Author's Note: So after writing what if Melanie had Meddled? I realized that there are other people who could at different moments made a great difference too. And as much as India would have hated doing something positive for Scarlett, she is who inspired this next segment. It is pretty long, much longer than I would normally consider a chapter. This behemoth of a chapter is over 10K words. Thank you Janet and Mis Cyn for reading and making suggestions. There are segments of MM mixed in, and then segments that I reworked and then ones that are all mine. I do think Rhett would still be angry in this scenario, so only small tweaks make a big difference. I hope you all enjoy this what if scenario. (Also I think the name is pretty lame, but it does convey the meaning so I guess it is ok.) This picks up at the mill on Ashley's Birthday in 1871.
Without warning, tears started in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks and she stood looking at him dumbly, like a hurt bewildered child. He said no word but took her gently in his arms, pressed her head against his shoulder and, leaning down, laid his cheek against hers. She relaxed against him and her arms went round his body. The comfort of his arms helped dry her sudden tears. Ah, it was good to be in his arms, without passion, without tenseness, to be there as a loved friend. Only Ashley who shared her memories and her youth, who knew her beginnings and her present could understand.
She heard the sound of feet outside but paid little heed, thinking it was the teamsters going home. She stood for a moment, listening to the slow beat of Ashley's heart. Then suddenly he wrenched himself from her, confusing her by his violence. She looked up into his face in surprise but he was not looking at her. He was looking over her shoulder at the door.
She turned and there stood India, white faced, her pale eyes blazing, and Archie, malevolent as a one-eyed parrot.
How she got out of the office she never remembered. But she went instantly, swiftly, by Ashley's order, leaving Ashley and Archie in a grim conversation in the little room and India outside with her back to her. Shame and fear sped down the stairs ready to fly on swift feet towards her team which would hurry her home, but before she could descend, talon-like claws grabbed on to her arm, so sharp she could have been convinced that it was a bird of prey digging into her arm, rather than a human, let alone waspish India Wiles. "You stay away from my brother, you little tramp. You always were a fast piece of baggage," she ground out savagely through gritted teeth. "You already have a husband who loves you, so leave alone everyone else's. You aren't still that belle gathering all of the country swains like that last barbecue at Twelve Oaks. Melanie will be hearing from me, and then I'll let the entire town know what a home wrecker you are."
Scarlett looked up at her, with eyes still reddened from crying. "Mind your own business, India."
"My brother and my sister in law are my business. Stay away!" She warned fiercely.
"He only comforted me after he made me cry," Scarlett retorted. "You'll only hurt them, when there was nothing going big on. Besides where were you when Melanie needed you most? Certainly not staying in a besieged Atlanta to deliver your nephew. I wasn't even trying to chase him."
"You've been chasing him since you were a mere child. And you never even had a chance, though you sure thought you were the nearest trick in shoe leather. But you can't fool me, even if all of the men around here seem to be under your spell," India spat hotly.
Scarlett glared, the panic of the moment and sadness of the encounter in the lumber office, quickly stripped away by blazing anger. "You're just still jealous because Stuart preferred me."
Strangely, India grinned in triumph as she tilted her nose to the air. "Stuart was prepared to ask for my hand before he died. You turned him down to steal Charlie from Honey. You'd long since lost that battle. If he'd wanted you badly enough, he could have pursued you after you were widowed, but he didn't, did he? He turned back to me. He preferred me. You may attract boys, but you can't seem to keep them for long. Funny how you still haven't figured out that you can only have one husband at a time. But it's probably time for something to happen to this one too. They never survive long being married to you." India's gaze from her pale, lashless eyes was piercing. "And my brother loves his wife, even if you can't see it. He wasn't forced to marry her. She was his choice, not you." And with that India released her grip, and Scarlett nearly tumbled down the stairs. "You always think that you are the preferred one, when you are only the one that they might they turn to for a dalliance like a girl living in the Watling woman's establishment."
Scarlett was inside her carriage, fleeing India's angry words, faster than anyone could have imagined possible. As the carriage rocked and swayed over uneven, Scarlett couldn't stop thinking about what India had said to her. How odd for her to say that Rhett loved her. But Scarlett knew better. Rhett didn't love her. He merely wanted her, and she wanted his money. Yes, she was fond of him, when he wasn't infuriating her. And though he was maddening, he also was pleasant and fun when he wanted to be. Of course it was expected for a husband to love his wife. That was all it was. But the thought kept playing in her mind, if India Wilkes thought Rhett loved her, what was Scarlett not seeing? What clues had she missed? And then those thoughts, overlapping with India's words that Melanie had been Ashley's choice, that Stuart had chosen India, when he could have pursued Scarlett. That stung, but there was some truth to it, she knew. It was impossible not to see the way that they seemed to understand each other without words-much like she connected with Rhett, when he wasn't being a complete varmint. And the thought of something happening to him, like Charles or Frank sent shivers of fear down her spine. There was just something about the conversation that she couldn't completely escape nor drive from her mind.
