Long wait, and long chapter.

Scarlett sat at the window, listening to the wind hurling itself out of the late afternoon. The morning clouds had returned, smearing the sky with a cover of grey. No one had intruded upon her, not even Rebekkah, since Eulalie had burst out of her room hours before. She was grateful to have been left alone and seemingly forgotten. Added to her stunned sense of loss at the revelation about her mother, at the bereft instability of her world and security, was an anger so acute it pinned her feet to the floor.

Never before had she considered her mother as anything but perfect, anyone but perfect, and now that she had to grapple with the reality of her mother's past, she could only see her as one thing: a liar. Did her mother even love her pa now? Why hadn't she ever mentioned this Philippe? Why hadn't she ever talked to her daughter about her heart? Maybe if she had, Scarlett wouldn't have thrown herself at Ashley, maybe she wouldn't have been forced into marriage with Rhett. As long as Scarlett could remember, Ellen had been someone otherworldly, as inspiring as an angel from on high, and as unapproachable as one, too. Now she was fallen to the earth. And instead of rousing her daughter's compassion, it infuriated Scarlett.

She should not have to deal with this abandonment—not when she had lost so much already. She wished Eulalie had kept her big trap shut. The rage rising within her reminded her of that sickening, gut-wrenching moment a month ago, when she had spied Ashley kissing Melanie and had known that he was a cheat and a liar, a weakling who loved his willowy cousin even though he claimed to care for her. Only this was so much worse.

Her adoration for her mother hadn't been a girlish admiration, but a deep, soulful worship. It had been the one thing that had tied her to sanity these last couple weeks: something from her girlhood beliefs that was supposed to endure, to last for the years and harden into undefiled, sacred relics of her youth. Now it was gone. Ashley was a liar. Her mother was a liar. Everybody was a liar. As blasphemous as it was, she believed it would have been better if God had forsaken her.

Scarlett shivered, frightened, as this dawning crept over her and the wind howled at her back. She finally became aware of the incoming storm, and swiveled around to glance over the balcony. Normally she loved this perch because she could watch the crowds scurry below, and while she could not join them, she could innocently observe them from her lofty view. But the streets were emptied of most of their usual traffic now and she was glad for it. She didn't want to see anyone. She wanted to get away from Charleston. She wanted to get away from everything. And above all, she wanted to stay away from Tara.

Down below, she spotted a man loping casually down the desolate sidewalk. His suit rippled against his massive body in the gusty eve and he wore a wide panama hat that obscured his face. Gladness and remembrance flooded Scarlett. It was Rhett. She had never been so happy to see him, and deep in her heart, she knew that he was the one person who could help her now.

She plastered her palms against her cheeks and bit her lip. He was going away tomorrow, far, far away, and she wanted to go with him. Her mind raced with possibilities. She couldn't beg him to take her. She couldn't just ask him. He would undoubtedly say no. He had to want to take her with him. He was unlike other men, but he was still a man. There wasn't a man she couldn't get, once she set her sights on him—why even Ashley hadn't been able to completely turn her down. The problem was she only had one night to convince Rhett that he wanted her so much he couldn't stand the thought of leaving her here.

Quickly she rose and rushed to the mirror. The room was blanketed in the somber light of the stormy skies and she had to squint a little at her reflection. Her hair was a mess and her dress was wrinkled. Where was Rebekkah when Scarlett actually needed her? She was always about when she wasn't wanted. Scarlett pressed her hands frantically against her rumpled dress. She didn't have time to change into something ravishing. Like a comet, a daring thought flashed into her mind. She didn't have time to change into something, but she did have time to change out of something.

Before she could question the idea or lose the nerve, her fingers flew down her front, unclasping her bodice, and she shimmied out of her hoop skirts. She unlaced her corset, thankful that it was easier to undo than to be squeezed into. Her hand hesitated on her chemise, and fell away. There were some of those years of teaching that could not be dismantled in only an hour, not all of those carefully constructed walls could be toppled in only one week. She combed her hair, the loose pins falling to the wayside. It would have to do. She ran her eyes up and down her body, her eyes bright and her skin fevered. For once her pretty legs wouldn't have to be hidden underneath mounds of fabric.

