolled into the store just after quarter past five, smiling lazily as if nothing was amiss and he had all the time in the world with which to browse the shelves and flirt carelessly with the female customers.

It was all very well for him to squander time in such a manner, Scarlett had thought. After all, he wasn't the one who now had less than forty-five minutes to wash, dress and see to their hair and make up. In fact, while she'd been running herself ragged, hopping around the bedroom with one stocking on her foot and the other flailing in her hand as she desperately tried to recall where she'd left her lemon verbena scent, Rhett had had nothing more taxing to do that lounge around chatting to the children and smoking his way through the best part of two cigars.

It had been a monumental effort to get herself ready in time and the hasty preparations had been accompanied by a deafening symphony of slamming doors, stamping feet, and no less than seventeen heartfelt cries of 'Damn you, Rhett Butler- you told me you'd be there at half past four!'

Despite her best efforts, however, the clock had already struck six by the time they made it out of the front door. Rushing to climb into the carriage bound for the National, her corset laced too tightly and her hair slightly askew, any excitement that Scarlett might have been feeling at the prospect of enjoying a rare evening out had long since evaporated.

It didn't help matters that the hotel in question held such a special place in her heart. Their stay there after their honeymoon had been blissful and Scarlett had no desire to see such precious memories sullied by her present sourness.

Immune to Rhett's attempts to seduce her back into a good humour, Scarlett had stayed silent throughout their journey, and may well have remained that way the entire evening had their reception upon arrival not been quite so emphatic.

Like a Queen returning to her court after an extended absence, Scarlett was extremely flattered to find that all of the staff not only remembered her, but actively went out of their way to ensure that her every need and whim was expertly catered for.

It did not occur to her that Rhett's reputation as a frequent and extremely generous tipper had lingered long in the minds of the hotel's employees and had more than a little to do with all the extra attention the couple were getting, particularly the complimentary bottles of wine that had been sent over to their table upon arrival.

Instead, she assumed that their actions were a reflection of her own elevated status and so had sat through the entire meal with a large, slightly smug smile on her face, only too eager to take advantage of their unexpected kindnesses by filling both her plate and glass well beyond the point that most diners would have deemed excessive to the point of vulgarity.

By the time they brought out her dessert, -a beautiful pavolva, whiter than the first snow and filled with so much fruit it made her mouth water just to see it- Scarlett had already eaten far more food in a single sitting than she would normally have allowed to pass her lips in an entire day.

As a result of her gluttony, Scarlett's corset was beginning to pinch into her waist rather worryingly and, twice now, she'd had to excuse herself from the table in order to be spared the indignity of belching in public.

The wine had certainly done its fair share of the work too, adding a flush to her cheeks and a looseness to her speech, the latter of which she would surely regret just as soon as she managed to regain full control of her senses.

Rather than being offended by her extravagant behaviour, however, Rhett seemed rather charmed by the whole thing. They had been talking easily to one another all evening and Scarlett could scarcely remember a time when she'd seen him smile either as often or as fully.

Things were going so well, in fact, that they had even managed to discuss her plans for the upcoming crush without coming to blows. At first, Scarlett had been reluctant to raise the subject, convinced that Rhett would only sneer at her ideas before quickly dismissing them out of hand.

So sure had she been that he would mock her for her desire to hire a full piece orchestra to serenade the dancing couples before pouring scorn upon her wish to drape the entire length of the veranda in a deep-red, velvet canvas during the drinks reception, that, without his express encouragement, she would never have dared to voice either suggestion.

As it was, though, Rhett had ended up surprising her greatly by nodding along solemnly at her every word, even going so far as to murmur quiet words of encouragement whenever she fell silent.

All in all, it had been a truly wonderful evening, Scarlett would even have been tempted to call it perfect, had not the waiter chosen that exact moment to present Rhett with his chosen dessert. A deep, rich, chocolate gateaux with a generous side helping of cream, it looked divine, and like a spoilt child whose sibling has just been presented with a fancier present, it suddenly made Scarlett look upon her own measly pavlova with poorly concealed disdain.

No sooner had the expression flitted across her face, however, than her husband stepped in to help remove it.