The house was empty and still in the April sunset. All the servants had gone to a funeral, and the children were playing in Melanie's back yard. Melanie—
Melanie! Scarlett went cold at the thought of her as she climbed the stairs to her room. She had spent the entire drive to town thinking about what India had said, but now concerns about Melanie assailed her. Melanie would hear of this. India would probably share the message regardless of the pain she inflicted, and there was no telling how she might distort what she had seen. It sickened her to think of Melanie turning her back on Scarlett, after all that they had endured together. But India had said she would tell her, and India would glory in telling her, not caring if she blackened Ashley's name, not caring if she hurt Melanie, if by so doing she could injure Scarlett! The news would be all over town by supper time, for it didn't matter how it might harm Ashley, India would be too intent on how she could injure Scarlett. Everyone, even the servants, would know by tomorrow's breakfast. At the party tonight, women would gather in corners and whisper discreetly and with malicious pleasure. Scarlett Butler tumbled from her high and mighty place! And the story would grow and grow. There was no way of stopping it. It wouldn't stop at the bare facts, that Ashley was holding her in his arms while she cried. Before nightfall people would be saying she had been taken in adultery. And it had been so innocent, so sweet! Scarlett thought wildly: If we had been caught that Christmas of his furlough when I kissed him good-by—if we had been caught in the orchard at Tara when I begged him to run away with me—oh, if we'd been caught any of the times when we were really guilty, it wouldn't be so bad! But now! Now! When I went to his arms as a friend—
But no one would believe that. She wouldn't have a single friend to take her part, not a single voice would be raised to say: "I don't believe she was doing anything wrong." She had outraged old friends too long to find a champion among them now. Her new friends, suffering in silence under her insolences, would welcome a chance to blackguard her. No, everybody would believe anything about her, though they might regret that so fine a man as Ashley Wilkes was mixed up in so dirty an affair. As usual they would cast the blame upon the woman and shrug at the man's guilt. And in this case they would be right. She had gone into his arms.
Oh, she could stand the cuts, the slights, the covert smiles, anything the town might say, if she had to stand them—but not Melanie! Oh, not Melanie! She did not know why she should mind Melanie knowing, more than anyone else. She was too frightened and weighed down by a sense of past guilt to try to understand it. But she burst into tears at the thought of what would be in Melanie's eyes when India told her that she had caught Ashley fondling Scarlett. And what would Melanie do when she knew? Leave Ashley? What else could she do, with any dignity? And what will Ashley and I do then? she thought frenziedly, the tears streaming down her face. Oh, Ashley will die of shame and hate me for bringing this on him. Suddenly her tears stopped short as a deadly fear went through her heart. What of Rhett? What would he do? She strangely didn't want this to hurt him, then she brushed away the thought. Rhett didn't love her. If he didn't love her, he couldn't be injured by it. But what if he did? What if India was right about it? She was stuck at the thought of the anger and disappointment.
Perhaps he'd never know. Oh, she hoped that he would never find out. What was that old saying, that cynical saying? "The husband is always the last to find out." Perhaps no one would tell him. It would take a brave man to break such news to Rhett, for Rhett had the reputation for shooting first and asking questions afterwards. Please, God, don't let anybody be brave enough to tell him! But she remembered the face of Archie in the lumber office, the cold, pale eye, remorseless, full of hate for her and all women. Archie feared neither God nor man and he hated loose women. He had hated them enough to kill one. And he had said he would tell Rhett. And he'd tell him in spite of all Ashley could do to dissuade him. Unless Ashley killed him, Archie would tell Rhett, feeling it his Christian duty.
She pulled off her clothes and lay down on the bed, her mind whirling round and round. If she could only lock her door and stay in this safe place forever and ever and never see anyone again. Perhaps Rhett wouldn't find out tonight. She'd say she had a headache and didn't feel like going to the reception. By morning she would have thought up some excuse to offer, some defense that might hold water. "I won't think of it now," she said desperately, burying her face in the pillow. "I won't think of it now. I'll think of it later when I can stand it."
She heard the servants come back as night fell and it seemed to her that they were very silent as they moved about preparing supper. Or was it her guilty conscience? Mammy came to the door and knocked but Scarlett sent her away, saying she did not want any supper. Time passed and finally she heard Rhett coming up the steps. She held herself tensely as he reached the upper hall, gathered all her strength for a meeting but he passed into his room. She breathed easier. He hadn't heard. Thank God, he still respected her icy request that he never put foot in her bedroom again, for if he saw her now, her face would give her away. She must gather herself together enough to tell him that she felt too ill to go to the reception. Well, there was time enough for her to calm herself. Or was there time? Since the awful moment that afternoon, life had seemed timeless. She heard Rhett moving about in his room for a long time, speaking occasionally to Pork. Still she could not find courage to call to him. She lay still on the bed in the darkness, shaking.