Scarlett ran to the bed and lay down on top of the covers. Her heart beat a thousand drums per second. A wild thrill coursed in her blood. The minutes ticked by and she began to doubt. The air smelled of the promise of rain and held a chill. What was she doing? There had to be a better way.

Just then, light broke across the room as the door swung open. The gaping outline of her husband, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, shadowed the threshold. Rhett's gaze immediately fell on her and he shut the door. He set a bag he had in his hand on a table and strolled toward her, a curious smile on his face.

"Good evening," he drawled.

"Good evening."

He halted at the foot of the bed and razed her with one incisive look. She dimpled, batting her lids downward. She must not let him see how hard she was trying, or how desperately she wanted to come out the victor. She peeked up at him through her lashes.

"What's in the bag, Rhett?"

"Supper, or at least part of it."

"It smells wonderful."

"How long has it been since you ate?"

"I don't know."

"An aeon, I'm sure."

"An ae—What?"

"Nothing. Are you hungry?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"After a fashion. You certainly look good enough to eat."

Blushing, she briefly cast her eyes down. His words alone hadn't brought the flush to her skin. She had come to recognize the subtle drop in his voice and the smoky flint in his eyes. Whatever he did next, she had to be careful. Everything would be for naught if she gave in too easily. Charming her way into getting what she wanted had always come naturally to her, but this form of seduction was new. Still she had to play it as an old game. This was letting a beau kiss her once, to drive him crazy when she said no right after. But Rhett remained immobile at the footboard, staring at her like she was his next meal.

"So what are you going to do about supper, Rhett?" she asked, sighing out his name.

"Good question." His voice carried that husky richness again, yet he stood as an unmoving fixture of ennui a few feet away from her. Confused and slightly frustrated, she plucked at the bedding. Not since their first night together had she known him to deny himself. His gaze slid past her and moved along the room. He stared at something behind her for a moment and then slowly walked around the bed. The lethargy of his approach unnerved her. He sat down next to her, a sudden, bland disinterest on his face.

"Now why don't you tell me what it is you want from me Scarlett? It will save you time and me patience."

He sounded tired now too, and blood pooled in her cheeks from embarrassment instead of exhilaration. "I…I just woke up from—"

"No, try again. I saw you at the balcony as I was walking into the hotel. I would have noticed if you had been dressed so," he flicked his finger negligently against the lace on her chemise, "appealingly."

Her panic only increased at this, and she scooted up, folding her arms conscientiously over her chest. "I…I was warm and wanted to breathe a bit."

He glanced at the squally sky and back at her. "You are remarkably hot-blooded, my pet."

"I was going to sleep. I always sleep warm."

"So you ripped off your dress, wriggled out of your stays, and hopped into bed—not even bothering to kick your clothing into a corner—because you had an unprecedented urge to sleep instead of eating supper?"

"Curse him," she thought, grinding her teeth. Any other man would be eating out of her palm at this point. Not Rhett. Up until she had met him, she had thought she was an incorruptible mystery to the male mind, a goddess of flesh and stone. She had never had a man, other than Ashley, who dictated the terms. She didn't like knowing Rhett could see right through her. Above and beyond how irksome he could be, she secretly feared what he might see, what she sensed was already starting to coat her insides and flow in her veins. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of scouring around in her brain anymore than he already could with just a glance. Her anxiety and mortification flew away as her fury boiled up inside.

"I don't have to explain to you why I am in bed," she spat. "This is my room, isn't it? You barged in on me."

"Generally I wouldn't disagree," he replied, a smile playing around his lips. "But it's not every day that a delicately nurtured southern belle, who is only one week past her maidenhood, suddenly decides to tear her clothes off and lounge on the bed like Botticelli's Venus waiting for her lover. It's a fantasy that seems too good to be true. And as you are the subject and object of the fantasy, I know it must be too good to be true."

"Are you finished?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On you telling me why you are trying to seduce me."

