Disclaimer: The characters here and the world they inhabit are the creation and property of Margaret Mitchell, her heirs, and their assigns.

Scarlett couldn't stop thinking about Rhett's question. Tell me about the man you love. Does he make you feel like this? She tried to imagine, based on the one kiss she'd received from Ashley what it would be like if he were kissing her throat and chest the way Rhett had.

She couldn't imagine him actually doing it, based upon their one kiss at Christmas. Ashley had kissed her as if there was something distasteful about it, even hateful. Rhett had kissed her as though he wanted to consume her in a fire. Ashley had left her feeling abandoned, but Rhett had left her feeling like something within her was on the cusp of being complete. He'd stopped kissing her the other night and had tapped her nose, promising to visit later. Scarlett knew a moment of longing, wishing that whatever it was could have continued, but feeling as though the moment was enough for now until he came back.

But Rhett was bad for her; Rhett himself said it more than once. That meant his kisses, for all that they made her feel delicious, were bad, too. And Ashley was the opposite of Rhett, except... could she say it was good for Ashley to kiss her when he had a wife? Even if Melanie wasn't the wife he should have, he had still taken vows and sworn to live by those vows. That would mean his kiss with Scarlett at Christmas was... She would have to think about that one tomorrow.

She looked at her hair in the mirror. Rhett might come tonight, and he always liked to see her make an effort to be pretty, even when there was no food or nice dresses and when it was so hot that whatever she did was sure to look wilted. He didn't always compliment her. He was quite stingy with his compliments, in fact. His eyes, though, would gleam, and she would know that he thought she looked pretty when she saw that light in them.

When had it gone wrong? He asked himself the same question. He'd almost had her with the hat. She was almost asking him for kisses. It wasn't very far from there to getting her to admit that she liked him better than any other man she'd known. If only she would realize it. He sighed. There was a very definite cooling off after the hat, but he never knew what happened.

He waited in the shadows until Mrs. Meade went home, and then stepped up as Scarlett was reaching to unfasten the hook that held the door open. "Allow me," he said quietly, standing so close to her back that she could barely breathe and reaching up along where she was already reaching. After the door was unfastened, he stepped back and she was able to turn around and face him. "Good evening, dear Mrs. Hamilton."

She stepped back and found the chair she usually sat in. "Good evening Captain Butler." For a moment as she moved, she was silhouetted against the lamplight of the inside hallway, and he lost his breath. Scarlett knew that she was appealing to men, but in her strange innocence, she had no idea what she looked like. How to begin the conversation tonight?

"Have you ever loved a woman?" she suddenly asked.

"What a question!" he responded, for once off his footing. What would she ask next?

"I just wondered. You asked, the other night, if the man I love made me feel the way you do. So when you're like that with women, do you love them? You've had quite a few lady friends, I take it."

He pondered it. "It's an interesting question." He leaned on the porch rail, lit a cigar, and stared at her. It was a predicament, and he had to cut as closely to the truth as possible this time. Any other response would send her into a rage and then it would be months before she would let him do so much as tip his hat to her. He took a long drag to steady himself, and answered. "It's never quite like that with other women."

"That's not true!" she hissed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You know so much of my heart?"

"I know that you are close enough to that Watling creature that she has your handkerchiefs." She bit it off as though it hurt her. It was important.

"How did you come by this piece of information?"

"She gave one to Melly, full of gold pieces for the hospital... that no doubt came from you, for... for..." Having got the essentials of her tirade out, she ended in a whimper.

"My dealings with Belle are none of your business, but very much mine."

"But if you're sharing a bed with her and want to share a bed with me, don't I have a right to know?"

"In a word-no." Was that entirely true? Was he going to just tell her about Belle without some sort of reciprocation?

"Oh." She rose and walked toward the door. "I don't know what I was-I beg your pardon."

"Scarlett," he reached out and took her hand. He brought her back to the porch rail, and then pulled her close and cupped her cheek. "I own the house she operates her business in. We may have other concerns together, but I have never felt for her or any other woman what I do for you when I do this." He leaned down and kissed her, barely controlling the groan that threatened to rip through him.

Scarlett didn't know what was happening to her. He had pulled her close so that she was standing between his legs, and she was very much aware of standing entirely closer than she ever had to a man before, almost in the same space as him. His one hand was still cupping her cheek while the other was kneading her back before dipping down to grab a handful of her skirt. Her own body was betraying her, arching toward him, sighing in bliss at being pressed against him tight enough to feel his vest buttons against her belly. Her sigh allowed him to lick her lips open, and then his tongue was against her teeth and finally her own tongue, which was curious enough to play with his. He groaned and pulled away. "Scarlett, what are we doing?"

"I thought you were... I don't know. I thought you knew what to do. You always know what to do."

He pulled her close to his chest. She could hear his heart beating so very quickly, like her own. "Tell me, my sweet, does the man you love make you feel this way?"

"I thought," she started, "I thought, back when you first started taking me to the picnics and balls and bazaars, that it almost felt like I was in love with you."

His hands on her shoulders moved her back so that she was standing away from him now. She could feel his face become intent. "What did that feel like?"

"As though I came alive or the party was better just because you were in the room."

It was there, just about within his grasp.

"Do you still think that?"

"When Melly showed me that handkerchief, she had no idea that it was yours, but I did. It was exactly like your other ones. It hurt, Rhett."

"What if I felt the same for you?"

"You almost feel like you're in love with me?" She stepped further away. "But you're-you have dealings with-Belle Watling."

"It's nothing like this," he said, "and it will be nothing at all if you say yes."

"Yes to what?"

"Yes, you'll be my mistress."

Her shoulders sagged. Of course. She tried not to be too disappointed that it was all he wanted. After all, he was about to be disappointed, too.

"You know I can't."

"Is it the passel of brats? I wouldn't mind a passel of brats, not your brats, any way. You could leave them with me when you move on." If I ever let you move on, he thought, as the idea of having children with her entranced him.

She shook her head. "You know I can't. I appreciate what you've shown me. I'm sure I'll never find anything like it with any other man, but I can't do that."

There was a flare of a match as he lit a new cigar. "How long are you staying in Atlanta?"

"Doctor Meade says Melly has to stay until-" She broke off in embarrassment before continuing- "and he thinks it will be next month."

"And you plan to leave as soon as that's over? You won't be able to leave her here."

Scarlett sighed. "I'll have to take her with me, and the baby."

"You know it will be nearly impossible to get anywhere west of the city."

"I have to go home, Rhett. I want my mother."

"Hush, my sweet." She was in his arms again, but this time he was soothing her. "We will get you to Tara somehow."

"Oh, Rhett, sometimes you're so nice."

"Sometimes you are too, my dear."

A/N: Thank you for all the love shown to this story. I wasn't planning to continue it, and if it goes too far down the road it's on, I'll have to take it into an alternate universe, which would mean completely re-writing the last two thirds of the book. Thanks to readers and reviewers, especially rhett's love, Guest, gabyhyatt, and Romabeachgirl1981