She went up the walk somehow, clinging tightly to Rhett's arm. She could feel the heat of his skin through the exquisite material of his coat, and his proximity was sweet torture to her. She had been so close to confessing what she felt in the carriage, and Rhett had seemed so tense and expectant, as if he still cared, as if he hung on her next words. What could it mean? Surely he must still care! He said he loved me, she reminded herself. Of course he cares... he's probably just tired of waiting for me to tell him I love him, too. And then, impatiently, Oh, damn Ashley! Damn this party! She wished fervently to be somewhere else, alone with Rhett, but it was not to be. Melanie was waiting for them.
They were on the front porch and Rhett was bowing right and left, his hat in his hand, voice steady and soft. The music stopped as they entered and the crowd of people seemed to Scarlett's confused mind to surge up to her like the roar of the sea and then ebb away, with lessening, ever-lessening sound. Familiar pairs of eyes were gazing at her with the same wary curiosity – and in some cases unabashed disapproval – as always, and quickly she decided that she wouldn't let them see her confusion and impatience. What were they but a pack of jealous fools? She wouldn't let them know that what she wanted least in the world was to be among them tonight. Letting go of Rhett's arm, her chin went up and she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Rhett looked at her curiously, his lips twitching. There was a strange gleam in his dark orbs, but she had no time to invest it further.
As Rhett was taken to the side by Dr. Meade, Scarlett turned to speak to those nearest the door. It was two ladies of the Association for the Beautification of the Graves of the Glorious Dead, who surely meant to press Rhett for more money and thought the best way to go about it was to ask the wife first. They were fools. She cared for the beautification of those graves about as much as she cared for the glorious dead. A couple of minutes passed before someone came through the press of people.
There came Melanie on small feet that hurried to welcome her sister-in-law. The hostess may not have been the handsomest woman, but tonight even Scarlett had to admit she looked radiant, beaming with joy, and for the second time that day Scarlett thought she'd never seen her friend so happy in all the years she'd known her. She thought, too, in a rare moment of reflection, that until she had Melanie's goodness, she'd never have her happiness. Perhaps only the truly good could experience that kind of pure and innocent joy.
Melanie went to her side and slipped an arm around her waist.
"Scarlett! What a lovely dress," she said in her small, clear voice. "India is helping me receive. Do help yourself to some punch, my dear, and I'll talk to you later. How good of you to have come so early," she added, generously overlooking the fact that most of the other guests had arrived about half an hour before the Butlers. "Ashley will be so glad to see you too, dearest! He's talking to Hugh, over there by the fireplace."
Wearily, Scarlett looked in the direction Melanie indicated and met Ashley's eyes over the heads of the other guests. Since their encounter at the lumber yard a couple of hours before, she felt like there was nothing left in the world still to be said between them. She had no desire to speak with him, no desire even to see him. There was nothing left now of the passion that had consumed her once. And yet here she was, forced to congratulate him in his own house and forced to appear happy about it.
The ghost of a smile graced Ashley's lips as he took her in, but his expression sobered slightly when he caught her cool disinterest. Scarlett gave him a short nod and a sober smile in return, realizing she would have to approach him as soon as Melanie returned to India's side. Decorum demanded it; any deviation from this unwritten rule would be frowned upon by the Old Guard. She dreaded the thought, not just because she didn't want to be near Ashley, but also, even more so, because Rhett would be by her side, and she didn't know how he would react. One could never be sure with Rhett where Ashley was concerned.
Rhett! She thought, quickly turning and searching for her husband's tanned face. She absentmindedly returned more greetings and hellos, her eyes passing quickly over familiar faces, before she spotted Rhett. They had moved slightly away from each other; he was standing a few paces away from her, talking to a group of gentlemen. She could tell by the expression he wore that something was off. She was still far from being an expert when it came to deciphering his elusive moods, but she thought she'd gotten to know him a little better over the past two days, and she could tell that he was … affected by what he had just witnessed. His dark eyes were watching her suspiciously.
What could his sour expression mean, she wondered, noticing how his eyes swiveled from her to Ashley and back. Suddenly, she remembered his reaction this morning when he had believed she was thinking of Ashley instead of him. But of course! He was jealous of Ashley! He had always been jealous of him, and right now he was thinking she had slighted him again by looking and smiling at the other man. Yes, he was jealous indeed!
Satisfied with her reasoning, she allowed herself to be thrilled at her discovery, but it also pained her to know that he still did not trust her. He had never trusted her. Perhaps he never would. Oh, what would he do once they approached Ashley? They could not avoid the master of the house, after all. She did not know what was going on in Rhett's head, but under no circumstances did she want to give him the impression that she still cared for Ashley. She didn't give a fig for Ashley. Somehow she had to make Rhett understand that he was the only one she cared for. But how? They were like two gladiators in some ancient arena, the Old Guard presiding over them like a hostile Roman Emperor, blocking their escape.
"Oh, Scarlett," Melanie exclaimed, terminating Scarlett's woolgathering and forcing her to tear her eyes away from Rhett. "I'm so happy tonight! I can't tell you how much."
Scarlett awkwardly patted her sister-in-law's arm, still unaccustomed to her easy affection but genuinely happy for her. "I'm glad, Melly. The house looks wonderful."
Melanie positively beamed at the unexpected praise, pressing Scarlett's hand and thanking her before looking around for her sister-in-law's husband. "But where –"
Catching her eye, Rhett quickly made his excuses and strolled over to the two of them. He reminded Scarlett of a panther, his movements almost too graceful for his tall, muscular body.
"Good evening, Captain Butler." Melanie offered him his hand, and he bowed over it, placing a light kiss on its back. She blushed. "How good it is to see you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Wilkes," Rhett replied, careful to use her married name in public. "It's good to see you, too. And I must agree with Scarlett, the house looks wonderful. I'm sure you've quite outdone yourself," he added lightly but seriously.
Scarlett watched the exchange with barely concealed curiosity. It had always irked her in the past how much more polite Rhett was to Melanie, and while it still irritated her a little, it didn't sting as much as it used to. Surely, Melanie's hard work and general goodness warranted such compliments and respect on Rhett's part. And so Scarlett smiled at the scene in front of her, trying hard to appear gracious in front of the other guests. She did not want them to think she was jealous of her best friend.