"I wasn't—"

"Scarlett," Rhett said quietly, cutting her off and leaning so close to her that his breath tickled on her face. Heat of another kind lathered over her skin and he placed a hand on her flushed cheek. "You're not really going to try and lie to me again, are you?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?"

"No." She tried to cool her panting, but it became more difficult as his other hand started to skim up her ankle, his fingers inching up toward her curled knee. "I told you I wanted a nap."

Rhett pushed over on top of her, flattening her onto her back. He dropped his head down to her neck, and in between his luxuriant kisses, spoke: "I want to know why you felt compelled to initiate something that you had to know would happen at some point, without your instigation. I don't care what that reason is, but I do care that you are lying to me about it. I thought I had said this before, but I will say it again, and with any luck, for the last time. I can stand anything from you, but a lie. Throw as many tantrums as you can, act as selfishly as you want, even dislike me as vehemently as you choose," he raised his eyes, his lips poised over her collar bone and his hands now resting on her hips, "but lie to me again, and I'll make sure that whatever you're cooking up right now will come to nothing."

Her brain whirred on and Rhett dropped his head back down to her body. She was so wrapped up in her worries and the tremors caused by his caresses that it took her a moment to feel the difference in his touch. His lips were bruising her tender skin. His hands were groping her thigh with vice-like fingers and fondling her curves with a hasty neglect. She felt the pinch of his teeth on her shoulder and cried out in pain.

"Rhett! What are you doing?"

"Tell me, Scarlett," he breathed into her ear. "I don't have the patience for games right now."

She caught a blurry glimpse of his dark face. He no longer looked bored or amused, but for some reason, almost angry. She didn't want to tell him, but in her rage and fear, the words spilled out with unstoppable speed.

"I wanted to make you take me with you onto your ship—but not anymore! Get off of me you disgusting cad!"

To her surprise, he did. Faster than a deer bolts, he slithered off of her and stood up. The storm and dusk had fully fallen upon them and she couldn't quite make out his expression. For a hushed minute she heard his low, ragged breathing that matched her own. He fumbled in the semi-dark and the scratch of a match and the splutter of a gas wick cut through the stillness. Lifting the lamp, he stared down at her. The lamplight did little to help her decipher the mood written across his smooth face.

"What happened to you today Scarlett?" he asked kindly. "What did Eulalie say to you?"

She started at this, both at the kindness and the question, and some of her resentment wavered. "I didn't realize you were so aware of my social calls," she said cautiously.

"I'm not aware of yours. I'm aware of mine."

"Aunt 'Lalie went and saw you at the docks?"

"Not exactly," he answered. "She sent her dead husband's rascally valet to do her bidding."

"Isaac?"

"The same one. I haven't seen him since, well since before old man Harrison died. He despised me as a boy, even before I had done anything despicable. Not much has changed, but they rarely do. People rarely do."

Rhett chuckled softly and abruptly turned away. Stunned, she watched him close the balcony glass, cross the room to the grate, and begin kindling a fire. Scarlett rolled out of bed, draping the blanket around her as a regal robe, and walked toward him. She rustled the stiffness out of her legs and tried to imagine Rhett as a boy. Whatever he attested, she doubted he was ever innocent.

Noiselessly she approached him and, tired of sitting, remained standing; waiting on her questions and watching from behind as his sure hands cracked wood and deftly avoided the young flames. Within moments a blaze sparked to life, spreading warmth and light onto the dark room, turning the furniture beloved and the hearth rosy. Much of the rancor of the last several minutes melted away. It had all happened so quickly, and had ended so suddenly, that she could hardly believe it really had occurred. She felt mostly defeated now. What was she supposed to do? He wouldn't take her and she didn't want to stay. But how could she go to Tara? What could she say to her mother? How could she ever see her again?

Rhett spun up and looked down at her, seeming almost surprised by her nearness. He set the lamp on the mantle, and wearing a small smirk, tugged at her wind- and bed-tousled hair.

"This is a new look for you."

"Hush, I'm still mad at you." She batted his hand away and smoothed down the mussed mane. "You aren't so dapper yourself, you know."