After a long time, he knocked on her door and she said, trying to control her voice: "Come in."
"Am I actually being invited into the sanctuary?" he questioned, opening the door. It was dark and she could not see his face. She wanted to see his face, wanted to study him to see if any of India's words about him were true. But she also could not she make anything of his voice, it had the bland impersonal quality that he had when speaking to any he didn't but know. He entered and closed the door.
"Are you ready for the reception?" He was cloaked in darkness, and she could not see his face. She longed for the days of their honeymoon when she took refuge in his embrace or the days riding to the mills when he was her confidant. That was when they had been at their best. Marriage had ruined all of it.
"I'm so sorry, but I have a headache." How odd that her voice sounded so natural! Thank God for the dark! "I don't believe I'll go. You go, Rhett, and give Melanie my regrets."
There was a long pause and he spoke drawlingly, bitingly in the dark. "What a white livered, cowardly little bitch you are."
He knew! She lay shaking, unable to speak. She heard him fumble in the dark, strike a match and the room sprang into light. He walked over to the bed and looked down at her. She saw that he was in evening clothes. "Get up," he said, and there was nothing in his voice. There was nothing in his face, just his bland mask, the mask of a man who has spent many years gambling, and allowed no one any glimpse of anything he thought it felt. "We are going to the reception. You will have to hurry."
"Oh, Rhett, I can't. You see—"
Rhett sneered at her. "I can see. Get up."
But if he was so determined, if he was so angry, maybe she had missed something, maybe she had been the fool for years. There had been so much that had happened, so much she didn't quite understand. But when Ashley had held her, she had felt nothing. And now she wanted the safety of Rhett's arms, and nothing was safer than when Rhett was her protector. But currently he was not her protector. There was a flashing anger in his eyes, even though he was trying to hide it. "Rhett, did Archie dare—"
"Archie dared. A very brave man, Archie." He returned in a voice free of emotion.
"You should have killed him for telling lies—"
"I have a strange way of not killing people who tell the truth. There's no time to argue now. Get up."
She sat up, hugging her wrapper close to her, her eyes searching his face. It was dark and impassive. "I won't go, Rhett. I can't until this—
misunderstanding is cleared up. Please, I can't go. They won't understand."
"If you don't show your face tonight, you'll never be able to show it in this town as long as you live. And while I may endure a trollop for a wife, I won't endure a coward. You are going tonight, even if everyone, from Alex Stephens down, cuts you and Mrs. Wilkes asks us to leave the house."
"Rhett, let me explain."
"I don't want to hear. There isn't time. Get on your clothes."
"They misunderstood—India and Archie. And they hate me so. India hates me so much that she'd even tell lies about her own brother to make me appear in a bad light. If you'll only let me explain—" Oh, Mother of God, she thought in agony, suppose he says: "Pray do explain!" What can I say? How can I explain? "They'll have told everybody lies. I can't go tonight." She sputtered, "It was a hug. It was nothing. Just like a brother, an old friend."
"You will go," he said, "if I have to drag you by the neck and plant my boot on your ever so charming bottom every step of the way. And since when has Ashley been a brother or an old friend? You've deluded yourself into believing yourself in love with him and he with you for years. You wouldn't recognize if someone did actually love you, because you don't even know what love is."
There was a cold glitter in his eyes as he jerked her to her feet. She could feel the electricity in the air, sparking at his touch. He seemed oblivious to it and picked up her stays and threw them at her. "Put them on. I'll lace you. Oh yes, I know all about lacing. No, I won't call Mammy to help you and have you lock the door and skulk here like the coward you are."
"I'm not a coward," she cried, stung out of her fear. "I—"
"Oh, spare me your saga about shooting Yankees and facing Sherman's army. You're a coward— among other things. If not for your own sake, you are going tonight for Bonnie's sake. How could you further ruin her chances? Put on your stays, quick."
Hastily she slipped off her wrapper and stood clad only in her chemise. If only he would look at her and see how nice she looked in her chemise, perhaps that frightening look would leave his face. Sheer desperately wanted to see one of the other sides of Rhett, the playful, the flirty, the amiable rogue, not this angry, bittered man before her. After all, he hadn't seen her in her chemise for ever and ever so long. But he did not look. He was in her closet, going through her dresses swiftly. He fumbled and drew out her new jade-green watered-silk dress. It was cut low over the bosom and the skirt was draped back over an enormous bustle and on the bustle was a huge bunch of pink velvet roses.
"Wear that," he said, tossing it on the bed and coming toward her. "No modest, matronly dove grays and lilacs tonight. Your flag must be nailed to the mast, for obviously you'd run it down if it wasn't. And plenty of rouge. I'm sure the woman the Pharisees took in adultery didn't look half so pale. Turn around."
He took the strings of the stays in his hands and jerked them so hard that she cried out, frightened, humiliated, embarrassed at such an untoward performance.
