It had begun last night. One moment they had been lying comfortably together, Rhett's arms enveloping her slender frame while he drew her silken hair across his throat, the next he had furiously stormed out of the room leaving her alone and cold in a bed which suddenly felt much too big.

He had given no explanation for his departure other than to shout some absurdity about how he hoped that God would damn her cheating soul. A sentiment that was particularly mystifying given that they'd spent almost every moment of their fortnight-long honeymoon together, making her supposed unfaithfulness physically impossible as well as utterly ludicrous.

Rhett knew that she'd always despised marital relations. It was only recently - thanks, in no small part, to his expert tutorage - that she'd learnt they could be enjoyed rather than endured, so why he thought she would want to engage in them with anyone else was baffling.

All she knew for certain was that Rhett had acted like a scoundrel, running out of their suite in the middle of the night like a burglar who'd just emptied the safe.

And now he was back. Sharp, sarcastic and so very out of reach.

Loath as Scarlett was to admit it, the Rhett she had known before they'd said 'I do' had always intimidated her. Strong, stoic and completely self-reliant, he would not be bullied or charmed like her many other beaus. In all the years she had known him, she had never once managed to utter a lie that he had not seen through, or concoct a plan to manipulate him which he had not uncovered. It was both infuriating and deeply unsettling to know that he had the power to read her so effortlessly, that no matter how hard she might try, she would never be able to best him.

But this last fortnight all that had seemed to change. The foundations of their relationship had shifted from competition to companionship. No longer did she have to trick him into doing her bidding, for he now undertook it voluntarily. Bringing her breakfast, buying her clothes, taking her to balls: he anticipated her every wish as if his sole purpose in life was to see her smile.

In no area of their acquaintance had this change been more noticeable than in their conversations. Once characterised by mockery and aloofness on his part and irritation and humiliation on hers, recently they had learnt to overcome these limitations. Taking on an ease, a gentle humour and even a delicious hint of flirtation, their talks now made her want to tell Rhett things she'd never dream of disclosing to anyone else.

Scarlett felt that she was finally beginning to understand him. The real him, not the mask of carefully cultivated indifference he wore in front of the rest of the world. A mask that had previously fooled her into thinking he did not care about anyone or anything, but which she was beginning to suspect meant the exact opposite.

Often at night she lay in his arms and wondered what part of himself he was too afraid to expose, what possible secret he could be carrying that required such elaborate protection. She hoped that one day he would show her, and break down the final wall that stood between them.

These last few days she had felt as if the first few bricks were starting to tumble; had been sure that it was only a matter of time before he opened himself up to her completely.

But now all of that was ruined.

For some unknown reason, all the intimacy that they had built up during their time in New Orleans had been shattered last night, rendering his walls thicker than ever. Looking at him now, she saw not the thoughtful, sweet man she had married, but a distant, brooding stranger. She could not understand his reasons for leaving her last night, less still his cruel behaviour since he had returned this morning.

She had awoken early, still tired after a turbulent night in which she had spent more time tossing and turning than she had sleeping. Her head had ached dully and unthinkingly she had rolled over to Rhett's side of the bed planning to bury her face in the warm, dark crook of his neck and not emerge until noon. In place of his hard body, she had encountered nothing but soft sheets and, after a moment of confusion, the events of the previous night had come rushing back.

At first, Scarlett had not been overly concerned by Rhett's absence from their bed. This was hardly the first disagreement they'd had since their wedding, for both had an uncanny knack for rubbing the other up the wrong way.

She had fully expected him to return to the room at any moment. Most likely he'd stopped by the kitchens to pick up her favourite foods by way of apology.

Calmed by this thought, Scarlett had curled back up underneath the covers, determined to make the most of the remaining minutes of peace.

But hours had passed and still he did not come, the room remaining perfectly silent as Scarlett had tried and failed to fall back to sleep. Telling herself that her uneasiness was the result of her headache rather than any misplaced concern over Rhett's whereabouts, she had climbed out of bed and gone to relieve herself.