Neither remark was true, of course. She was too spent to hold much of a grudge and as for his appearance—somehow he waltzed in every evening or morning, or whenever it was that he returned, with his suits perfectly spotless and unwrinkled. From the deep bronze blush across his cheekbones and nose, she knew he must be spending most of his time in the scorching sun, but the hours of rough labor never revealed themselves in his pristine attire. Even their short romp on the bed hadn't left a single crease in his clothing this evening.

Rhett let slide her retort, sliding past her and gracefully sinking into the chair that had become his. His shameless eyes roamed over her face and body, effortlessly penetrating through the blanket and provoking a blush on and underneath her skin. She hated the blush now more than ever. He shouldn't be able to do that, not after his coarseness.

"It's a good look," he commented. "Slip on some multicolored skirts and put you in stockings and you'd fit right in with your not-too-distant Irish peasant relatives."

"If you're only going to insult me when you're here, I don't know why you bother coming back at all."

"It wasn't an insult. It was merely an observation and a true one on top of that. My own heathen belle."

She frowned at him. This wasn't how she had wanted their evening to go. Her troubled gaze lowered to the floor. Perhaps she had been foolish to believe she could make him care. She didn't know why she had thought that he could rescue her. He was just as much a liar as everyone else. She wished she knew someone she could trust, someone who wasn't a stranger. No one in the world had ever understood her. And in those rare moments when she did reveal her true self, they all recoiled back or gaped at her.

"Scarlett, honey, what's the matter?" She startled and raised her head. Rhett's approach had been just as silent as hers had been. His dark eyes alertly searched her face, and he took her hand gently into his. "Eulalie couldn't have been that terrible—and you don't need to stay with her if she was."

"No! She wasn't terrible, not really."

"What is it then? Is it because I'm leaving? You don't really want to go with me—it's not the adventure you think it is. And as for my leaving at all, I only realized this morning I could ship off tomorrow. I planned on telling you tonight, but the gossipers beat me to the quick."

That was the assurance she had needed to hear, though she hadn't known it before. She could tell him. He could sort this out. He was so bad himself; he couldn't judge her or her mother. The words tore from her lips faster than she could speak them.

"I don't know what I want. It's not Eulalie or, you who have upset me, Rhett—it's my mother."

"Your mother? Did you get a letter from home already?"

"No…" Scarlett stuttered. It was so much harder to say it than to hear it. She licked her lips and clung to his hands, they felt so warm and strong. Some of that strength seeped through her skin and into her blood, and onto her tongue. "My aunt told me something about her. She…she didn't marry my pa because she loved him. I don't even know if she cared about him. She was in love with somebody else, some cousin of hers that died in a duel—and she married my pa only days after she'd heard that this man, this Phillip, had been killed."

If he made one of his nasty jokes, or jaded platitudes she'd scream. But he did not tease her, not now. His voice was oddly loving when he spoke.

"No matter why your mother married your father, that doesn't change the fact that she is your mother, Scarlett, or that she has been a very good mother to you. Her love for that man, who could have been hardly more than a boy, doesn't change her love for you. It doesn't even have to change her love for your father."

"Of course it does. It changes everything!"

"Why? Does it erase the times she cared for you when you were sick? Or the countless hours she spent raising her daughters into women? Or the tears she must have spilled over her fearsome oldest child?"

"Well, no, not those things—only every thing else."

"My dear, what else is there?"

"What else is there? There are years and years of her lying to me, of her teaching me that I was supposed to think certain thoughts and say certain things and be a certain way, and become a perfect lady just like her—only she isn't a lady at all. She's been pretending all these years."

"I don't know why you're upset. You've just described yourself perfectly, and apparently perfectly described your mother as well. I would think you'd feel closer to her now than ever before."

He was laughing at her now, she could hear the low rumble in his throat but she did not mind. It felt wonderful to unburden herself of the thoughts that for hours had weighted her down.

"Rhett, I can't feel close to her. I feel as though I don't even know her. She has always been so good and kind and selfless. Everybody comes first. Everybody matters more to her than she matters to herself. I thought that was who she was. I thought that was what I would someday become. But now, I don't know if it was all an act."

"Like it is for you?"