"Hurts, does it?" He laughed shortly and she could not see his face. "Pity it isn't around your neck."
"Why do you care? And don't give me some pathetic story about Bonnie." Then everything suddenly clarified, and she stumbled away from him, anger rising within her. "You love me." Her voice squeaked as she began making sense of the different pieces of the puzzle. "You've been acting like you don't care for so long, but you actually do. You just are no better than a animal at letting anyone see." She grimaced and spat the words out as though they were vile, "India was right."
"Why would anyone ever want to love you, and since when do you agree with India Wilkes?" Rhet deflecting with a snicker.
"Oh no, Rhett Butler. You've been shying away from the truth for too long. You're mad because you think something happened with Ashley. But nothing did, and then India told me that I ought to stop chasing someone else's husband when I already have one that loves me."
Rhett turned and began rummaging through the jewelry box on the vanity. "We don't have time for this. You need to get ready so that we aren't any later than we already are."
"No, I'm not going. You aren't telling me the truth." She honed in on his deflection. He still hadn't answered the question. "You've said you loved me several times since we met, but then you always took it back. I've finally figured it out. You actually loved me. That is the reason that you married me."
"No, we don't have time. We can talk about this later." But quick as lightning Scarlett reached up, took his face and kissed him. He jerked away in surprise, but held her at a distance as he studied her face. "What do you think that you are doing?"
"I was trying to kiss you, trying to prove my point," she replied, huffing out a deep sigh. "But clearly you don't desire me. If you don't love me, really, tell me, why did you marry me?"
And he resorted to his standby, "I wanted you more than I have ever wanted anyone. And marrying you was the only way that I could have you."
She slapped him quickly, but he grabbed her hand and held it to his face, even as he tasted the barest trace of blood. "No, you're not going to act offended when I am the one you wronged today. I don't care what you say about your intentions, but I won't be the cuckold."
"Let go of me," she whined, as she tried to twist away from his grasp.
"Fine," he agreed, but he did not release her. Instead he pulled both of her hands into one of his and held them behind her back and then he pushed forward, making her body press against him as he pressed her into the wall. She could feel every taut plane of his body/. "You want to know what I feel? You want to try and figure out why I married you? If it was for your body, then I am the loser, since you so quickly kicked me from your bed to hide alone in your sanctuary. You were not made for celibacy."
"I was wrong. I was a fool. Is that what you want to hear? I missed you," Scarlett admitted, clearly under duress.
"Isn't the fact that I want you, hunted you for years so that I could have you, doesn't that say something about what I feel?"
"But why did you want me? Spell it out. Quit trying to hide everything?" Scarlett whimpered, as her chest heaved. "India reminded me that Stuart could have pursued me after Charlie died, but instead he chose her. While he was back home, Atlanta wasn't that far from the county. Why would he choose her? Why didn't he choose me?"
"She really pricked you where it hurt the most, didn't she?" he smirked knowingly. "Fine, you want me to show you what I feel? You feel scorned and feel like no one has chosen you?" he ground out. His mouth dropped to her mouth in a brutal kiss, bruising and forceful. "How do you think I feel?" His mouth trailed down, as she arched towards him, hungry for the feel and taste of him. It had been too long, and she hadn't even noticed when his hands had released hers. But now his hands were running up and down her sides and cradling her head against his chest. His hands were everywhere, igniting a fiery trail that coiled around her body like a serpent. "I love you, God dammit. I love you, and I'm going to drive every thought and feeling out of your head until you love me too."
Scarlett cried out as he bit the pale skin at her breast, suckling her skin hungrily, laving it until she trembled and her knees nearly buckled under his attentions, and she wondered at the madness of the feelings he was evoking. "I love you, Rhett," came rushing out as he continued his assault.
Rhett pulled away, leaving both breathing raggedly, and he drew away from her, he straightened his clothes. "Now let's get you dressed." he spoke commandingly, as though nothing had happened. She stared at him in stunned silence. He was the most confusing and maddening man on the planet. "We're going to discuss this further tonight. No more distractions." He was staring at her in that maddeningly unreadable way of his, but she never understood him. She was frustrated for it to end so quickly. His kisses were so different from how she had been kissed when she was a belle, and nothing of it made any sense. He stirred something primal inside of her that she hadn't even known existed before.
Rhett was as capable as any of the maids, and more so than most. In no time Scarlett was dressed and ready, though Rhett had picked a different dress though in a similar hue, with a much higher neckline to hide what he called "love bites." The entire encounter left her mind spinning. His kisses always left her limbs heavy and her thoughts befuddled. He had such power over her. Sure didn't have words for what she felt for him, But what if this was love…. What if this madness and hunger for him was love? No one else had ever stirred such feelings within her, and she wondered at the other thoughts that trampled through her mind. She was furious at his anger, but at the same time, it drew her to him. He was the most confusing person on the planet.