Returning to the bedroom, she'd frowned upon finding it empty, thinking that Rhett better be out buying her the most beautiful - and expensive - jewellery that New Orleans had to offer if he expected her to forgive his abandonment anytime soon. Not wanting him to return to find her waiting, she'd decided to act as if nothing was amiss. She'd called the maid and asked that her breakfast be sent up as soon as possible.

She had felt oddly strange making the request and only realised afterwards that it was because Rhett usually saw to such matters. Every other morning, he'd let her lie in while he went down to the kitchens and ensured they were given the very best food the hotel had to offer. Scarlett hadn't been so shamelessly pampered since her childhood and she'd treasured every second of it.

Rhett's caring attitude had also had the unexpected consequence of bringing out her more affectionate side. Like how she'd let him feed her breakfast as they lay next to each other in bed, watching his pupils grow large and his breath shallow as she ate from his hand. Or how she'd let him clean up the crumbs she dropped on herself, lying silent as he bent his head and used his tongue to scoop them off her skin and into his warm, waiting mouth.

It was silly and sinful and yet she gloried in his attention, loving the way he could make her body shiver and burn at the same time.

But today there was to be none of that intimacy, none of that gentle, sensuous teasing. Today there was just her, sitting alone at a breakfast table which they had never previously gotten round to using, trying not to look across at the empty space that should have been filled by Rhett.

Her temper had risen with each minute he failed to appear. Finally, when she'd heard his familiar tread along the corridor she'd been too angry to be glad that he was back.

Determined to ignore him, she'd kept her eyes down when he opened the door, focussing instead on finishing her food so that she could make a swift exit. She planned to listen to his apology with the dignified disdain that became a wounded wife, before heading out for the morning to give him plenty of time to stew. It would not do to forgive him too easily, far better to hold out for a day or two and give him the chance to buy his way back into her good books.

A smile had graced her lips at the thought of all the dresses and trinkets she stood to gain from their disagreement, before a loud bang had brought her sharply out of her musings. Glancing up, her eyebrows had shot up when she'd taken in the sight before her.

With his hair mussed and his clothes crumpled and dirtied, Rhett had looked more like an impoverished vagabond than his usual, dapper self. Scarlett had frowned as she'd watched him attempt to cross the room, his unsteady gait causing him to bang into every single piece of furniture along the way.

Seeing him so out of control had repulsed her, but that was by no means what infuriated her most about his return. Far worse was the fact that, since entering the room, he hadn't spoken one word of regret, hadn't even bothered to glance in her direction. Wounded by his neglect, Scarlett had cleared her throat and fixed him with a piercing stare.

On hearing her cough, Rhett's head, which had been lolling on his shoulders, had risen in surprise.

'Still here, my dear?' he'd asked, his usual drawl reduced to a drunken slur. 'I thought you'd have caught the first train back to your beloved by now, but perhaps you are merely waiting until you've finished breakfast. You never were one to turn your nose up at food that someone else is paying for.'

Scarlett had flinched, too shocked by his behaviour to bite back with an insult of her own. She had expected him to be shame-faced and sorry, to beg earnestly for her forgiveness, not to act as if it was somehow he who was the wounded party. She had never truly understood him, but in that moment, she'd never felt more adrift. She had the uncomfortable sense that they were on completely different tracks, both hurting in ways that the other could not even begin to comprehend.

Silently, she'd watched as he'd continued to barrel his way through their suite, knocking into the dresser before collapsing into the chair opposite hers and fumbling unsteadily in his pockets for his cigar case. Finding it, he'd struggled for a good few minutes to get the lid open, all the while looking so worn and pathetic that it had made Scarlett's chest ache.

After countless attempts to light his cigar without success, he'd grunted in frustration and banged it down on the table. Raising his head, he'd fixed her with a sardonic glare. 'You'd better eat up, my dear, if you want to catch the next train. It's due to leave the station at midday, and I know how long it takes you to look presentable.'

She'd been too stunned to speak. Was Rhett implying that it was all over between them? Well, she'd be damned before she let him get rid of her that easily! Her anger swiftly overcoming her astonishment, she had cried out, 'I'm not going anywhere, Rhett! We agreed the terms of our marriage the day you proposed, and I won't let you renege on them now that you've gotten your end of the deal.'