'I'm afraid this isn't mine.' He informed the waiter, his face so earnest that, had Scarlett not heard him order it with her own ears five minutes previously, she too would surely have believed him.

'My profuse apologies, Sir. There must have been a misunderstanding in the kitchens. What was it that you ordered?'

'I chose the pavlova and my wife the gateaux.'

The unexpected lie caused Scarlett to let out a most unladylike sound and, mortified, she quickly feigned a cough in order to disguise her faux pas.

Sometimes Rhett really could be the most darling thing, she thought, preening happily in her seat. She knew full well he didn't even like pavlova, and, yet, here he was, willing to sacrifice his dessert so that she might enjoy it instead.

Touched by his gesture, Scarlett moved her foot so that it reclined affectionately against his. Eyes already fixed upon her newly acquired gateaux, Scarlett missed the surprised smile Rhett threw her way, but felt the answering pressure of his shoe against hers, and the intimate brush of his trousers against her stocking, only too keenly.

All day, thoughts of his body had made it impossible for her to concentrate properly on her work, her mind choosing the most inconvenient moments imaginable to wander off and relive the events of the previous two nights.

For a woman who had always prided herself on her total dedication to her businesses, it had been beyond frustrating to find her attentions straying in this way, especially when, late this afternoon, her daydreaming had almost led to her grossly undercharging a customer.

The thought that she had come perilously close to handing over her hard-earned money to an undeserving stranger was truly sickening to Scarlett and the incident had stuck in her throat like tar right up until the moment Rhett, Panama hat held suavely in hand, had finally shown up to take her home.

Despite the fact she now got to enjoy the security of Rhett's seemingly inexhaustible bank account, Scarlett was only too aware of how quickly her sudden fortune could be stripped from her, and her slip up, however minor, had served to remind her just how devilishly hard a thing money was to hold on to.

The echoes of the past still rang loudly in her ears and she feared that, even if she were to live to be a hundred, she would never again forget the clawing hollowness that had echoed through her insides each and every night she'd been forced to go to bed on an empty stomach.

It was partly the thought of such starvation that had caused her to indulge herself so thoroughly during their meal and, even now, well-fed and full to bursting as she was, the mere rememberance of her long-distant suffering was enough to make her dig her fork into her dessert with renewed energy.

Forgetting to worry about her table manners, Scarlett dedicated herself to the task of fitting as much of the gateaux into her mouth as was humanly possible, finding that even Rhett's mocking gaze was not enough to deter her from her mission.

'Take time, my pet.' He cautioned lightly as he watched her gorge herself on the treat. 'It's not a race. The restaurant is unlikely to throw us out for eating too slowly, whereas I fear that one look at your chocolate-smeared visage will see us swiftly ejected for crimes against public decency.'

Jerking the napkin up to wipe her face, Scarlett frowned darkly when it came away spotlessly clean. 'There's no chocolate on my face, Rhett.'

'So there isn't. I must congratulate you, my dear, I do believe you've managed to cram every last crumb into your mouth, after all.'

Her answering glare only made him laugh harder and Scarlett was considering refusing to speak to him for the rest of the night as punishment for his ungallant behaviour when he shocked her by placing his uneaten pavlova on top of her now empty dessert dish.

'I'm afraid I haven't left enough room for this course. Would you be so kind as to finish it for me?'

Tantrum neatly averted by the prospect of extra food, Scarlett smiled graciously at her husband and eagerly dived in, making sure to cut the dessert into smaller, daintier portions this time in order to avoid more of his teasing.

Across the table from her, Scarlett watched as Rhett lent back in his chair and took a long sip from his wine glass, the powerful muscles in his throat dancing hypnotically each time he swallowed. Caught up by the unconscious display of his underlying masculinity, she jumped guiltily when he turned back from gazing languidly around the room to fix his eyes upon her.

'Have you given much thought to who it is you want at your crush, Scarlett?'

Mouth still full of meringue, she could only nod her head.

'Yes.' She said after she'd finally swallowed it all down, only to embarrass herself by choking on a stray crumb and having to swiftly chase it down with the last of her wine.