"Oh, well, yes. But Mother isn't that way. I know when ever I'm generous or acting charitable, I never really want to do it. I hate every minute of it and hate everyone who is making me do it. Does Mother hate everyone? Does she hate me?"

"'That were a kind of bastard hope indeed, so the sins of the mother should be visited upon me.'"

"What?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"Go on? I asked if my mother hates me! Nothing's as it's supposed to be! It's like my dream from the other day, the one I haven't had since I was a girl."

"What dream?" His voice was soft and soothing and she clutched her fingers harder around his hands.

"Oh, I didn't tell you, of course. Well, when I was a child I would always dream about dressing up in my mother's clothes, and in my dream I would be standing on Tara's porch and Mother would come to me and tell me that I shouldn't have taken them without her permission. She was never mean about it, because Mother is never mean. But she would make me undress and get into my own clothes. And the other day, I had this dream, only, only I didn't climb out of her dress. I grew up, instantly, like my limbs were made of dough and somebody was stretching them into a woman's body. And then, I turned to my mother but she wasn't there—Rebekkah was—"

"Rebekkah?"

"Yes, Rebekkah, and she said something to me, something I don't remember, but it made me so mad. I wanted to yell at her but the sound of the thunder distracted me, and I looked out over the cotton fields and a terrible, terrible storm was speeding across the sky. I've never seen clouds so black or rain so heavy or felt such powerful winds. I rushed to my front door but it wouldn't open. No matter how many times I banged on it and begged to be let in. And then, suddenly, I knew I was alone, that no one would be there for me, but me. So I turned around and watched the storm rage. It had destroyed almost everything. And then I woke up. Oh, Rhett, I feel like that storm has come upon me. My mother is gone from me forever, and I can't get into my house. I'm just stuck wearing her clothes and drowning out on the porch."

"Calm down," he said, unwinding her grip from his hands. "You're going to start crying soon and then I'll have to fish out a handkerchief from my luggage."

He took her by the elbow and led her to the chair, gently but firmly pushing her down by the elbows and forcing her to sit. The soft but powerful command he had over her, settled her as little else could. She stared meekly back at him as he knelt before her, his hard, black eyes boring pleasantly into her.

"Feel better? Let's try and get to the bottom of this. Now you say that your mother's been lying to you all your life and you don't know who she is anymore, but is that what really disturbs you? Or is it discovering that your mother is a woman with passions and a past, just like the rest of us, and that you don't need to worry so much about becoming like her because you are already like her?"

"When you put it like that it sounds so confusing."

"Fitting, since you are very confused at the moment."

"I just don't understand. Does pa know the reason she married him?"

"Do you?"

"I…It wasn't because she loved him."

"Is this a confession Scarlett?"

"What?"

"Darling, as woefully thick as you are, it cannot have escaped your notice that you married a man that you did not love—and currently, don't even like."

"I like you now a little."

Rhett's eyes glinted wickedly, but he continued on in that low, calming voice: "Be that as it may, why should you hold your mother to a standard that you can't keep? You care for me as much, and quite possibly, much less, than your mother cared for your father when she vowed to be his until death do them part."

"But…but she is…she was—"

"You told me when I proposed that she was your age when she married your father, and I imagine if she had to do it all over again, she'd choose exactly the same way. Wouldn't you?"

"Well, yes, but we're different."

"Are you really? Now let's be done with this conversation and call a spade a spade. Your mother isn't perfect Scarlett. She never was and she never will be. But don't stone her for being more like you, or you being more like her. She who is without sin…"

Scarlett's stomach was grumbling for food, and her head spinning with all his talk. It sounded almost irreverent to admit that her mother was only another woman, susceptible to the same flaws and failings as the rest of the human race. But his words had vibrated with truth, truth and something so much sounder to her ears—common sense. Perhaps Rhett was right. Perhaps her mother really was just a person, a person somewhat like herself.

A trickle of relief started slowly filling up her heart and mind. There was something mesmerizing and liberating about this rising feeling. Scarlett sighed, pushing down all the other doubts and anger that could not be answered or absolved, at least not today. Some other time someone could explain just what these dueling emotions were which made her heart sink and her body freeze, and at the same time, swell with power.