Melanie's house blazed lights from every room and they could hear the music far up the street. As they drew up in front, the pleasant exciting sounds of many people enjoying themselves floated out. Normally this thrilled her. She had always loved any social event, but tonight was different. She fell out as a condemned prisoner walking to the gallows. The house was packed with guests. They overflowed on verandas and many were sitting on benches in the dim lantern-hung yard.
I can't go in-I can't, thought Scarlett, sitting in the carriage, gripping her balled-up handkerchief. Her momentary interlude with Rhett had briefly made her forget what had happened and what the reaction from others would be to her. But now that her mind slipped back to those worries. I can't. I won't. I will jump out and run away, somewhere, back home to Tara. Why did Rhett force me to come here? What will people do? What will Melanie do? What will she look like? Oh, I can't face her. I will run away.
As though he read her mind, Rhett's hand closed upon her arm in a grip that would leave a bruise if it was any firmer, but it was not the rough grip of a careless stranger, there was something commanding about it. And his touch continued to make her heart race and her face flush.
"I've never known an Irishman to be a coward. Where's your much-vaunted courage?"
"Rhett, do please, let me go home."
"You have eternity in which to explain and spend with me, but only one night to be a martyr in the amphitheater. Get out, darling, and let me see the lions eat you. You have to walk into that lion's den and face them all, make them believe that there is no merit to the claims of Archie or India, as you so assuredly claim. If you don't, you and our children will lose your place in society, and I'll be damned if Bonnie's chances are ruined by such a pointless moment and the likes of Ashley Wilkes. Get out."
She nodded grimly and let Rhett lift her from the carriage, his hands hot through the fabric. She went up the walk somehow, the arm she was holding as hard and steady as granite, communicating to her a great deal of courage. What could she not face with him by her side? By God, she could face them and she would. What were they but a bunch of howling, clawing cats who were jealous of her? She'd show them. She didn't care what they thought. Only Melanie-only Melanie. She did care what Melanie thought about her.
They were on the porch and Rhett was bowing right and left, his hat in his hand, his voice cool and soft. Nothing seemed to phase him. Thank God for Rhett's cool and steady mind. The music stopped as they entered and the crowd of people seemed to her confused mind to surge up to her like the roar of the sea and then ebb away, with lessening, ever-lessening sound. Was everyone going to cut her? Well, God's nightgown, let them do it! Her chin went up and she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. She couldn't allow anyone to think that she was bothered. She must act completely innocent. Which was maddening, for she had been innocent.
Before she could turn to speak to those nearest the door, someone came through the press of people. There was an odd hush that caught Scarlett's ears. Then through the lane came Melanie on small feet that hurried, hurried to meet Scarlett at the door, to speak to her before anyone else could speak. Her narrow shoulders were squared and her small jaw set indignantly and, for all her notice, she might have had no other guest but Scarlett. She went to her side and slipped an arm about her waist. "What a lovely dress, darling," she said in her small, clear voice. "I'm so very glad that you've made it. I don't think I've ever seen you wear this one. You have such an endless supply of beautiful dresses. I don't know which is my favorite, but this is such a lovely shade of green. It brings out the color of your eyes." She chattered amiably. " Will you be an angel? India was unable to come tonight and assist me. Will you receive with me?" And on the arm of the very one that was betrayed, Scarlett waded into the thick of it.
The evening seemed to drag on, and Melanie was unfailing by her side. They had all been saved by the indignant squaring of Melanie's thin shoulders and the love and outspoken trust which had been in her voice as she crossed the glassy floor to slip her arm through Scarlett's and face the curious, malicious, covertly hostile crowd. How neatly Melanie had doused the scandal,keeping Scarlett at her side all through the dreadful evening! People had been a bit cool, somewhat bewildered, but they had been polite. Melanie had left them no other recourse.
Oh, the ignominy of it all, to be sheltered behind Melanie's skirts from those who hated her, who would have torn her to bits with their whispers! To be sheltered by Melanie's blind trust, Melanie
of all people! Scarlett thought that she would face Sherman's army again rather than repeat that performance! But she also was reminded of several times where Melanie's cool head and swift thinking saved them in untenable situations . Perhaps Melanie's defense wasn't as awful as it had seemed, after all Scarlett thought with a sniff, Melanie also owed Scarlett much for everything in the latter part of the war and just after. After a time, Scarlett rose from the bed and nervously paced the floor, shedding garments as she walked.
Reaction from strain set in, and she began to shake. Hairpins slipped out of her fingers and tinkled to the floor and when she tried to give her hair its customary hundred strokes, she banged the back of the brush hurtingly against her temple. A dozen times she tiptoed to the door to listen for noises downstairs, anxiously waiting for Rhett to return but the hall below lay like a black silent pit. Rhett had sent her home alone in the carriage when the party was over, and she had thanked God for the reprieve. He had then left again, and she was nervous about the continuation of their conversation. She felt as though she was waiting for her turn on Gallows's hill.