Noting the now empty bottle, Rhett signalled for the waiter to bring over another and Scarlett wasted no time in refilling her glass, deciding that, after having indulged herself so indecently all evening, there was precious little sense in practicing caution now.

'I want to invite everyone.' She said once she was certain she'd be able to speak without setting off another coughing fit. 'Melly and Ashley. Pittypat and Uncle Henry. All the Old Cat's who've ever said anything mean about me. Rufus Bullock-'

'Rufus Bullock?' Rhett interrupted, raising an eyebrow in evident amusement. 'The Republican governor?'

'Yes, him. Why, do you know another Rufus Bullock?'

Ignoring her jibe, Rhett quickly countered with one of his own. 'Forgive me, I would not have queried it, except for the fact that I thought you to be the very model of a staunch, unwavering Democrat. Unless my memory fails me, my dear, I seem to remember you professing as much rather heatedly one morning before my trip to New Orleans.'

The coarse reference to their fight and Rhett's subsequent departure incensed Scarlett greatly. Since his return, they had both been careful to avoid the issue as much as possible, alluding to it only with vague words and horseshoe shaped gifts, and the direct reference to it now only served to remind her that she had been unable to truly humble him in the aftermath of their fight, a revelation that stung her more than she liked to admit.

Sending him what she'd intended to be a piercing glare, but which the copious amounts of alcohol in her bloodstream helped to soften into nothing more cutting than a slightly fuzzy stare, Scarlett's voice was cold and clipped when she replied. 'Your memory is certainly failing you if you're surprised I want him there, Rhett. I told you that I want this crush to be the most stylish party Atlanta has ever seen and obviously that means inviting Mr. Bullock to be part of it.'

Pressing the pads of his fingers to his chin, Rhett nodded thoughtfully for a moment before continuing in a more measured, conspiratorial tone. 'You do realise that none of the Old Guard will ever agree to attend the same function as your dear friend Rufus, don't you?'

Jerking her head in dismissal, Scarlett airily brushed off his concerns. 'Why, of course they will. My party has nothing to do with politics. Whatever people may think of Mr. Bullock as a governor, and Lord knows I'm none too keen on him myself in that respect, they won't object to him coming to my crush. In fact, his being there will help remind people what a special and important event our housewarming really is.'

'As much as I've always been rather partial to your own, shall we say unique worldview, my dear, I'm afraid that this is one occasion where I really must disagree with it. Politics always matters, my pet, especially to the people of Atlanta. You've lived in this town long enough, Scarlett, you've seen how they were during the war, how they never truly surrendered after it. These people are fighters, they'll never accept Republican rule. Not in Washington, not in their state government and certainly not in their homes. Not one single member of the Old Guard will ever consent to set so much as a foot in the same building as that man and if you hear nothing else that I say tonight, then at least hear this: if you want the Old Cats to grow sick with envy as they walk around your beloved house, then you would do well to leave Mr. Bullock off the guest list.'

Her mind clouded by the wine, most of Rhett's speech passed straight over Scarlett's head. The parts that she did catch though only convinced her that he was blowing the situation up out of all proportion. Really, as if any of her neighbours would ever refuse to come to her party just because Rufus Bullock happened to be there! Why, they'd all be so flattered just to receive an invitation that they wouldn't even care if Abe Lincoln himself was planning to attend.

The thought of quarrelling with Rhett, and bringing their evening to a hasty and unpleasant end, didn't sit right with Scarlett, though, and she thought it best to forego her usual biting counter arguments in favour of a simple shake of the head.

'You haven't listened to a single word I've said, have you?' Rhett accused, but through the fog of her drowsy, wine-soaked mind, the words sounded fondly amused rather than accusatory and Scarlett only smiled sleepily and polished off the last of the pavlova by way of a reply.

Rhett chuckled. 'I think someone's ready for bed, my pet. You stay here and I'll go and see to the bill.'

'Alright.' She said magnanimously, sighing forlornly to herself when she realised Rhett had already left the table in search of the maitre d'.

Picking up her napkin, she patted it along her bottom lip a few times before twisting it absentmindedly in her hands while she waited for him to return.

She hoped he wouldn't be too long for her corset really was beginning to dig into her sides most uncomfortably, the two desserts no doubt having conspired to push her normally tiny waist out wider than it had been since before Ella was born.

