M rating for this chapter. Nothing graphic, but maturish subjects matters are touched. Many many thanks to LawdyMissScarlett, not only for proofreading the story-flow, but for adding accuracy to era-related details. All mistakes remain mine, all GWTW characters remain the property of MM.
The well-oiled hinges of the oak door turned without a sound. The beige brocade curtains were half-drawn, and the full moon stuck silver stilts into the room. Thad's tastes had never been as magnificent as her father's, and his bedchamber appeared almost monk-like in its austerity. A bed and nightstand, a dresser, and a cushioned armchair made from plain, dark-stained walnut – purposefully distinct from the warm Mesquite wood that furnished the rest of the house. Thad slept on his back. His matted chest was bare, his right arm flung out, the skin gleaming like ivory. A dark brown duvet cover covered his mid-section, and his legs.
Rose flushed, almost losing her nerve again.
Her bare feet moved silently over the carpet to his side. Cautiously, she leaned over him, intending to lightly tap on his shoulder. Suddenly, he snapped up, like a pocketknife closing, pinning her body down on the bed, one hand around her throat.
Rose made a gurgling noise, and struggled helplessly against his grip, which suddenly went slack.
"Damn it, Rose. What in hell do you think you're doing?" He calmed his breath with an effort. "You could have gotten yourself killed."
She breathed in, and out, with effort. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I was just…."
"Just what? You can't sneak up on me when I'm sleeping. You know that."
She sat up on the bed. Her white nightgown left very little to the imagination, skimming the soft flare of her hips like a second skin, and giving him ample view of her cleavage.
"And why in hell are you here in the middle of the night, dressed in nothing more than a nightgown? And such a nightgown, too," he muttered, under his breath.
"I wanted …"
"Right now, I don't really care what you wanted." He rose like liquid mercury, his body pouring itself from a sitting into a standing form. He grabbed his black, velvet robe off the corner chair. A surreptitious glance confirmed that he'd worn nothing to bed but his drawers. She caught a glimpse of sculptured thighs, and of the strange, round scar tissue that gleamed bluish in the light of the moon. "Put this on." He tossed the robe at her. Rose, already humiliated by her failed attempt at seduction, caught it clumsily with her right hand. He averted his gaze, until she had slipped the soft fabric around her shoulders, and tied it in the front. Tears of shame were gathering behind her eyelids.
With the same swift, fluid motions, he pulled on a white shirt, and trousers. "Go sit over there." He pointed to the armchair in the corner. Rose stared at him with a hostile expression, but did not stir. He could make her cover herself, but he couldn't make her move.
"I said sit in the chair, Rose."
She rose, and stumbled towards the chair. She would have stumbled out of the room, had her legs been able to carry her that far. With the last remnants of her pride, she scowled darkly at him. "You don't have to be rude."
"I don't, do I." he said, softly. "How would you prefer me to be? After all, you came here, to me, in the middle of the night, in such an …enticing state of undress." He stopped in front of her, and lifted up her chin. She jerked her head away. "What were you hoping for, Rose? That I would lose all pretense of control, and just take you? Relieve you of the burden of actually having to talk about what happened with us?" He lowered his head, until it was only inches from hers. A small, primitive, wiser part of her brain was suddenly not just mortified, but afraid. He saw it flicker in her eyes, and suddenly stepped back, drawing a deep breath. He turned his back to her. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.
"Mothers don't just warn you against these things out of meanness, Rose," he said, his gaze still firmly tucked into a dark corner of the room. "These are powerful instincts you're playing with. To keep them within bounds, they need …. a frame. Husband and wife. Man and mistress. Prostitute and client. Prearranged, pre-agreed to, by parties who understand the contract they're signing. This, here – this time of night, your state of undress…..our being alone in my bedroom, without warning ….isn't just improper, it's dangerous."
She shook her head. "I thought….."
He turned, and gave a sudden smirk. "Heavens preserve me. The little girl has been reading …novels. The hero and the heroine impulsively fall into each other's arms, and through a night of heated passion, resolve all of their problems."
She blushed.
"It doesn't work like that, Rosey."
"No?" She attempted a watery smile.
"No. Especially not with someone as young and inexperienced as you."
She dropped her head. "I thought…." She stopped. It was clear he thought her nothing more than a child, and she would not confirm his suspicions further.
His expression softened slightly. "Listen to me, Rosey." He stood in front of her again, looking down. His mind groped for an example she could relate to. "Do you remember our dance?"
She nodded, flushing again. "Do you remember ….how it felt?"
"Yes," she said, softly.
"You were fully dressed….I was fully dressed….and we were barely touching. And after all these years, if I close my eyes - I can still remember the feel of your waist against my palm."
She flushed. The faint echo of passion in his voice washed over her senses like heady wine.
"Now imagine those layers of clothes removed. And our bodies….much, much closer."
She shivered.
"Do you see what I mean?" He smiled faintly. "And it's …..late. We're both tense, because of all that has happened, and all that's still unsaid. If I took you, now - all of those things would ….come to bed with us, and most likely ruin everything."