"Oh, that," Melanie waved an airy hand at him. "You flatter me, Captain Butler. But, if you like it so much, you must give credit to India and our dear Scarlett here as well. They helped me set up the whole thing."
"Indeed," Rhett said in his deep voice, searching his wife's face. "Long may they both be praised for it."
Melanie laughed before hurrying back to India's side, leaving the couple to their own devices.
Scarlett, knowing they had to approach Ashley next, but unsure how best to go about it, looked up at Rhett. He wore an expression of cool politeness, but she could tell his indifference was studied. There was a tenseness about his posture that didn't escape her, that she had learned to recognize over the past few days. It was as disconcerting as it was exciting.
Consequently, she was surprised when he placed one of his large hands on her lower back, but didn't say anything, allowing him to slowly steer her in Ashley's direction. Better get it over with, she thought. Once again, she could feel quite a number of curious eyes on her, hungry for gossip, willing her to give herself away, to cause a scene by throwing herself at the birthday boy.
Ashley, turning slightly away from Hugh, noticed their movements. For a fleeting moment his eyes passed wearily over their approaching forms, but his overall expression never bespoke his discomfort in their presence. Since earliest childhood his parents had instilled in him the principles of Southern hospitality, and he had so internalized them that even now, faced with Atlanta's most brazen combination, the two people who knew his darkest secret and had the power to destroy his life, he still managed a placid, generous smile.
Up close, Scarlett could make out that he looked a little tired, but there was a light in his pale gray eyes she had not seen in them before. He still seemed his usual dreamy self but appeared less troubled, less trodden down. Perhaps he did appreciate what Melanie was doing for him after all. Perhaps he finally realized what a lucky man he was for having her as his wife and that she was worth a million of her, Scarlett. A sense of incredible shame washed over her as she recalled once more just how badly she had treated Melanie over the years, foolishly running after her husband and wishing her dead. I'm glad Mother never knew, she thought, thinking how shocked Ellen would have been to see her daughter stoop so low.
"Good evening, Scarlett," Ashley said. "It's good to see you again so soon."
Scarlett raised her brows involuntarily. They both knew they would rather be anywhere else than in this room, together. "Happy birthday, Ashley," she said, shaking his offered hand before quickly pulling away. She had no desire to touch him where once his touch would have set her a-tremble.
Rhett was all civility as he greeted Ashley, but Scarlett could tell from the way he gripped the other man's hand in an unspoken challenge that he wasn't exactly thrilled. He seemed to her like a predator circling its prey, ready for the pounce.
Ashley blanched slightly. "Captain Butler. Good evening."
"Mr. Wilkes," Rhett drawled, slowly releasing the host's hand. "My congratulations, both on this splendid party and the jewel of a wife who organized it."
His very tone made a mockery of Ashley, but not of Melanie. Scarlett, immediately alerted by his choice of words, looked suspiciously at him out of the corner of her eye.
"You're too right, sir," Ashley smiled, looking over at Melanie before reluctantly returning his gaze to the two of them. "It's a wonder. She's a wonder." He paused as if embarrassed by his own words. "It's a wonderful party," he concluded after a moment or two. "A pleasure to have you both."
"We're very much obliged." Scarlett managed, smiling through gritted teeth even as the pressure of Rhett's hand on her back increased.
Her husband gave a short, humorless laugh, never looking away from Ashley. "There are many pleasures in this world, you will agree, Mr. Wilkes … but none as great as having so selfless and loving a spouse." He said with a sideways glance at Scarlett, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Hugh, who was still standing close by, and had apparently overheard Rhett's words, turned around and smiled in agreement; Mrs. Merriwether, who had been talking to Dr. Meade and had grown almost fond of Rhett since his makeover into a respectable man, also acknowledged what the former outcast was saying with a nod of her imposing head before proceeding to inform Dr. Meade what exactly she thought of Melanie's organizational skills, whether the old doctor took an interest in the topic or not.
Scarlett, on the other hand, was dying of mortification, and with difficulty she stopped herself from blushing crimson. Was Rhett out of his mind? How could he talk of pleasure now? How could he bring that most unfortunate incident up? And here of all places! Of course, no one in this room knew what sort of pleasure he was referring to; no one but them knew Ashley's abominable secret, but still. It was not the way of a gentleman to say such a thing to another man at his own birthday party. And yet... it excited her that Rhett should be so bold, that he should call Ashley out on his outrageous behavior like this. It was not a gentleman's way, perhaps, but it was a bold thing to do. Rhett always did something, even if it was the wrong thing, and she respected him for it.
She quickly looked at Ashley to see if he was angry. His lips formed a tight line, but he was composed. Of course he was. He was a gentleman who never lost his temper. Oh, why wouldn't Rhett just shut up! Even if it was bold of him to bring the entire unfortunate matter up, there was no need to cause a scene now, was there? He could at least pretend to be a gentleman, and keep his mouth shut. It had always irked her in the past that he should be so reckless and – well, honest, when in truth it was much better sometimes to simply let things be and pretend to conform to the rules.
While she she was thinking all this, though, she kept smiling, unwilling to give away to the assembly what was going on. The whole lot was probably just as dumb as Mrs. Merriwether and the pitiful Hugh, thinking the three of them were merely exchanging courtesies. Or so she tried to assure herself.
"As I said, sir, you're too right," Ashley finally said in a rather strained voice, trying hard not to look disgusted as he faced Rhett. "My wife is a miracle. I owe her a lot." His face changed visibly when he spoke of Melanie, and Scarlett thought briefly that once she would gladly have died to see such a look on his face as he thought of her, Scarlett. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Rhett replied, his lips smiling but his eyes hard. "Indeed you do. You'd do well to remember it." He threatened in a low voice so that only Ashley and Scarlett could hear.
He gave a slight bow and Ashley took the hint, leaving them looking slightly nauseous but with his features composed into the mask of the ever magnanimous host.
"Why did you do that?" Scarlett said under her breath once Ashley was out of hearing distance, still wearing the same smile but shooting daggers at Rhett with her eyes.