Twisting in her seat, Scarlett managed to catch a glimpse of Rhett as he turned the corner, the outline of his broad back encased beneath the most expensive, exquisitely-tailored of dinner jackets causing her thoughts to drift back towards dangerous ground once again.

In a bid to distract herself, Scarlett turned her attentions to her fellow diners. Try as she might though, she could not seem to stop the elicit thoughts from popping up and soon found herself wondering if the young woman at the table next to hers, whose blond hair bobbed annoyingly every time she nodded at something her older, slightly overweight husband said, had ever felt the kind of tremors she herself had just the night before.

It was a terrible, scandalous thought, and yet the answer to her question suddenly seemed very important to her tired, tipsy mind. Studying them both curiously, she couldn't quite imagine it. The man stared unrelentingly into the middle distance as he spoke, as if the sound of his own voice was far more interesting than watching his wife's reaction to his words.

Studying them closely, Scarlett felt herself flush at the thought of how Rhett's eyes always sought out hers whenever he talked. Black and piercing, they seemed to burn into her so intensely that often she felt as if he was trying to communicate with her very soul.

The thought of it made her vision swim a little, almost as if she was being pulled away from the restaurant back into the heated darkness of her bedroom. Now, when the blond woman smiled, Scarlett saw her own mouth falling open in ecstasy. When the woman's husband laughed, Scarlett heard only Rhett's low groaning in her ear. And when the man picked up a forkful of steak, Scarlett felt Rhett's tongue drawing invisible patterns across her chest and throat as his lips hungrily sought out stray pasty crumbs.

She was losing her mind. There was no other possible explanation for her irrational, obsessive behaviour. And yet, rather than worrying about the need to consult a doctor and get her affliction seen to, Scarlett found herself wondering if the National made its own pastries and, if so, whether they'd be willing to let her and Rhett take some home with them.

Before she had a chance to dwell on the idea any further, Rhett suddenly appeared by her side, his arms extended to help her to stand up from her seat.

'Thank you.' She said, her legs wobbling slightly as she struggled to gained her balance.

'You're welcome, my dear.' He replied, gracefully managing to ignore her unsteadiness while, at the same time, laying a firm hand across her back to guide her safely through the restaurant and out into the street.

While she successfully managed to navigate the sea of tables and chairs without incident, the chill of the night air almost proved to be Scarlett's undoing. It assaulted her like a physical blow and sent her stumbling backwards in shock the moment they passed through the doors. She would surely have fallen to the floor in an slovenly heap had Rhett not been standing so close behind her, his chest proving itself a far more welcome resting place than the pavement below.

'Careful there.' He said, wrapping an arm around her waist as he steadied her. 'I fear the wine may have gone to your head a little.'

Now that Rhett mentioned it, she did feel a bit light-headed. She didn't want to admit as much, though. No doubt, he would only criticise her for having drunk too much and she was having far too pleasant a time to ruin it all with an argument in which he would be certain to use a lot of big words and cutting remarks to ensure he emerged the victor.

Biting her tongue, Scarlett yanked herself roughly out of Rhett's hold and started off up the street towards home, instead.

'And just where do you think you're going?' A deep, laughing voice asked as warm arms rewrapped themselves around her middle.

'Back to the house.' Scarlett said, drawing herself up haughtily and slapping his hands away. 'We've been gone for hours and the children will be worried. You know they don't sleep well when we're not there.'

'As touched as I am by your display of maternal affection, my pet, do you not think it would perhaps serve your purposes better if you were to walk in the actual direction of our house?'

Blinking rapidly, Scarlett flushed as she realised she had indeed been heading the entirely wrong way. 'Oh.'

'Oh, indeed, Mrs. Butler.' Rhett chuckled.

Not wanting to give him a chance to gloat over her mistake, Scarlett spun on her heels and began to march off in the opposite direction, crying out when she felt Rhett grab hold of her for a third time.

'Not so fast, Scarlett. As sorely tempted as I am to watch you endeavour to walk home in your current condition, I do think it would be unfair of me to have called Pork out of the house for nothing.'