"How do you mean?"
He looked at her, as if trying to assess just how blunt he needed to be, before seemingly coming to a decision."I mean - it would be awkward, and uncomfortable, and ….painful for you, Rose. You would try to please me, but you'd have no idea how to go about it. And you'd be much too nervous to let me please you. You would try to tell yourself that it was fine- that you liked it- because you had asked for it. And you'd have issues with ....intimacy, forever after. And I would hate myself for what I did to you, for nothing more than a moment's release. And I don't want that."
She said nothing for a moment, letting his words sink in. "How…."
"How does it work?" He raised his brows. "Not like this."
"I gathered that," she said, recovering some of her nerve, and with it, her sense of irony. "Foolish people have even gone so far as to call me a quick study in the past."
He smiled, faintly. "You could try …asking. Like I suggested earlier today."
She tossed her head. "I thought I was asking."
He shook his head. "No, Rosey. Showing up in a flimsy nightgown in a man's bedroom in the middle of the night isn't…. asking. It's coercion. If we start out by…. coercing each other, we might as well give up now."
Her blue eyes flashed. It wasn't that she hadn't understood, at all, but she housed darker fears, that pride now froze within her breast. "How should I have asked, according to Monsieur Besserwisser?"
A short pause. "Dear Thad," he offered, with a faint grin. "I believe there are many things you and I need to discuss. Would you like to meet me at the hunting lodge Monday morning at ten a.m. so we can talk in private?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "You know, just talk. All the rage this season in Paris, they say."
"What you said, then." she muttered, with more than a hint of rebelliousness. "Why Monday? Why not tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow morning is Church, and I think Mother is planning a picnic by the Lake in the afternoon."
"Ah." She tossed her hair back. Her eyes glimmered opaque in the moonlight."Hunting lodge Monday at ten it is, then." With a renewed scowl, she added, "Are you sure you want to meet me alone? I'd rather not be accused of ….coercing you again."
"Thank you for asking, but…..yes, I am sure. In full daylight, with everyone properly dressed and awake, I'll be all right." He smirked at her, and added, in a much lighter tone than before. "But just to be safe, wear something with a very high neckline."
She caught his altered mood, and lifted her eyes warily. "Are you still angry with me?"
He shook his head. "I was never really angry with you."
"You could have fooled me."
He looked at her levelly. "A man who looks angry is usually ….. afraid." He tucked a curl behind her ear. "Don't tell your friends, ok? Lest I be accused of spilling secrets to the enemy. And keep the robe for now. Just don't leave it out where the maid, or – heavens forbid -your mother can find it."
"Good night," she said, but she remained immobile. She had morphed through so many rôles today - competent physician, incompetent seductress, naive ingénue - that she was reluctant to have her final rôle be that of a chastened child.
Perhaps he sensed it. As he had done over two years ago in her parent's hallway, he raised his hand, and gently brushed the knuckle of his index finger over her cheek. His touch sank down, settling into the deepest recesses of her body, calling up blood. Cheeks and lips flushed cherry red. Her pupils dilated. His eyes darkened. "Go."
She had taken only a few steps into the hallway when she turned again.
"Thad."
The door that had almost closed opened once more.
"What."
"I'm a terrible doctor. I forgot to ask - what happened in Houston?"
"I found a surgeon, and a room, and a nurse. How's that for efficient? We'll move the girl tomorrow morning. Before church."
"You're wonderful," she smiled, unstintingly, and with entirely impersonal admiration.
"Yes. Don't ask me what it cost, first and last. And as a reward, my ….innocence is threatened." He shook his head, taking in her still-flushed cheeks, and the reddish tint of her neck, slipping out of the folds of his robe. "You're looking mighty good to me right now, Rose. Run, before I eat you up."
She laughed like tinkling bluebells. As she walked away, she pushed up the folds of his robe, staring at the blush that had spread over her chest, and down to her forearms. She touched the reddish skin with a cautious fingertip. She wasn't sure why, but it was altogether astonishing.
~~oo~~
When she returned to her own hallway, she was greeted by a loud, piercing wail.
Pushing aside her thoughts of Thad, she ran forward to her parent's bedroom. For the second time that night, she thrust open a door to a room not her own.
"Mother….are you all right?" she whispered.
"Shhhh…..honey, I'm here," she heard her father murmur. As she entered, his head swung briefly towards the door, but he immediately turned his attention back to his sobbing wife. Scarlett was still caught in her dream.
"No…..Bonnie…darling, don't take that jump…."
Rhett pulled her up, and cradled her against his chest. "Shhhh. It's all right, my love. I'm here. " Rose made a move as if to withdraw, but he held up his hand. "You wait, Rose."