"What?" He feigned ignorance. "I was only congratulating him on his wedded bliss. What's wrong with that?"
"You know what I mean. This is his house, his birthday party. What if he hadn't been so composed? What if he'd gotten angry?"
"What of it? I see you still take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns." A note of bitterness had crept into his voice.
"What if Melanie had noticed his expression?" Scarlett persisted. "What if he had ordered you out of his house?"
Rhett laughed. "You've got to be joking. He wouldn't have dared. He knows I know his secret. And he knows you know it. Aren't we an unlikely triumvirate, my pet?"
Pointedly ignoring his words, she concluded, "You had no right to speak to him like that." But she didn't even believe herself, her words in Ashley's defense leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
Rhett shrugged lazily. "I had every right. He tried to take you away from me two years ago," his voice darkened as he looked deeply into her eyes, "opening your eyes to the blessed option of celibacy because he judged me to be beneath you, goddess of purity and innocence that you are. Turns out celibacy wasn't an option for himself, though, and he sought ample recompense at Belle's honorable establishment."
Scarlett opened her mouth to say something, to make him stop, but he cut her off. "Did you honestly expect me not to call the man out on his hypocrisy? Well, think again, my darling wife. Your wooden-headed gentleman deserved this. It was the least I could do. In fact I'd rather have – but never mind. I won't bore you with any more of my baser inclinations. I pride myself on having sufficiently humbled your golden prince for now. What do they say", he added offhandedly, looking away from her and lazily turning his glass in his hand, "he who goes to a whorehouse should live with the consequences."
Involuntarily, Scarlett's mouth fell slightly open in shock and humiliation, but she caught herself quickly and pressed her lips together in defiance. She raised her head, eyes burning, willing Rhett to look at her. When he did, she could tell that he saw the rage and pain in her eyes, for he drew in a breath even as she balled her fists within the folds of her skirts. For, suddenly, it all came flooding back: the terrible thought of his dealings with Belle Watling, the memory of his treachery and betrayal, and only the fact that they were standing in the middle of a crowded room stopped her from lunging at Rhett with the sudden urge to see blood on his swarthy cheek. He was the hypocrite! He was the one who'd claimed to love her and still betrayed her.
"Oh yes," she said, deadly calm, "he should indeed."
He blanched the way Ashley had before. "Scarlett, please. You still don't understand – "
"This isn't the place, Rhett," she replied coolly. "Let's have some punch. Will you escort me to Maybelle's table?"
And she held out her hand imperiously.
Putting on a show by nodding here and there at the guests assembled, Rhett led Scarlett over to one of the small tables that were scattered all over the house and laden with sweets and biscuits, small plates and forks, napkins as well a myriad of glasses and large bowls of punch. Scarlett's hand in his was stiff. He curled his fingers around hers, imploring her wordlessly to look at him, but she didn't. Damn her pride and her stubbornness.
She had a right to be angry with him of course – he'd been treating her abominably. He'd always known that for a woman of her breeding and mindset, nothing would be more humiliating than knowing her husband consorted with whores. He'd known how to inflict the most pain on her, and he'd set about his quest with the utmost diligence, wanting her to hurt as much as he did. Apparently, his sinister plan had worked out, more so than he'd ever thought it would, for it was clear now that she really was pained by his betrayal, not just angry with him for bringing shame on her and endangering what little was left of her reputation.
Yes, Scarlett was right to accuse him of whoring around and betraying her shamefully – he was a swine for having cheated for so long on the mother of his precious child, the woman he claimed to love. Still, he'd had his reasons, legitimate reasons he believed, even if his actions cast them in a shady light. Her betrayal of him had pained him too much: the knowledge that she wanted Ashley instead of him, had thrown him out of her room to dream of her golden prince, had pushed him over the edge and right into Belle's waiting arms. Belle was not to blame, though. She was a dear, generous woman with a heart of gold, even if she was but an illiterate whore. He was entirely to blame – but for a long time he hadn't even felt guilty. He had judged his actions to be his wife's just punishment for her infidelity of heart.
He wasn't exactly proud of what he'd felt and done over the past two years – in fact, he was genuinely ashamed of himself. But it was all in the past, and Scarlett needed to understand that if the two of them were to have any chance at happiness at all. He was tired of the charade their relationship had become, or always had been, weary of the endless merry-go-round. Why couldn't Scarlett see that he wanted her, only her?
She didn't know what had happened today at Belle's, of course, had no idea that he'd entered his old friend's house angry and upset in the morning, only to leave it a changed man in the evening.
He'd been angry with Scarlett for toying with him, for sleeping with him only to think of her lover as soon as the sun rose. He'd thought, this morning, after the long, hazy hours of passion, that he had her at last, that she loved him, only to be disappointed when she'd thought of her precious Ashley instead of confessing her love, as he'd vainly hoped she would. He'd fled to Belle's, studiously ignoring Scarlett's threats and the way his retreat made him feel: like a coward. But then, after a couple of drinks in his room at Belle's, he'd remembered the pain he'd seen in Scarlett's eyes when she realized he was going to his mistress, and it got him thinking. What if she did love him after all? He didn't mean to allow himself to dwell on the thought, but it was impossible not to give in to the treacherous gleam of hope in his heart. What if she did love him and was just too stupid to see it yet? What if only his relations with Belle stood between them?
And then, gulping down another drink, he'd slowly begun to make up his mind. Scarlett was more important to him than anything or anyone in the world, except Bonnie. He wouldn't allow her to tell him whom he could or couldn't see, but he could relate to her pain. He knew better than anyone what it meant to be cheated on, even if "only" emotionally, not physically. After all, physical and emotional cheating were but two sides of the same coin. If Scarletta asked it of him, then he could certainly reduce his dealings with Belle to a minimum. He'd certainly never sleep with her again, not if Scarlett decided to truly be his wife again, as she had been before Bonnie's birth. He'd only slept with Belle for physical release, not because it meant anything to him. Hell, if Scarlett demanded it, he'd even consider never seeing Belle again, but he hoped his wife would see reason.
And so he had sought Belle out in her rooms. Gently pinching her unnaturally rosy cheek, he'd told her that they couldn't go on like this. That he loved Scarlett, and would be faithful to her if she decided to give their marriage another chance.