She recollected herself enough to smile feebly at Rhett. He still knelt before her, and for once, his face was level with hers. It made him seem friendlier, less of the towering mystery he usually was. Remembering the kindness he had shown this last half hour, wiping away her fears and confusion with his slow, gentle drawl, she almost felt comfortable sitting so close to him. She almost forgot the half an hour before this last one.

"So you really are going away?"

"I am," he said, giving her a probing look and standing up.

He swung back around to the fire and started stoking it with a poker. The flames licked higher and danced across his brown face. Maybe it was his gentleness, or her vulnerability, but for the first time it struck her how handsome he was. Somehow she had never given his looks any consideration before this moment. She had always been aware of his body, almost instinctively conscious of his physical grace and power. And now, with his bold face aflame in the glow of the fire, she was awed by his beauty. It was entirely masculine, yet something about it possessed a hint of feminine suppleness. She couldn't be sure. His lips were almost too full.

He stuck the poker into the floor, leaning against the mantelpiece with his arm, and turned back to her. She shook away the wonder, hoping he hadn't noticed her gawping.

"I will be leaving tomorrow evening."

"Oh. At night? Why at night?"

"Abe Lincoln," he said simply. "But that's tomorrow night. I sent a note to Rebekkah about tonight—I think she took it to mean she wasn't supposed to bring any supper up."

"Why would she think that?"

He waved his hand at the bag across the room. Scarlett had completely forgotten about it, although the sweet, salty aroma still lingered in the room. "I told her I'd be bringing you a taste of the sea later today." He paused, casually slanting his tall body toward the blaze and the light skittering across his features. "Do you need to eat right now or do you think you can wait a little longer?"

"Why?"

"I want to dispense with some necessary business before beginning our last evening together, and if you can forget about your appetite for a few more minutes, I can forget about, er, mine."

Flustered, she airily replied, "Must you always be so crass and refer to your appetites?"

Rhett chuckled at her. "You never seem to mind my satisfying my appetites, only my talking about them."

She had nothing to say to that, but as primly as she could, adjusted the blanket and folded her hands into her lap. "What is it you need to discuss? It's not like you've been around much thus far."

"Dare I detect a note of pining?"

"Fiddle-dee-dee."

His teasing grin slid off his face and he tapped his fingers on the mantle, frowning at her. "I'm not taking you with me, no matter how willing you are. But how much does your discovery about your mother's humanity truly affect your determination to go home, Scarlett?"

"I…I don't know," she stammered. While Rhett's words had soothed her, she still was not completely certain she was ready to deal with her mother. On the other hand, she didn't want to languish in Charleston for however many months Rhett traveled abroad.

"Well travel may get tricky soon, on land and sea. Once the war begins, there is no guarantee you won't be prematurely dumped off a passenger train so that soldiers can board and head to the front."

"That won't happen all the way down here, will it?"

Rhett shrugged. "Who knows what will happen where. Tara will certainly be safer, but don't forget that Charleston started this damn thing and while it might not be considered as much as the front as Virginia or the other border states will be, the harbor will be blockaded and it will see more action than the wilds of Northern Georgia."

"So you want me to go back home now? I thought you wanted me to stay in Charleston."

"I want you to make up your own mind—and unless you've forgotten, I'll take this opportunity to remind you that I don't care what you do or where you go so long as you are in Charleston when I make port." A spackle of warmth peppered her skin, but Rhett didn't even pause to make a comment. He drawled on: "I don't even really care if you do become stranded in between here and Jonesboro—something tells me that you would fare fine against even an invading army should they cross your path, but as a courtesy, I thought you should know what you might have to come up against should you travel alone."

"Alone? I won't be completely alone—I'll have Rebekkah."

Rhett raised one eyebrow at her, his face creasing in amusement. "Does she count to you? I didn't gather you enjoyed her company much."

"I don't mind her."

She kept the annoyance hot on her tongue. She hated being towed through town like a cow on a leash. At Tara that wouldn't happen. She didn't know if Rhett knew how they passed their mornings, but just as she bit back her complaints from Rebekkah, she would do the same with him. He would only mock her. Unfortunately she didn't have to say anything for Rhett to respond.