Rose stood in the middle of the room, feeling useless. She watched her father continue to cradle his wife, stroking her gently, kissing her head, murmuring endearments. Eventually, Scarlett fell back into what looked like a deeper slumber. After observing her for a few minutes, and assuring himself she would not wake up again, he untangled himself gently, and got up. Unlike his nephew, he wore a sensible, conservative nightshirt, over which he now slipped a white robe. What little she had glimpsed of her mother's nightgown seemed equally dull, and out of character. Rose wondered idly if Gerry still crawled into bed with them in the morning, or if this was merely their travel attire. In her mind, she re-dressed them both in something more elegant.
"Come with me," Rhett motioned to his daughter.
He left the door ajar, presumably so he would hear Scarlett call if she needed him again. He gestured Rose into the small sitting room across the hallway. He carefully lit the lamp, while Rose seated herself on the settee.
"Does Mother still have nightmares?" There was no way to dodge the inevitable conversation, but perhaps one could delay its start.
"Yes. She's had them ever since Ella's miscarriage. Not nearly as often as before, but from time to time, they do come. Especially when she's tired - as she is now, from all the traveling."
"Sorry to hear that. I'd hoped they had gone away."
"They may never go away completely." Rhett said, absentmindedly. "She rarely wakes up from them anymore, as long as I'm there to hold her. So I guess that's ….. progress. And the frequency has gone down considerably."
She nodded. "And you?"
"I grieve differently," he said, an enigmatic look in his eyes, refusing to be distracted further. "Rose. I'm sure you know what I want to ask you - why are you up, and why in hell are you up wearing a man's robe?"
"Thad gave it to me," she said, with perfect composure.
"I was afraid you would say that," her father said, heavily. She watched the subtle display of emotions across his features ….discomfort, embarrassment, and something else, undefinable.
She laughed.
"I'm glad you feel this is so amusing," he said, heavily.
"I don't. I'm just laughing at how easy you are to read, compared to …him."
"Most people would disagree with you there," her father said, languidly. "Including your mother."
"I know. I can read you easily, because….we are alike, you and I. And because…"
"Because I'm not the person you are in love with," he finished for her. He sat down across from her, on the large armchair, leaning forward. "You are quite right. We are very much alike in that regard as well. But, Rose…."
"He sent me away."
"Good." There was a flicker of relief in his eyes. "I would have hoped that he would have…..sent you away. But…"
"You're not sure if you could have sent Mother away. When you were his age."
"No. In fact, I'm quite sure that I wouldn't have."
"Why not?"
He said, wearily, "I would have been too eager to grasp at ….whatever she offered. Including her body. Hoping against hope that by doing so, I would gain access to her heart. Thad … at least has some idea that you care for him. He can afford to pass for now, and wait for better things." He regarded his large hands, thoughtfully. "And he also has … one other advantage."
"What's that?"
"My own bad example," her father said, with something only distantly related to a smirk.
"I see."
"Perhaps you do see," said her father. "I foolishly spent the first six years of my marriage playing with a loaded deck, with all of my cards under the table. I am …somewhat happy you don't seem to be going that route, and putting yourself, …. out there, but, Rose….."
"Yes?"
"….this….." he motioned to herself, and the black robe, "is overdoing it by …..a rather large margin."
She smirked again. "Mother told me to show some gumption."
"I'm sure your mother meant to purse your lips, and flutter your fan at him," he said, wryly. "Not visit him at night wearing …..Rose! You are wearing something under that robe - are you not?"
"Yes. But I'm sure you don't want to see it. It might not be good for your heart, Daddy."
He groaned with real pain. "Rose. Please do not do such a thing. Ever again."
"Thad said the same thing," she said, airily, the tension of the night finally dissolving into puerile mirth. "I'm starting to think I'm surrounded by fusty old men with no sense of adventure."
"Unfortunately, you are too old to turn over on my knee, even though I'm tempted," Rhett said, shaking his head. "We never forced you to endure much oversight with regards to the young men who courted you, because you've never abused your freedom until today. If you promise to be a … good girl in the future, I won't mention this to your mother. But if I ever catch you in the corridors after bed-time again, I'll…"
"You'll forget I'm not seven anymore, and turn me over on your knee after all," she finished for him, not informing him just how woefully inadequate he was in his role as a disciplinarian. "No worries, Daddy. I'm cured of night-time expeditions. Your nephew already saw to that." She kissed him briefly on the cheek, and would have patted him on the head, had he not caught her hand. "Good night."
"Rose…"
"What?"
"Do lose that robe. Before your mother finds it."
She half-turned, and smirked. "You and Thad. Could open your own Greek chorus."
He stared after her as she walked to her room, closing the door behind her. He stood, staring at the door, for a few long minutes afterwards. Then he sighed.
"Children," he muttered to himself. "Before they're finished with me, they'll have turned every black hair on my head."
With that prophetic utterance, he went back into his own room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Thanks again for your wonderful reviews. Pretty much all of you (with your usual brilliance) knew right away that a) this is not the kind of gumption Scarlett would have condoned and b) it will probably backfire, or at least not work out as planned. Next chapter: Charles and Belle talk, and Charlotte, who always runs into the wrong people, makes an unexpected acquaintance.