She'd hated bringing up the contract they had made, disliked remembering that their marriage was simply a business arrangement to him, but she'd had to make him see that getting rid of her was not an option. The very idea of taking a train back to Atlanta and having the same Old Cats who had warned her against marrying Rhett crow over the fact that their union had failed to last a fortnight was too humiliating to stomach. No, she would stay right here whether he liked it or not.

'Ah, yes, I should have realised you would stay for the money if not for the man,' he'd muttered, smirking cruelly. 'You know, my pet, I do believe that you are the worst investment I've ever made. You certainly haven't brought me much profit so far.'

Shaking with fury, Scarlett had risen from the table and stood over him. 'You low-down cad! You haven't even a shred of decency in you. If you did, you would be apologising…'

Rhett's laughter had drowned out the rest of her speech. 'You'd know all about decency, wouldn't you, my pet?'

Scarlett had bristled under his accusatory tone, refusing to let him make this her fault. 'And just what is that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing, my darling and eternally faithful wife, just that most civilised people would argue it's not decent for a newly-wed woman to spend her nights thinking about the things that you do.'

A shiver of fear had run through Scarlett's body at his words, but she'd pressed on as best she could. 'What on earth are you jabbering on about, Rhett? You have no idea what I think about at night.'

'I'm sure you wish that were the case, my dear. It would make things so much simpler for you, wouldn't it? But seeing as it's not, perhaps you'll allow me to give you some friendly advice,' he'd said, though Scarlett scarcely remembered a time when he'd looked less friendly towards her. 'Next time you're lying there wishing I was someone else, you should at least try not to be so damn obvious about it. Really, Scarlett, how discreet do you think you're being when you sigh longingly into your pillow like a lovelorn heroine in a bad romance novel?'

Scarlett had frozen. Surely, she must have heard him wrong? He couldn't really know what she'd been thinking about last night just before he got up and stormed out. After all, she'd assured herself shakily, he wasn't wholly right in his assessment. While she had indeed been thinking of another man while she lay in his arms, she hadn't been wishing that Rhett was more like Ashley, so much as Ashley was more like Rhett.

Since their wedding, Scarlett's life-long love for Ashley Wilkes had suffered something of a blow. While she still held him in the highest regard, there were some traits that her new husband possessed that she couldn't help noticing her paramour lacked.

Take last night, as she'd lain drowsily in Rhett's arms, feeling his muscular chest rise and fall beneath her cheek, she could not help but think of how perfect it would be if only Ashley would hold her like this.

Only he wouldn't, would he? Even if he divorced Melly and married Scarlett, Ashley was far too prim and proper to lie like this. Why, she doubted he ever touched Melanie when they lay next to each other in bed. No doubt they slept like a pair of statues, careful to maintain at least five feet of space between them at all times. They probably never even looked at each other for fear of causing offence.

The disturbing thought had caused her to turn her head away as she'd sighed wistfully, wishing with her whole heart that Ashley would hold her like Rhett did, and realising for the first time that he never would. While it was still Ashely that she dreamt of, in reality, Rhett was the only one who could give her what she needed.

She had felt a chill pass over her at this thought, as if something large and vital was leaving her, never to be recovered. Yet she did not feel regret at its passing, only a sense of freedom, as if she had been let out of a small room after years of imprisonment.

Or at least, that was how she'd felt until Rhett had sprung up from her side and fled the room.

Staring at him now across the breakfast table, she realised that beneath his anger there lurked a pervading sadness, an air of defeat which seemed to weigh heavy upon his broad shoulders.

She considered explaining what she'd been thinking about last night, but swiftly dismissed the idea. He did not deserve to hear it. After all the hateful things he'd said in the last twelve hours, why should she reassure him as if he was the one that needed comforting?

Instead, she walked away without another word, deciding to stay true to her original plan of going shopping.

Returning to the room some time later, now fully-dressed, she picked her shawl up from where it hung on the back of her chair and secured it round her shoulders, all the while refusing to grant her husband so much as a glance.

Quietly, she made her way across the room towards the door, only to be stopped halfway there.

'And just where do you think you're off to?' he barked, clumsily rising from his chair and stumbling over to her.