"Why, I'm as nervous as cat in a room full of rocking chairs," thought Scarlett. "And it is only Rhett." But it was Rhett and for a moment she thanked God, he had not come in. She could not face him acting as though she was shamed, frightened, shaking. But where was he? Probably at that creature's place. The thought galled her. Even before she started to realize what she was coming to recognize as possibly being in love with her husband, she had hated that creature–hated Belle Watling to the core. Wished that he was home and not in such a place, especially in light of his strange actions, now that his glittering, murderous mood had passed. She wished that there had been no interlude to build up the tension as she waited for him.
How was Rhett going to act? She was on tenterhooks, waiting for him. She considered going to sleep, letting it wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow-well, tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow she would think of some excuse, some counter accusations, some way of putting Rhett in the wrong. Tomorrow the memory of this hideous night would not be driving her so fiercely that she shook. Tomorrow she would not be so haunted by the memory of Ashley's face, his broken pride and his shame-shame that she had caused, shame in which he had so little part. Would he hate her now, her darling honorable Ashley, because she had shamed him? But What about him made her so try to label him as darling or honorable? She shouldn't have allowed him to comfort her, but he should have stopped. He never should have taken her in his arms. But if he hadn't, if India hadn't been so awful, would she have realized the feelings between herself and Rhett? Of course Ashley would hate her now-now Scarlett shook as with a chill at the thought. She must have a drink, a number of drinks before she could lie down and hope to sleep. There was too much to think about, too much had transpired over the course of the day, and she needed something to loosen the tension that pulled at her shoulders, this tautness snaking its way starting at the base of her skull through her long thin neck. She could feel the tentacles of a headache coiling through her. She had to do something to stop it, and passing her and worrying about the coming conversation with Rhett would not improve her condition. She threw a wrapper about her gown and went hastily out into the dark hall, her backless slippers making a great clatter in the stillness.
As she exited the bedroom door she was surprised to see Rhett as he appeared at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against the dim candlelight behind him. He looked huge, larger than she had ever seen him, a terrifying faceless black bulk that moved with the ease and grace of a junglecat.
"I've come to join you, Mrs. Butler," he said and his voice was smooth as silk. "I've brought you a drink. I imagine that you could use one."
She paused irresolutely, saying nothing, watching him with awe. He was so handsome, she thought with a fluttering heart. There was a touch of softness in his manners towards her. He was even more polished in his manners than normal, which likely indicated that the drink he was carrying was not the first for him. She marveled at the difference between Rhett and her father, for unlike her swaggering, cheerful father, she had never seen Rhett in any situation where he was not completely in command. She had to wonder if there was a line where even he would lose control.
Clutching the wrapper closer to her throat, she scampered back into her bedroom with her head up and her heels clacking noisily.
He followed her through the door. She saw that he was coatless and his cravat hung down on either side of his open collar. His shirt was open down to the thick mat of black hair on his chest. His hair was rumpled but his eyes were alert and there was fire flickering in those dark depths. The upstairs hallway was so dark that the dim gaslight cast monstrous shadows about the high-ceilings and made the stylish furniture look like still, crouching beasts. In one hand he clutched the decanter, and she wondered if he'd brought glasses with him as well, or if he intended for the both of them to drink from the vessel. But the increased light in the bedroom reflected the flames in his eyes, and she felt a warmth surge within her as she watched him. And as she faced him, she knew with a sinking feeling in her stomach that at last something was mattering to him, mattering very much.
"There is no reason why you should not have your nightcap, even if I am ill bred enough to be at home," he said. He went over to her dresser and began pouring himself a glass, far too full for the strength of the drink. "Shall I pour it for you?"
"Please," she said stiffly. "Tonight was awful. But I did what you asked, and Melanie stayed by my side, clearly taking up my defense."
"That was brave of Mrs. Wilkes. You owe so much to her." he offered, but then observing her he inserted, "You must need a drink badly. Here, take it," he said, shoving it into her hand. "You are shaking all over. Yes, I know you drink and how much you drink. For some time I've been intending to tell you to stop your elaborate pretenses and drink openly if you want to. Do you think I give a damn if you like your brandy?"
She took the wet glass, silently annoyed at him. She didn't like that he had pointed out that she owed Melanie. He read her like a book. He had always read her and he was the one man in the world from whom she would like to hide her real thoughts.
"Go ahead and drink it. You probably need a little liquid courage, as I imagine even yours has to be running out after tonight." She raised the glass and bolted the contents with one abrupt motion of her arm, wrist stiff, just as Gerald had always taken his neat whisky, bolted it before she thought how practiced and unbecoming it looked. He did not miss the gesture and his mouth quirked up before he began guffawing at her. "Sit down and we will have a pleasant domestic discussion of the elegant reception we have just attended."
"That isn't what we were going to talk about when you returned home," she said coldly, "and I am going to bed. You should have stayed with me instead of going to get drunk at that creature's house."