"It's to your credit you don't mind her. She doesn't mind you, not in the least. In fact, she tells me you have lovely strolls, and how impressed she is by your, er, stamina."

"Rebekkah needs to keep her mouth shut."

"She does, I assure you. Personally, I think the sunburn on your skin only adds to your appeal. Only time will tell if others think that as well."

"Ha," she spat, all of a sudden recalling Eulalie's other revelations. "That shows as much as you know."

Unphased, he smirked at her. "And what exactly do you know?"

"Things that would make even your hair curl."

He laughed, and swung away from the hearth, loping over to his chair. He slid down and studied her for a moment, his eyes sparking with humor, and something she couldn't quite define. She didn't notice how white his knuckles were as his hands held onto the armrests.

"What else did Eulalie tell you Scarlett?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"She told you something more than how sympathetic a character you are panning out to be."

The taunting dimple on Scarlett's cheek disappeared. "How…how do you know about that?"

"I know Charleston. Rebekkah didn't have to tell me why she was dragging you around in this heat for me to know she had other motivations than to wear you out and fry your skin."

"Rebekkah planned this?"

"Of course. I told you not to underestimate her." His voice was light, but it still sent a chill down Scarlett's spine. "So what else did Eulalie tell you, pet? She always did love to tittle-tattle."

Again he spoke this evenly, in a tone as smooth as water, but there was something vicious just beneath the surface, something she didn't want to discover. This hadn't been how she had wanted to disclose her newfound information on him. She had wanted to gloat and use it to her advantage, but as with everything else, he had disrupted her plans.

"She told me about your exploits with the Plimptons. You really did deserve everything you got. You were nasty then, and you are nastier now."

There was a pause, and then Rhett erupted into rowdy laughter.

"What's so funny?" she hotly asked.

"Your aunt is," he chuckled. "Go ahead, Scarlett ask what you want about it."

"I don't have anything to ask on the matter," she said with strained elegance.

"Really? Come now, I can see your ears itching for some more scandal. Don't you want to know why she was all wet—a secret that only those in the families know about, if you exclude everybody in town, from the cooks to the shopkeepers."

"If everybody knows, I can just go downstairs and ask the bellhop."

"Oh, they know she was wet, and there have always been rumors as to why she was so ripped and damp, but none of them have ever come near to the truth, at least not the ones that have reached me. Don't you want to hear the truth from the horse's mouth?"

She scowled at him, thinking he was more like the other end of the horse most of the time. "I have no interest in hearing you boast about being cruel to those who had the misfortune to know you as a young man. I'm famished and I'm tired, and frankly I'm bored with this conversation. Didn't you have some pressing thing to tell me—pressing enough to delay supper for another half hour?"

"Your loss," he hummed. "And as to the pressing issue, I just have one more benevolent warning to give you before I leave—"

"Warning?"

"Yes, warning, and it is this: Do not be fooled by the appearance of kindness while I am away. Do not forget you are married to Cain."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought you should know what you will be up against for as long as you stay here, as well. You might find you would rather be with your ruined mother than with a town that will always think of you as a ruined woman. Although, you might just be able to bear the burden that you gained by marrying me."

"Burden?"

"The burden of living without a reputation—the burden of freedom."

Her nostrils flared, all of the volatile, incomprehensible, unwanted frustrations from the last several days, of the last several hours, of the last several minutes, split apart and came tumbling out.

"Freedom? Freedom? I am not free! I don't care what you say. I've had nothing but grief after grief this last week—this last month. And I'm sick of it. I don't want to be chattel. I don't want to be silent anymore. I don't want to find out a single other thing that is all just a lie. I want the life I had. I want friends and family, and, and people to like me. And if I have to rebuild my life here, then I will. I'm going to make people in this town love me if it's the last thing I do."

"I thought you wanted to cut ties and run back to Clayton County, Georgia the minute I left, and I think despite your family history lesson, you still do."