'Pork?' Scarlett questioned, trying unsuccessfully to extract herself from his firm hold.

'Yes. I arranged for him to meet us here with the carriage at eleven. It's just gone quarter to now, so we shouldn't have long to wait. It's colder out here than I was expecting though, and as you seem to have forgotten to bring your shawl, I think it might be best if you waited inside until he arrives.'

'If I forgot my shawl, it's only because I had no time to get ready.' Scarlett cried indignantly. 'And I'm not a child, Rhett. I think I can manage to stand outside for ten minutes without wasting away!'

Laughing lightly at her flare of temper, Rhett only shrugged and held her tightly with one arm.

'Get off me.' She muttered irritably as she tried unsuccessfully to squirm out of his grip. 'What are you doing?'

The answer to her question became clear a moment later when he used his other hand to wrap his long coat around her front, cocooning them both in the small, warm space that lay between the two folds.

'You know, this would work far better if you turned towards me.' Rhett said, his mouth pressed up tightly against her ear.

Scarlett huffed loudly and stayed where she was, it was bad enough that she was standing so close to her husband in public, without making the situation even more shocking by moving so that they were face to face.

Rhett's voice dropped lower. 'That way you could put your arms around me, too.'

Scarlett froze, noticing that Rhett's normal, teasing tone was undercut with something far more yearning and elicit.

It was one thing to enjoy remembering the things they had done together inside the privacy of her own mind, but quite another to allude to them in a public setting.

His words helped jolt her out of the stupor the wine had put her under and, realising what she was doing, she gathered up her strength and hastily flung herself out of his embrace.

'Scarlett?'

'Stay away from me, Rhett.' She said, trying to stop her teeth from chattering as she realised just how cold it was without the protection of his warm body to shield her from the night air.

'Scarlett, come back here. You're freezing.' He cajoled, holding the sides of his coat out and creating the most tempting space against his body that she instantly longed to melt back in to.

'No, I'm not.' She said stubbornly, fighting against the urge to rub her hands up and down the length of her bare arms.

'I'm not blind, my pet. I can see you shivering from here.'

'No, you can't.' She maintained, turning her head away in the childish assumption that, if she could not see him, he would not be able to see her, either.

The sound of deep laughter filled the space between them and made the hairs on her frozen arms stand up. 'You really are the most obstinate woman in all of creation, aren't you?'

Scarlett kept her eyes fixed on the deserted road even as a loud rustling noise filled her ears. 'Here, have it.' Rhett said, stepping closer to lay his coat over her thin, shaking shoulders. 'I can't have you turning to ice, now can I? Mammy would never let me back in the house, if I let her most precious charge come to harm.'

Warmed by both the coat and Rhett's allusion to Mammy's great love for her, Scarlett's scowl melted into a smile as she turned back towards her husband.

'Now you're cold.' She said, frowning as she glimpsed his pale face.

Her rare show of concern made Rhett's eyes leap up to her face almost hungrily, and Scarlett was about to ask him what it was he seemed to be searching for there, when her attention was stolen by the sight of Pork and the carriage turning onto the deserted street.

As Pork pulled the horse to a stop outside the hotel, and Rhett took her hand to help her climb into the carriage, a spark of much-welcome heat passed between them. Unable to suppress the shiver it generated, Scarlett blushed as Rhett paused to eye her speculatively before turning away to speak to Pork.

Taking her seat, Scarlett snuggled back against the plush material of the carriage and wrapped Rhett's coat around her more securely as she tried unsuccessfully to ignore the way that being so thoroughly surrounded by the smell of her husband was starting to do strange things to her lower stomach.

Peeking through closed lashes, Scarlett watched as Rhett swung himself up into the carriage after her, enjoying the way his thigh muscles rippled and strained as he sprawled out casually in the seat directly across from her's. Hair falling rakishly across one eye, he took the time to light a cigarette before he spoke. 'Did you enjoy your evening out, Scarlett?'

Finding herself oddly tongue-tied under the weight of his gaze, Scarlett could only nod.

The evening had indeed been a lovely one, and she squirmed pleasurably as a small, tentative voice whispered that hopefully the coming night would prove itself to be even sweeter still.