"But you're jealous," he crowed in amusement. "I'm not fully convinced of your earlier confession, but at least you care enough to be jealous. Perhaps there is some merit to your claims. And yes, I have been drinking, but I'm not drunk, at least not very drunk. I'm still fully in control of my faculties. But perhaps we should both get drunk, perhaps you need to get so outrageously drunk that you lose your inhibitions like the day I proposed. Perhaps I should get drunk, perhaps we will both be completely inebriated before the evening's over. But you aren't going to bed-not yet. WE will find our way there eventually. Sit down." His words were honeyed and smooth, and though commanding, there was also a caress to them.
She wavered irresolutely and he was at her side, his hand on her arm as he led her to a pair of chairs beside the window that looked out into backyard. He gave it a slight tug and she hastily sat down watching him in confusion. As he leaned over her, she saw that his face was
dark and flushed and his eyes still held their leaping fiery flames. There was something in their depths she did not recognize, could not understand, something deeper than anger, stronger than pain, something driving him until his eyes glowed redly like twin coals. He looked down at her for a long time, so long that her defiant gaze wavered and fell, and then he reclined into the chair opposite her and poured himself another drink. But until he spoke, she would not know what to say for she did not know exactly what to make of this conversation.
He drank slowly, watching her over the glass, and she tightened her nerves, trying to keep from trembling. She didn't deal well with silence. She was on edge, waiting for him to begin this dreaded conversation. She should never have told him that she loved him. She never should have told him that she realized that he had to be in love with her. And for a time his face did not change its expression but finally he laughed, still keeping his eyes on her, and at the sound she could not still her shaking. "It was an amusing comedy, this evening, wasn't it? Mr. Wilkes looked awfully guilty and woebegone for someone who was only consoling you as a friend."
Her head shot up, but she said nothing, curling her toes in the loose slippers in an effort at controlling her quivering.
"A pleasant comedy with no character missing. The village assembled to stone the erring woman, the wronged husband supporting his wife as a gentleman should, the wronged wife stepping in with Christian spirit and casting the garments of her spotless reputation over it all. And the lover-"
"Please, Rhett. You know that it wasn't like that. I swear to you, I swear on.. On… on Tara." Scarlett stammered out. She thought that this conversation was going to go more smoothly now that they both knew that they loved each other. "I didn't wrong Melly. I only went at her behest. I told you Rhett, I was only crying. He only comforted me."
"I don't please. Not tonight. It's too amusing. And the lover looking like a damned fool and wishing he were dead. How does it feel, my dear, to have the woman you hate stand by you and cloak your sins for you? Stop fidgeting."
She stilled her nervous hands with great effort.
"You don't like her any better for it, I imagine."
"But I do like her. I'm embarrassed that there was such a to-do about something so innocent, but Melanie has been such a calm in the storm." Scarlett interrupted. "It reminded of several times where she saved the day while we were at Tara…"
"Don't interrupt me. I've told you that I am not your executioner, at least not tonight." He sneered, "But I'm sure it galls you that you needed her rescue, even if you have learned to respect her some over the years. And I'm certain that you are wondering if she knows all about you and Ashley-wondering why she did this if she does know-if she just did it to save her own face. And you are thinking she's a fool for doing it, even if it did save your hide but-"
"I will not listen-"
"Yes, you will listen. And I'll tell you this to ease your worry. Miss Melly is a fool but not the kind you think. It was obvious that someone had told her, but she didn't believe it. Even if she saw you in the throes with her husband, she wouldn't believe. There's too much honor in her to conceive of dishonor in anyone she loves. And she loves you and protects you as much as she protects him. You're both children to shelter under her wings. She has board shoulders to carry such a burden for someone so physically frail. I don't know what lie Ashley Wilkes told her-but any clumsy one would do, for she loves Ashley, and she loves you. I'm sure I can't see why she loves you but she does. Let that be one of your crosses."
"If you were not so insulting, I would explain everything, and I did explain it to you, it was completely innocent," said Scarlett, recovering some dignity. "But now-"
"I am not interested in your explanations. I know the truth better than you do. You may think it was innocent, but I can tell you by the look on Ashley Wilkes's face that his intentions were not. He covets your body. You are nothing but a body to him."
"And what I find more amusing than even tonight's comedy is the fact that while you have been so virtuously denying me the pleasures of your bed because of my many sins, you have been lusting in your heart after Ashley Wilkes. 'Lusting in your heart.' That's a good phrase, isn't it? There are a number of good phrases in that Book, aren't there?"
"What book? What book?" her mind ran on, foolishly, irrelevantly as she cast frantic eyes about the room, noting how dully the massive silver gleamed in the dim light, how frighteningly dark the corners were.