"Oh, Rhett...", she'd replied with one of her lopsided grins, perking up her reddish brows and shaking her head as if amused at his foolishness in giving it another shot with his poisonous wife. But he could see it affected her more than she was willing to let on. He'd always sensed the misguided love she harbored for him in her dear, simple heart. He could never requite that love, for the two of them were too far apart in birth and breeding, though not in habits of mind. It was a mystery she had fallen for him in the first place. How Cupid toyed with them all!
Briefly, he'd thought of apologizing, but he didn't want to hurt her pride. "Goodbye Belle," he had offered instead, turning away. "Wish me luck."
He didn't look back as he left the room, unwilling to see the look in her eyes now that she no longer had to pretend she didn't care. But he could imagine her expression, had seen it too often when he looked in the mirror after Scarlett had rejected him in some or other way: forlorn, shattered.
And so here he was, in Ashley Wilkes's house, of all places, at the goddamn man's birthday party, and Scarlett knew nothing of all that had transpired between him and Belle. He had to get her alone somehow, make her see. He was too old for this kind of idiocy. He had too much to lose. But first things first.
"A very good evening to you," he greeted Maybelle Picard, née Merriwether, who had selflessly volunteered to preside over one of the tables for an hour or so before someone else took over. She looked at them a little suspiciously, but still dutifully prepared two glasses and handed them over. Rhett had always thought her one of the prettiest girls in Atlanta – after Scarlett of course – and though she had lost some of her youthful antebellum charm, perhaps, she was still handsome to look at in her flattering lavender dress, with a fine amethyst necklace, a souvenir of better days no doubt, round her slender neck.
"Good evening, Scarlett, Captain Butler."
"Good evening, Maybelle," Scarlett replied as they reached the table, smoothly letting go of Rhett's hand and plastering a smile on her face. She took the glass offered to her.
"Would you care for a biscuit or two as well, sir? Scarlett?" Maybelle asked somewhat stiffly but politely, her eyes passing curiously over them both.
"No, thank you, Maybelle," Scarlett said sweetly, too sweetly. "The punch will suffice."
Rhett watched her out of the corner of his eye, letting her play her game for the moment. She was too childish and impatient to ignore him for much longer; he knew her too well. So why bother? They made some more small talk with Maybelle but were saved soon after by another couple approaching the table. Thinking quickly, Rhett steered Scarlett back in the direction of the hall, stopping near Beau's room. The door gaped open but there was no one inside. Although the Wilkes's home was packed tonight, there were very few people to be seen in this part of the house, most of the guests gathering in the parlor round the Wilkeses. The almost deafening sound of chatter and laughter fell annoyingly on Rhett's ears, for he wanted quiet to talk to Scarlett. But perhaps it was a blessing that no one could overhear them.
"Scarlett, will you look at me?" he said eventually, laying a hand on her arm.
Ignoring him, she smiled broadly at a couple coming through the front door and passing them on their way into the parlor. He chuckled despite himself, which only seemed to enrage her more. But she kept smiling. She was putting on quite a show for the other guests, he had to hand it to her. He was probably the only person in the room who could see through her act. They were both performing tonight, determined not to let the Old Guard in on their secrets. It had always been them against the world, had it not?
"Sugar, please –" He said under his breath.
"Oh for heaven's sake, Rhett," she interrupted him. "Whatever you do, don't call me sugar. Frank used to do that."
Glad she had said something at last, he put a hand on his heart in mock indignation. "Good Lord! Thank you for telling me, my dear. I can't risk resembling old Frank in your mind."
She met his eyes only to look away the next instant, muttering into her glass, "You're nothing like him."
He was flattered enough, though he couldn't quite say whether her words were indeed intended as a compliment. Did she regret that Frank had died? Did she regret marrying him, the outcast, the reprobate, after her second husband's death? She could have lived a quiet live as Mr. Kennedy's widow – well, perhaps, not a quiet life, he thought fondly, for she was not exactly the quiet, conformist type – but a happier life perhaps. After all, what had he really done to make her happy?
He had pampered her, to be sure, taken her to New Orleans and spoiled her rotten, as if the plethora of items he bought her could fill the void inside him. As if he could buy her with all his ill-gotten gains. He had not even stopped short from building her the monstrosity of a house they now called home and showering her with all the luxury she craved. But he had never offered her his true heart, fearing she would use his love against him. He'd often accused her of being a coward in the past, but, in truth, he was the coward. He loved her so deeply and yet, up until this morning, he'd been too afraid to tell her. He still shuddered at the memory of being so vulnerable, but he didn't regret it. He'd wanted her to know. Telling her had been the right, the only thing to do.
And she was right, as right as she could possibly be with the limited information she had about him and Belle: he had physically betrayed her, ever since she'd banished him from her room. He owed her an apology, an explanation. And he would give it, in the name of God, if only she would forget her foolish pride for once and let him say his piece.
"Scarlett, can I talk to you?" He inquired calmly, pulling her a little more into the shadows. "Please. Please give me the chance to explain myself, once and for all. I can ask no more than that."
She looked up at him hesitantly, as if his sincerity did not go unnoticed. But then she said, "Talk?", her tone more sarcastic than he would ever have thought it capable of being. "How dare you! What on earth is there to talk about? I'm not having this, do you hear me? I'm not having any more of your blasted games. I won't be played by you any longer. I won't sit idly by as you run off with that nasty Watling woman of yours. You can't have it both ways, Rhett. You can't have me and her."
"Damn it, Scarlett," he hissed under his breath, laying a hand on her shoulder as anger got the better of him despite his best intentions. "I don't want her. Not in that way. Why can't you see that? She's a friend, nothing more."
He could tell she wanted to brush off his hand, but of course she couldn't, not with people still looking at them. He could feel India Wilkes' eyes boring into his back. It was probably difficult enough for Scarlett to keep up a facade of composed indifference and a pretty smile when in reality she wanted to smash something, break something.
"Friend?" Scarlett gave an incredulous little laugh. "I dare say you have an odd taste in friends. So you want to keep seeing her, is that it?" She added through gritted teeth. "You want to go from me to her whenever you grow tired of me? That's not how it works, Rhett. I won't have it. I won't allow it!"