Wanting to pay him back for his earlier unkindness, she smiled spitefully and replied, 'To the station, of course. I'm so glad you came back to inform me of the train times, or I'm sure I'd have missed it.'

Rhett's eyes widened in shock, before he collected himself, and said casually, 'Unfortunately for you, my dear, trains tend not to allow passengers onboard unless they possess either a ticket or the means with which to purchase one.'

'That's quite alright. I'll just have to stop by the pawn brokers on the way. I can think of one or two items of jewellery that I'm no longer in need of,' she spat venomously, before dropping her eyes down conspicuously to her left hand upon which lay her engagement and wedding rings.

For first time that morning Rhett showed open emotion, his whole body spasming under the onslaught of her cruel words, almost as if they had struck him physically. The motion caused him to overbalance, and he only saved himself from tumbling to the floor by grasping onto the wall for support. When he looked at her again, his face had taken on a harshness that she hadn't witnessed in a quite some time.

'I doubt you'll get much for your jewellery,' he said coldly. 'There aren't many women who share your appallingly cheap taste, and the ones that do are too busy pushing yesterday's clients out of their beds to go shopping this early in the morning.'

Scarlett gasped, her face erupting in flames. Why had she ever thought that he was capable of change? How stupid she had been to believe that their marriage had altered him for the better, that it had softened his feelings towards her. He didn't care for her in the slightest, no man who did would even think to compare her to a whore, let alone say it to her face.

Her eyes watering, she fought hard to hold back a sob, refusing to allow him the pleasure of seeing her cry. Deciding to take a leaf out of Rhett's book, she ran to escape the room, barely noticing how his face paled as he took her in or how he yelled at her to come back.

His pleas grew more desperate the further away she moved, but Scarlett would not be deterred. She had given him plenty of chances to apologise and instead he had only sought to insult her further. And now too much damage had been done for a simple sorry to fix.

Halfway down the corridor, she heard him curse loudly before a mighty bang rang out and she wondered if he had fallen over in an attempt to run after her. She felt no remorse at this thought, indeed she only hoped that he had hit his head hard enough to experience the same level of pain that he had just inflicted on her.

Hurrying down the staircase in case he managed to get up and follow her, Scarlett clutched at her shawl to stop it from sliding off her shoulders and wondered if perhaps she wouldn't be better selling off her rings and boarding the first train out of New Orleans.

If this was how the rest of their marriage was going to play out then she'd be wise to cut her losses while she still had youth and beauty on her side. Just because Rhett didn't know how to treat her right didn't mean some other rich man wouldn't.

Scores of wealthy men had expressed an interest in her during her honeymoon. How their numbers would grow when they found out she was free! Perhaps she'd even manage to catch one of Rhett's friends from the ball the other evening - wouldn't that just serve him right!

Her mind dancing with thoughts of besting her husband once and for all, Scarlett lost sight of her surroundings and almost tripped down the last flight of stairs, only saving herself by managing to catch hold of the banister in time. Shaken, she looked around the lobby, noting how busy it was at this hour of the morning.

She groaned to herself when she spotted Henry Walters leaning against the reception desk. He was the last person she needed to run into right now.

Only two days ago, Scarlett and Rhett had gotten into a big fight over Henry. Rhett had accused her of flirting with the younger man when they'd bumped into each other at the same restaurant, while she – rightly - maintained that she'd only been being polite.

'That's what you call politeness is it, my dear?' he'd sneered as they'd made their way back up to their room after dinner. 'Preening and flaunting yourself over the crawfish course!'

Scarlett had rolled her eyes at his remark and tried to rein in her temper until they were safely behind locked doors. 'I was hardly flaunting myself, Rhett! I couldn't very well ignore him when he came over to say hello. It's not like I invited him along to the damn meal!'

Rhett had scoffed, 'Oh and I suppose he was there completely by chance, was he? His miraculous appearance couldn't possibly have had anything to do with the fact that you told him it was your favourite restaurant?'

'I doubt he remembered me telling him that. Besides, there are hundreds of restaurants in New Orleans. It would have been very hard for him to find it even if he did know the name.'

'Unless he followed us out of the hotel this evening.'