Two forces pulled her in opposite directions, one toward a return of normalcy at Tara and the other toward possible triumph in a new frontier. In her youth and confidence, she wanted it all. And knew she could get it. Nothing was out of her realm of possibility.

"I…I can have both. I want both."

"Whatever you want is my heart's desire."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Are you ever serious?"

"I am being serious, serious for me. I already told you that I'd buy you a way back to Tara, for at least awhile. And as for conquering Charleston, caveat romanum."

"Caveat what?"

"Caveat romanum—let the Roman beware, for you are a heathen, one of the uncivilized Germans, trying to not only make peace with the citizens of Rome, but to become their queen. In short, it means good luck to you, and while I wish you well in your mission, I think ultimately you would do better to go back to Tara and sort out things with your mother."

"That's not what I want most," she said, realizing the truth of it as she spoke.

"You don't know what you want. You said that rather convincingly only minutes ago."

She shuddered. Going home to Tara now would be a defeat, just as throwing up her hands and complaining to Rebekkah would have been one. And it was more than not wanting to face her mother. Cowardliness and failure were not things she could accept. No matter what the other option was. Her expression changed, sharpened. The cut of her jaw and the slant of her eyes mirrored the determination she had shown in her dream when she had set her face toward the wind, mirrored the determination she had unknowingly shown all throughout town this week.

"I do know what I want and it isn't to go home," she declared. "This is my home now."

Abruptly Rhett rose and in one, long stride, stood before her. There was something savage in his eyes, some tragic, dark shame she would never be able to fathom. It scared her more than anything she had ever seen during her short life. Her fierce expression faltered and she shrank back.

"Charleston is not your home, Scarlett O'Hara. You're going to live here but it is not your home."

Quick as lightning he swooped down and pulled her up by her wrists. The blanket fell away from her shoulders. The return of his electric touch drew her out of her marveling fear. A strong, quiet excitement rose up within her as Rhett opened his mouth, speaking words laced with an intensity she didn't understand.

"You are so young. There are times when I forget that, though. But, even for you, the roots here run too deep—they'd swallow you up and strangle your rare, beautiful, unscathed heart. I don't want to leave you here—here of all places. I don't want to come back and find they've somehow sunk their teeth into you. I've taken a gamble on you, and I want it to pay off. I know it's a shock to you to learn about your mother, but it's the best thing that could have happened for you Scarlett. Trust me."

He released his hold on her and combed a few strands of hair away from her brow. Expecting more ferocity, the gentleness of the caress startled her. She shot her eyes over his face as a question bubbled up inside.

"Are…are you telling me you love me?"

"I'm telling you I'm sorry, which is something I haven't said in quite a long time."

"Oh, well, thank you," she mumbled confusedly.

"Don't thank me," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pushing into her. "I've never wanted your gratitude."

She didn't understand him. She didn't understand why he didn't want to take her to England, or leave her here. Why he had said all those things if he didn't love her, or why he had said all those things if he did. What was it that he wanted? But when his lips began renewing their intoxicating promises on her sensitive skin, as his other hand started to trace the shape of her body, and he uttered her name like a prayer, she understood one thing about him—that she wanted him, wanted him in a way that she had never wanted someone before.

Scarlett's fingers shook as she started to unloop the top button of his shirt. He stopped kissing her neck and raised his head, his face so dark and so light in the dancing glow of the fire. She knew ladies didn't feel this way, wouldn't do these things, but in the midst of Rhett's inferno, she didn't care. Blood beat on in her ears and stomach, her fingers still shook, and, with her green eyes blazing at him, she undid the second button.

"Caveat emptor," he muttered.

She didn't know what that meant, but Rhett didn't give her time to wonder at it. The instant his mouth touched hers, she forgot about everything. She forgot about her hunger. She forgot about his leaving. And she forgot about her mother.

Note: Rash, confused, and uncertain. I think that's what would happen to a sixteen year old Scarlett if she were to learn the truth about what Ellen was like as a fifteen year old. Thanks for the reviews. I loved some of your theories and reactions. I hope you liked this. Let me know…I'm at a crossroads here and feedback always helps me hone the plot. I do know, this was the end of part one.