"Don't think for a moment that you can allow or not allow me to do anything, my pet," he drawled lazily. "I'm my own man. And I won't have you tell me who I may or may not see."
"Then I'm afraid we are at an impasse," was her icy reply.
Rhett was losing his patience. Looking over his shoulder at their host, then back at Scarlett, he felt the old resentment rise in him again and couldn't help snapping, "Would I forbid you to see your precious Ashley?"
"That's not fair!" She protested, but he could see a flicker of something like guilt in her eyes. He only raised his brows, merciless in the face of her ambivalence.
God, he wanted to believe she didn't love her wooden-headed prince anymore, that she was free of that man's spell, and yet... It was the hardest thing in the world to allow himself to trust her. Old habits die hard. And he couldn't live with the knowledge that for some stupid reason of her own Scarlett still couldn't see that he, Rhett, was the one for her, that she needed him as much as he needed her, although he'd thought in the carriage... He had hoped, then, as he had this morning, that she'd confess her love. But it hadn't happened. Maybe it would never happen. Maybe she didn't love him after all, would never do so...
Pained by her inability to see what was right in front of her, he gave a mirthless little laugh as he peered into her eyes. "You're such a fool, Scarlett." He said under his breath, his fingers contracting on her shoulder before he removed his hand.
She looked at him, wide-eyed, and regret flickered in the emerald depths, but for once he didn't care. He wasn't sure what to do next, how to blend in with the rest of the guests without revealing by his expression or gestures what had passed between them, but he knew he couldn't stay here, with her. He needed a cigar, alone. He moved forward, back into the parlor. He did not care whether she followed him or not, for once paying no mind to what people would say or how his actions might impact Bonnie's future. He needed to put some distance between himself and Scarlett.
He could tell she was trying to keep up as he wound his way through the crowd as unobtrusively as possible, trailing after him in silence. Luckily for them, it seemed as if no one was paying much attention o their movements. Rhett made for the other end of the room, where a small corridor to the right led to a door that, if his memory served him correctly, would take him out of the house and to the back porch. If there was any place on the Wilkes's grounds where he could find solitude, it was the back porch and the small garden beyond which bordered on Aunt Pitty's premises.
Once, when Scarlett was still close, he felt her lay a timid hand on his arm and whisper, "Rhett, I –" But before she could say anything more, the violinist struck up another tune. Rhett turned his head and noticed that he had lost Scarlett, as had been his intention. She hesitated amid the crowd surging towards Ashley Wilkes, who was bent over a birthday cake in the center of the room. Rhett tore his eyes away from Scarlett and watched as Miss Melly, glowing with happiness, raised her glass and intoned that most popular of birthday songs. The sound of many throats lustfully singing soon filled the little parlor:
For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow,
For he's a jolly good fellow, which nobody can deny!
Which nobody can deny, which nobody can deny...
Rhett did not chime in.
Ashamed of what she had said, and desperate to apologize, Scarlett tried to keep up with Rhett as he crossed the room, but at one point she was intercepted and forced to speak for a few minutes to Mrs. Elsing. Soon after, everyone began toasting and singing, and she found herself stuck in the crowd, though luckily not quite in the middle of the parlor, where Ashley was trying to blow out the candles on his massive birthday cake and Melanie's heart-shaped little face shone with heavenly radiance.
When Scarlett lowered her glass again and looked around, trying not to look too anxious, she noticed Rhett standing somewhat apart from the crowd, hesitating by the small corridor off of which opened a door to the back porch. She stopped short. What was he doing there, alone? The smile curling his lips was as mocking as ever as he watched the goings-on in the room, his hands shoved into his pockets as he leaned slightly against the door-frame. He looked his usual arrogant self, but his eyes were sad. Oh, what had she done? What had she said? Why could they not be alone? She needed to talk to him immediately, make things right, before it was too late. She couldn't lose him.
Suddenly he turned away. He looked over his shoulder once, twice, making sure no one was watching him, starting only slightly when he met but one pair of eyes, hers. He held her gaze briefly, his expression distant, unfeeling, before turning away again and entering the dark little corridor. What in God's name was he up to? He couldn't just leave while everyone was still singing for Ashley! But, apparently, he could. Stunned, she watched his massive form disappear from view. She thought she heard the door to the back porch going, but she couldn't be sure, for the dozens of singing voices in the room were drowning out all other noise.
For a moment or two Scarlett did not know what to do, simply standing there, glass in hand, her lips moving automatically but no sound escaping her mouth. Furtively, she glanced around, wondering whether anyone else had witnessed Rhett's curious actions. She was now standing next to Mrs. Merriwether and a couple of Ashley's old friends from university, with whom she was not acquainted and who hardly noticed her in their excitement, craning their necks to see what Ashley was doing. Mrs. Merriwether cast her only a passing glance and frowned slightly before looking ahead again. In fact, no one seemed to have noticed Rhett's rather rude escape at all, for they were all busy laughing and singing, their eyes fixed on the host as they raised their glasses to him.
Thinking quickly, she began to move forward, actually singing this time in an attempt to blend in and pretend she was simply trying to get closer to Ashley and Melanie as she bumped into the other guests. But then, at some point, reassuring herself quickly once more that no one was paying attention, she veered to the right in the direction of the corridor.
She knew it wasn't exactly proper to follow Rhett. She should stay inside and pretend she hadn't noticed his escape. She should be singing for Ashley. But she didn't give a damn, not really. Rhett was more important, and she felt that if she did not go after him now, if she left him out there on his own, she would lose him. Why this should be, she did not know, but she knew it to be true. And, after all, how much harm could there be in taking the air for a little while? If anyone noticed after all, she would apologize to Melly, blaming a sudden headache.