'God's nightgown, Rhett!' Scarlett had cried as they walked down the corridor. 'He's a lawyer not a spy! I know you've annoyed a fair few people around these parts, but I highly doubt they're bothering to track your every movement.'

'Of course not, my dear,' he'd agreed, making Scarlett think she'd finally won an argument, before he spoilt her moment of victory by continuing, 'it was you he was following, not me.'

Scarlett had been prevented from retorting as they'd reached their door and she had needed to extract the key from her purse.

Ignoring Rhett as he'd marched off into the lounge area, she had sat down on the bed and shrugged off her tight shoes, wriggling her toes in an attempt to regain circulation. He was so impossible some times, but she wouldn't let him spoil her fun. Heading over to the closet, she'd rifled eagerly through her dresses, her bad mood dissipating at the thought of the night's dancing that lay ahead of them. Hopefully she'd find some nice man to waltz with, and could leave Rhett and his foul mood over at the bar.

Her eyes had hit upon a bright red gown which was so low-cut it would have made even Belle Watling blush.

At least I won't have any trouble attracting dance partners tonight, she'd thought wryly, caressing the silky material.

Pulling it off the rack, she'd folded it carefully over her arm and made her way back out of the closet, stopping in her tracks when she'd caught sight of Rhett.

Rather than standing attentively by the door, ready to help her unhook her current dress so that she could change ready for them to go back out, he had been lounging lazily on the bed, clad only in his trousers and a shirt that was open to the waist.

'What are you wasting time for, Rhett?' she'd snapped. 'Get dressed and come help me unfasten my gown so we can leave.'

Instead of jumping to attention, Rhett had merely reached over to the bedside table and lit himself a cigar before settling back down, placing an arm under his head so that he could see her better.

'I doubt you'd be allowed into a ball wearing an unfastened gown, Scarlett, although doubtless Mr. Walters would enjoy the sight.'

'You know what I mean!' she'd yelled, losing her temper and flinging the red gown at his head.

Laughing, he'd batted it away with his elbow, his dark eyes flashing with a potent mixture of amusement and arousal as they always did when she grew mad.

'Indeed, I do, my pet, but I'm afraid that I must graciously decline your oh-so-charming request. You see, your performance at dinner has left me feeling rather nauseous and I'm quite unable to go out dancing this evening.'

'Who said I intended on dancing with you?'

'Touché, my dear. Alas, you still need me to escort you there and back, and I'm simply not feeling up to the task tonight.'

'Fine. I'll just find someone else to take me,' she'd threatened, hoping to force Rhett into coming with her.

'Oh, and where exactly do you intend to find this selfless someone who has no objection to escorting other men's wives to and from balls?'

'Well, if what you say about Henry following me is true, it shouldn't be so hard to track him down,' she'd simpered, enjoying the way Rhett's smug expression had darkened at her use of Walters' first name.

'In fact,' she'd taunted while moving towards the door, 'he's probably standing outside right now, just waiting for his chance to swoop in and save the day.'

She hadn't heard Rhett get up off the bed, hadn't felt him stalk across the floor, but the next thing she'd known she was being pushed up against the door, his warm body caging her own.

Startled, she'd cried out his name, an action which had only made him chuckle, his hot breath coasting over her ear and making her squirm against his hold.

'And if he was waiting outside this very door, what would you do, Scarlett?' he'd asked in a voice as thick and dangerously sweet as syrup. 'Would you ask him to take you dancing? Complain to him about your brute of a husband? Press your body up against his on the dance floor?'

At these words Rhett had pushed himself closer against her so that her whole body was pressed up against the door, her forehead resting on the cool wood. His hands had left her waist and risen to stroke her arms, sliding down her skin until he could entwine his fingers with hers and bring them up to rest either side of her head.

'Hmm?' he'd breathed questioningly against the fine hairs of her nape.

Scarlett head had swum under the onslaught of sensations. It was too much. He was too much. Marriage to Rhett was nothing like it had been with Charles or Frank. She couldn't control him, couldn't bend him to her iron will. Instead, on nights like this, she felt as if her inner steel was melting under the searing heat of his body, being shaped by his talented hands into something new and strange.