Hesitating by the entrance to the corridor as Rhett had done, she glanced back over her shoulder, her hand on the door frame. It was oddly exciting to do something like this, to break the rules. She remembered she'd felt the same on her fateful walk the other night. No one was looking at her, and she smiled to herself, about to turn away when she met a pair of pale, lashless eyes. India Wilkes was watching her motionlessly, patiently, just like a spider. Scarlett started, but quickly got a hold of herself. She straightened, squaring her shoulders and meeting the other woman's stare boldly. They stood like that for a few heartbeats, eternal opponents weighing each other. In her outrage, though, Scarlett failed to notice that there was only vague curiosity in India's eyes instead of the jealousy and condescension of old. With a proud lift of her chin, Scarlett entered the corridor.
She took a few steps, found the little door, and, opening it, stepped onto the porch hesitantly. A pleasant semi-darkness met her, for Melanie had hung most of the lamps on the front porch, not back here. The back porch was deserted, and Rhett was nowhere to be seen. Scarlett had hoped to find him sitting in one of the wicker chairs or leaning his big body against the wall of the house. But he wasn't. Squinting, she crossed the porch, coming to a halt before the small flight of steps leading down to a patch of freshly mowed lawn. "Rhett?" She whispered into the night.
Then the smell of cigar smoke, so pleasant, so familiar, wafted over her, filling her eager nostrils. She breathed in deeply. It was the smell of home, the smell of Gerald.
There! She could make out Rhett's tall muscular frame not too far away, his clothes blending in with the dark shades of the April night. He was standing to the far right of the garden, next to the bush of white tea roses Melanie had planted there and close to the hedge marking the border to Pitty's grounds. He was smoking, but she couldn't see his eyes as she stood there, hesitantly, her slender form illuminated from behind by the dim light of the lamps.
"Rhett?" She said again, lifting her skirts to descend the stairs. She began crossing the lawn, never taking her eyes off of him.
"Scarlett." He replied after what felt like an eternity, his thick bass thundering through her body. God, how she loved him. She stopped short before him as he pulled on his cigar before exhaling the smoke slowly in her direction, almost as if to stop her from getting too close.
"You shouldn't have come," he added. "You'll shock the Old Guard, my dear."
"I don't care," she breathed. "And in any case, you were the one who simply disappeared in the middle of a birthday song. I merely followed you out here to check up on you." She was trying to be funny, not sure how to go about it all, and he chuckled obligingly, muttering a lazy "Is that so?" into the darkness.
But she could tell there was more to his question than he was willing to let on. Quickly casting her eyes over his face and body, of which she could see more now that he was closer, she noticed there was something alert and eager about his expression and posture, and she could feel the hairs at the base of her neck stand up. His eyes were like two black coals in the night, but she thought she could make out in them the tiniest flame. He seemed surprised, but not in a bad way, more as if he were waiting for something. And this time, she was ready to give it to him. But how to start? He said nothing, merely watching her.
"I –" she began. "I – what are you doing out here, Rhett?"
He shrugged, chuckling lightly. "I could ask you the same question. I'm merely smoking a cigar, my pet. Is that against the law?"
"No, but – You know what I mean. Are you alright?"
There was genuine concern in her voice, and it did not go unnoticed by him. He eyed her curiously.
"I'm alright, Scarlett. I just wanted to be alone for a while."
"Why did you want to be alone?" She knew it was her fault, but she didn't know why he'd had to run away. Why did he always run away? Running away solved nothing.
He did not answer immediately, pulling on his cigar again as if he needed a moment to come up with a good reply. "To think, Scarlett," he said eventually. "Get some air. It's stuffy in that room. And I didn't exactly feel like singing out loud in honor of your little gentleman. Personally, I don't find him to be such a jolly good fellow. Is that really so hard to comprehend?" He ended rather bitterly, then shock his head briefly as if annoyed with himself.
"No," she replied, wanting to rage at him because of Belle and all the things he had done to her, Scarlett, and never explained, but wanting more than that to tell him how sorry she was, for everything she had done to hurt him.
"Not at all," she repeated. "I find it stuffy in there, too. Actually, it's downright unbearable. If it wasn't for Melly, I'd – why, I'd leave here immediately."
Rhett laughed. "I don't believe it. You wouldn't miss a chance to be with your –"
"Would you stop?" She hissed, anger getting the better of her. What was this mania of his concerning Ashley? Why did he always have to bring the man up? "He's not my prince, or my little gentleman, or whatever you like to call him these days!"
"Is he not? Well, I confess myself surprised."
"Why? I told you I don't care about him. I don't! Not anymore. And anyway, I'm not with him right now, am I? I'm here, Rhett. With you." She looked at him triumphantly.
He considered her for a long moment as if weighing her words before shrugging his massive shoulders. "Indeed," he said again. "You're full of surprises, my pet, I've got to hand it to you. And I admire your breech of decorum in following me. I'm just not sure why you've come." He ended on a humorous note. But the tenseness of his body belied his nonchalance.
Scarlett wrung her hands. "I've come because –" Oh, how to say this? How to convey what she felt?
She had been so wrong to imply, back in the house, that she wasn't willing to meet him halfway, that she couldn't forgive him. She could! If only he saw reason and apologized to her about Belle, and promised never to see that woman again... or at least never to touch her again. After all, no wife could bear the thought of her husband being with another woman in that way, and a whore no less. She blushed at the memory of what Rhett had done to her, Scarlett, with his capable hands not so long ago, in the darkness of his room... she didn't want another woman to enjoy what, under the law, was hers to enjoy. Hers alone.
"Well?" Rhett quipped. Scarlett met his eyes even as a burning desire for him surged up deep inside her.
"I've come to say I'm sorry," she blurted out suddenly. "Oh Rhett," she blathered on, lest he interrupt her and spoil it all, "I'm sorry for what I said earlier about you and – and Belle." She had a hard time saying that woman's name without gagging, but she managed somehow. "That we could never be on the same page. It was foolish of me to say. I didn't mean it, you know? I was just so – so hurting and upset and I didn't know what to do. Please. You must believe me."
When he didn't say anything, she added swiftly: "And I promise I'll try to make make it up to you if you only meet me halfway. Call me selfish Rhett, call me a hypocrite after everything I've done to you, but I can't bear the thought of you being with her. If you promised not to be with her again... if you promised to be faithful to me, I swear to you, you wouldn't regret it. I'd make it all up to you..."
She stepped closer to him, his scent filling her nostrils, her eyes pleading with him to understand.
There was a long pause that was torture to her. Eventually, Rhett sighed. "I believe you Scarlett."
She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "Oh Rhe – ", but he moved one hand slightly to stop her.
"And I'm sorry," he began. "Deeply sorry for what I've done to you. Not just this morning but – well, ever since Bonnie's birth. I've treated you shamefully and I hope you can find it in you to forgive me one day." She had never seen so much sincerity in his dark orbs, never seen him so humble and contrite. She leaned in as if to embrace him, but he backed away slightly.
Confused, she said, "Oh, Rhett, I can! And it wasn't all your fault. I mean – you had your reasons. I should never have banished you from my room, never."
"So you did miss me?" He asked after a pause, his voice low.
"I did." She replied without hesitation. "So much. I told you so this morning."
A strange but not uncomfortable silence fell as they stared at each other in the darkness, willing to let their guard down, on the same page for once.
"Why did you leave, Rhett?" She heard herself whisper eventually, almost against her will. "I still don't understand. Why did you go from me to her?"
He sighed. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you in the carriage. I did go to Belle's – I went there and drank, pitying myself for being a fool. A fool for loving you still. But then I thought of the look in your eyes this morning, and the things you said, and it got me thinking. In the end I told Belle that I wanted to give it another shot with you. In a sense, I went to her to say goodbye, Scarlett."
She looked at him the way a child would at an unexpected gift. "Is that true?"
"Yes, damn you, it's true. I hope you'll see reason and not ask me never to go there again for a drink and a few games. But if you do – hell, I could live with that."
"Oh, Rhett, you'd –" But he waved her off again, sliding a hand through his hair in agitation.
"Please, let me finish. I could live with that, yes." He laughed shortly as he buried his hands in his pockets, balling them into fists, and added: "Could you live without Ashley, if I asked you to?"
It was a rather philosophical question, and her eyes swiveled away from him as she pondered it for a moment. Live without Ashley? Why, of course she could! For the life of her, she didn't understand why Rhett still didn't get that she didn't care a fig for Ashley. It might have amused her if it had not been so sad.
But Rhett seemed to interpret her prolonged silence the wrong way, for even before she looked at him again he started pacing, heedless of who might surprise them and see it all. He threw his cigar butt on the ground carelessly, the smell of burnt grass filling the night air.
"Of course not." He said. "You know, I always thought I could make you mine, body and soul. I've always been so sure of that. It's what kept me going. What kept me hooked."
"What do you mean?" She asked stupidly.
"I always thought I could make you love me. But no matter what I do, it'll always be him. You'll never get over him. Tell me, what is it exactly that makes him so special? What is it that I lack?"
Suddenly it dawned on her what he was on about. Ashley? Ashley? Oh, he couldn't be serious.
"You lack nothing!" She said vehemently, touching his arm even as he kept facing away. "Darling, you're so wrong. Completely wrong. I don't care about him. I don't give a damn about him!" She tugged at his sleeve to make him turn around, and when he did she stepped forward, snaking her arms around his waist. Involuntarily, his hands wound its way up to her shoulders in response.
"Rhett, please. Stop this. I don't want him. You know it's true."
"But it's still not enough, Scarlett. No matter what I do, I can't make you care. Not about me."
She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his comment, for never in her life had she cared more about anyone than she cared about him. But she did not laugh, for the look in his eyes stopped her, and it almost made her want to run for the hills. For once he wasn't wearing his mask, and the love and pain burning in his eyes was almost too much for her to bear. She wanted to recoil from the fierceness, the magnitude of his love that was revealed in that gaze. She relished power, but she realized suddenly that never had she had more power over any human being than she had over him, whom she had believed out of reach for so long. And this frightened her. What on earth had she done to him? What on earth could she still do to him? Poor darling, he had given her so much, and received so little in return.
"Again, you're so wrong, Rhett. Terribly wrong."
She snaked her right hand up to his face and caressed his rough cheek, smiling slightly when he pressed his face into it. This was the moment. She knew it. All or nothing.
Passionately, swiftly, lest she lose her courage, she breathed into the night, "Oh Rhett, I do love you! I love you so much."
Her words hung in the air, enveloping them. Rhett drew in a breath, but he said nothing, only his hands contracted on her shoulders, gripping so tightly it hurt. But Scarlett did not care. She felt no pain, only relief, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders – she had told him.
Still he was silent, only his dark eyes burning into her, and before she could stop herself, she found herself confessing all, as she'd been wanting to all day long.
"Oh Rhett, darling, I've been such a fool. Such a stupid, stupid fool. I must have loved you for years but I didn't know it. You must believe me! When I knew today, I wanted to tell you right away, but I couldn't because you didn't come home. And then – I wanted to tell you in the carriage, but –" She willed him with her eyes to say something, but when he didn't, steadfastly remaining silent, she kept on talking aimlessly, breathlessly.
"You know, ever since I saw Ashley that night, outside Belle's, I knew he wasn't the one for me. And then you were so sweet and everything changed, and we … well ... that afternoon. It was so … so very beautiful," she added boldly. "And when I realized today that I loved you, I … Oh, darling, darling, please say you still love me! I know you must... And if you still want me, if you can ever forgive me... I know I can forgive you all. And – and I can live with your going to Belle's, if only you'll be true to me in your heart. If you'll only swear not to … make love to her as you do to me. Oh Rhett, if you'll only promise to love me and only me, I swear I'll make you the happiest man alive!"
He looked at her with an incredulous expression on his face.
"What are you saying?"
She had never seen him so dazed, and she frowned, puzzled by his uncharacteristic behavior. But she added quickly: "That I love you, Rhett, and hope you still love me, too."
Her lips parted, and she craned her neck the better to look into those wonderful dark eyes, wishing only that he would hold her, and tell her he loved her, and make her feel dizzy and wonderful with his kiss.
"My God," he whispered finally, the tip of his nose touching hers and his lips hovering over her mouth . "My God, Scarlett, I do. I love you too. So much..."
And then at last it came.