Swallowing, she'd tried to remind herself that she was mad at him, but could not find the will to summon up her anger, much less the inclination.

Growing frustrated by her prolonged refusal to answer him, Rhett had let go of her hands and stepped away, causing Scarlett to whimper at the loss of his warmth. Hearing it, Rhett had exhaled sharply and spun her around to face him before pressing her back against the door.

Recapturing her hands in his, Rhett had bent his head so that their eyes were level, and whispered huskily, 'Do you want to spend the night with Henry?'

Unable to speak, Scarlett had shaken her head, wondering as she did so why the thought of dancing with another man suddenly seemed so unbearable. Only moments ago, she couldn't get away from Rhett quick enough. That was the most enthralling and infuriating thing about her husband, the way he could change so completely from minute to minute. He could be the gentlest, most tender of lovers one moment and the most insufferable of cads the next. She wondered if maybe one day she would finally catch up with his mood swings, or if they would settle down as he got older.

Yet, while life would surely be much simpler if they did, she could not help but enjoy the intensity of feeling that such behaviour gave rise to, the way his affection always felt that much more sweet and his anger that much more delicious for being contrasted against one another.

'Are you sure, Scarlett?' he'd murmured, his fingertips drawing patterns on her open palms that only he could read. 'Do you want me to let you go?'

'No,' she'd whispered, feeling terrifyingly close to begging. 'Don't, Rhett.'

'No?' he'd questioned, a mischievous smile forming as he'd bent down and lifted her into his arms. Carrying her across the room, he'd lowered her onto the bed, covering her with his body, as if desiring to draw a veil between them and the rest of the world.

He'd grinned rakishly, leaning back on his knees as he'd dragged his lips down her cheek and over her chest, along her stomach, and lower still. 'Then I suppose I'll just have to come up with another way of keeping you entertained this evening.'

Scarlett sighed heavily as she was pulled out of her reverie by someone passing her on the stairs, wishing that all of her and Rhett's arguments could end so agreeably. Normally they did. Rhett had an uncanny knack for redirecting her passion in a way which proved pleasurable for them both.

But not this morning.

Today he had not touched her once, had scarcely been able to look her in the eye. And while part of her hated him for the things he'd said, another, smaller part wondered just how badly he must have been hurting to lash out like that. She and Rhett were such similar creatures, both likely to strike out in defence when they felt themselves backed into a corner, both likely to wound the other in an attempt to disguise their own pain.

In her anger this morning she had forgotten that fact and it had led to her seriously considering whether or not she should leave him. But now that she had cooled down a little she knew that she wasn't going anywhere.

For all the bad times, there were a thousand good ones, moments more delightful than any she'd ever known before. Moments which made their arguments seem like a very small price to pay.

No one knew her like Rhett did, and if that meant he knew exactly how to hurt her, it also meant he knew how to make her happy.

Married life would not be easy. Hell, it would be a long, hard slog in which they'd threatened to kill each other often and think about doing it more often still. But at least it would be real. Too real perhaps, but then too much was better than not enough.

For too long Scarlett had been forced to scrape by on far too little, whether it be Ashley's love, food and support during the war, or money and security after it. But no more. Here at last was someone who was offering her something immense and all-consuming, something which would sustain and entertain her for her whole life if only she would let it.

Scarlett sighed as the clock in the lobby struck twelve and she realised she'd missed the noontime train. She felt no regret at its passing, only a pervading sense of relief, as if she had just dodged a near-fatal bullet.

Scarlett considered returning to her room and reassuring Rhett that she hadn't abandoned him, but decided against it. Just because she wasn't leaving, it didn't mean she had to make things easy for him. After how he'd treated her, Rhett deserved to spend a few anxious hours locked up in their room. He'd still be there when she got back and, who knew, perhaps she'd even tell him what it was she'd really been thinking about last night. But, then again, maybe she wouldn't. For once Scarlett held the upper hand in their relationship, and she didn't intend to relinquish it anytime soon.

Smiling to herself, Scarlett made her way across the lobby and out into the noontime sunshine, thinking that perhaps she didn't need to board a train to escape her old life and start a better one.

For she'd already done that the day she and Rhett had travelled from Atlanta to New Orleans.