His mouth fell on hers, and she felt the pleasure ripple through her like a lightning bolt. She kissed him with abandon, glorying once more in the dark ecstasy, the sweet and heady passion. No one in the world kissed quite like Rhett did. All the uncertainty and anxiety of the past days fell away from her as the realization sunk in. He loved her still! Loved her as much as she loved him.
She raked her hands through his hair and pulled him still closer, smiling against his lips when his mustache tickled her. He smiled too, and, removing his lips from hers for lack of air, started placing soft kisses on the soft skin of her neck instead, then her collarbone, the tops of her white breasts.
"Oh, my darling," he said in between breaths.
She allowed herself to go limp like a rag doll in his arms, and he held her, creating dizzying sensations in her pliable body. Oh, how on earth had she denied herself this pleasure, this feeling of being so completely alive, all these bleak and lonely years? She had been a fool, and she shivered at the thought of what she had almost lost just for Ashley's sake.
Rhett, of course, noticed her shivering. Bringing her up with him, he simply embraced her, much to her surprise, pressing her tightly against his muscular form. Somehow this gesture touched her even more than his kiss, and she hugged him back tightly, relishing the feeling of his powerful body against hers. He was strong, stronger than Ashley could ever be, strong enough to shoulder her cares and hold her up when she threatened to fall. Only he could provide the security that had eluded her for a decade. Home at last! As save as anyone could be in this slippery world.
Now, finally, as she held Rhett in her arms, she understood completely what Gerald had meant when he spoke of endurance, of things that last. She had realized in the course of time what it was to love one's homeland – Tara was her life's blood, her haven, the root of her strength. Land indeed was a thing worth fighting for, worth dying for. But more than that, more even than Tara, mattered this: Rhett, the man she loved, the man she desired. For, even if Tara were burned to ashes, she would endure, if only Rhett was by her side, loving her, protecting her. He was as strong as the ground upon which that white house of her childhood stood, as dark and mysterious as the pine trees swaying in the Georgia wind, as hot as the sun burning down on endless cotton fields. He was the earth, the red dirt she'd hurled at Slattery's face. He was the cigar smoke wafting around Gerald in her earliest memories, enveloping her in security, the kindness clinging to Ellen's rustling skirts. He was the taste of fine food and sparkling wine, the soft sensation of skin on skin. He was all these things and more, something she could not name, something that was dearer than whitewashed walls and the comforts of home, dearer than flesh, and far more dear than money. She could never let him go, would never let him go.
As she clung to him, something Rhett had once said to her came to her mind.
"We are so much alike, renegades, both of us, dear, and selfish rascals..."
How right he had been. She didn't care to be a renegade, didn't like to be called selfish, but she wanted to be with him, only with him. And it was true: they were alike, made for each other. He was the only man who complimented her entirely, who was like her both in mind and spirit. She knew that now. And if being with him meant being a selfish renegade, then so be it: the two of them against the rules, against the Old Guard, against the whole of Atlanta. Against the world.
She smiled against Rhett's shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and horses and cigars.
"Rhett," she said, falling to giggling foolishly as she thought that someone could come and find them in this compromising situation any minute.
He looked quizzically at her, smiling in response. "What are you thinking, my dear?"
"Oh nothing, really. I was just thinking about something you once told me. You told me so many things. And all of them were true."
He laughed, but it was not a happy laugh. "Hardly. I remember telling you something very foolish."
"Oh?"
"I said I didn't love you, and if I did, you'd be the last person I'd ever tell."
"Oh, that." She snickered. "You also said it was the height of bad form for man and wife to love one another." She meant it comically, but his expression grew even more bitter.
"Yes. I remember. What an idiot I was. I knew you wouldn't – well, I knew you'd take my words literally. I tried to protect myself from your charms. In vein, I might add."
She smiled, sensing some of his good humor had been restored.
"Oh Rhett, let's not talk of it all. We'll talk about it tomorrow. For now, I just want to be happy."
He laughed. "I'm happy, too. More than you'll ever know." He kissed her lips once, quickly. "I love you, Scarlett. I've loved you for years and I always will. Knowing that you feel the same is the greatest gift."
"I love you, too, Rhett. And I'm sorry for everything."
He brought her close to him again and pressed her against his body, laughing when she gasped, and the bass of it thundered through her once more.
"Rhett?"
"Yes, my darling?"
"Did you mean what you said earlier? Did you really say goodbye to … to Belle?"
"I did. I ask you to trust me when I say she's just a friend, and I'll never... I'll never do that to you again, Scarlett. I won't be with her, not in that way. We'll just keep each other company. As friends. But if you can't accept that in the first place, and you do ask me to chose between you and her, I'll choose you. You alone. Without a second thought."
She lowered her eyes to his chest. "I need some time to think, I guess. But I know I trust you. Or I'll learn to trust you in time. Just as I hope you'll learn to trust me."
He put a finger under her chin and peered closely into her eyes. "You've changed, my dear. For the better. I'm proud of you." She squirmed under his intense gaze, but it was a pleasant feeling.
"Thank you, Rhett. And about Ashley –"
"Hush!" He implored. "Let's not speak of him. Just know that I trust you, Scarlett. And I believe you. In fact, now that I have your love, I think nothing can come between us. I won't allow it."
"Neither will I." Sighing, she allowed him to embrace her again and run his hands up and down her back. The night sky was dark and beautiful when she looked up, a lone bird chirped somewhere in the hedge. The faint sound of laughter and clinking glass reached her ear from the house. How odd that all this should have happened in Melanie and Ashley's garden, of all places. She sighed again, incredulous, and shivered when Rhett released her.
"Come," he said reluctantly. "Let's go inside. You're cold, and we've been out here a scandalously long time. Or better yet, let's make our excuses and go home. I want to be alone with you." His eyes shone queerly, and she blushed in the darkness, glad he couldn't see it. Or perhaps he could, for he laughed knowingly.
But when he made to take her hand and go, she said swiftly: "Oh, no! Not just yet. I'm not cold. And I don't care what people say."
Renegades, both of them...
She leaned into him, wanting him to take her in his arms again, eager to start living their life together. There was so much yet to say, so much to explain. So many apologies to offer. But for now, his lips on hers would have to make do.
"Just kiss me, Rhett," she whispered. "Kiss me."
And, oh, how they did.