"The Bible, Scarlett." He signed in frustration. "Do you really pay so little value to those things that society embraces so dearly that you can not even recognize that? I want our children to be exposed to culture and literature, not oblivious buffoons." He raked his hand through his hair, "Do you blame me for being angry at you for your mercurial affections? You cast me out because my coarse ardors were too much for your refinement-because you didn't want any more children. How badly that made me feel, dear heart! How it cut me! So I went out and found pleasant consolation and left you to your refinements. And you spent that time tracking the long-suffering Mr. Wilkes. God damn him, what ails him? He can't be faithful to his wife with his mind or unfaithful with his body. Why doesn't he make up his mind? You wouldn't object to having his children, would you-and passing them off as mine?"
"You know that isn't true. You know I realized I was wrong. You made me believe that marriage would be fun, but it hasn't been fun. Nothing about it has been fun, and you're wrong. It wasn't about being repulsed by you, because I wasn't repulsed by you. I missed you. And I even missed your affections in bed, though I always wondered what it would be like if you ever let loose…. But I didn't want his affection either. And I did want yours… I do want yours. I just didn't understand, and you hid all of it from me. You never let me know what you were feeling. You don't get to bully me into submission. If anyone was wrong, then yes, I guess Ashley was wrong to take me in his arms, to hug me. But I didn't do anything, and I thought that you wanted a progressive wife, but here you are listening to the same foolishness that everyone else is spouting." She sprang to her feet with a cry and he lunged from his seat, laughing that soft laugh that made her blood cold. He pressed her back into her chair with large brown hands and leaned over her.
"Pay careful attention to what I'm saying," he said, flexing them before her eyes. "I would do just about anything it if it would take Ashley out of your mind."
"I don't care about him!" she screeched. "I was a silly child. It was an infatuation…."
His hands were on her head, under her flowing hair, caressing, hard, turning her face up to his. She was looking into his face, merely inches from her own. "I…I" she stuttered. "I think I fell in love with you during the war, because I was convinced that you loved me too. But then you'd be rude and cruel, and I thought that no one would ever treat someone that they loved the way that you treated me. But I'm wrong. You do love me, but you're so afraid of the spectre of my childhood crush to come between us that you insert him yourself so that you have no one to blame but yourself." She had never lacked animal courage and in the face of danger it flooded back hotly into her veins, stiffening her spine, narrowing her eyes.
"You jealous fool," she said. "You've spent so much time worrying about someone else being in your marriage that you didn't take the time to actually treat me like a wife, and if that is how it is to love and be loved by you, then you should just take your hands off me."
To her surprise, he did so and seated himself on the edge of the table he poured himself another drink. "I have always admired your spirit, my dear. Never more than now when you are cornered."
She drew her wrapper close about her body. "You are the most frustrating man that ever lived. I wish that I had ended up with Ashley. I would have been bored, and I might never understand him, but he wouldn't be a savage like you are." Oh, if she could only eject him from her room and turn the key in the stout door and be alone. She had been thrilled to tell him that she was beginning to realize what she felt for him, but he was completely ruining it. Somehow, she must stand him off, bully him into submission, this Rhett she had never seen before. She rose without haste, though her knees shook, tightened the wrapper across her hips and threw back her hair from her face.
"I'm not cornered," she said cuttingly. "You'll never corner me, Rhett Butler, or frighten me. You are nothing but a beast who's been with bad women so long that you can't understand anything else but badness. You can't understand what I've told you, or you simply won't listen. I don't love him, you fool of a man. I love you. But you won't accept it. You've lived in dirt too long to know anything else. You are jealous of something that doesn't even exist. I just want to go to bed. I'm so tired of everything being a battle.."
She rose and turned towards the bed and he swaggered across the room toward her, laughing menacingly. Name of God, if he would only stop that terrible laugh! What was there to laugh about in all of this? As he came toward her, she retreated towards the door to the closet and found herself against the wall. He put his hands heavily upon her and pinned her shoulders to the wall. "Stop laughing."
"I am laughing because I am so sorry for you."
"Sorry-for me? Be sorry for yourself."
"Yes, by God, I'm sorry for you, my dear, my pretty little fool. Sorry that it took you so long to catch on, that you wasted your time pining after someone that was nothing but a figment of your imagination. That hurts, doesn't it? You can't stand either laughter or pity, can you?"
"Stop it!" He stopped laughing, leaning so heavily against her shoulders that they ached. His face changed, and he leaned so close to her that the whisky smell of his breath made her turn her head.
"Jealous, am I?" he said. "And why not? Oh, yes, I'm jealous of the time you wasted on Ashley Wilkes. Why not? Oh, don't try to talk and explain. I know you've been physically faithful to me. Was that what you were trying to say? Oh, I've known that all along. All these years. How do I know? Oh, well, I know Ashley Wilkes and his breed. I know he is honorable and a gentleman. And that, my dear, is more than I can say for you-or for me, for that matter. We are not gentlemen and we have no honor, have we? That's why we flourish like green bay trees. But also I think the bloom would be off the rose if you ever had relations with the dreadful Mr. Wilkes. I think you would be disgusted. I don't believe that the truly carnal side of you has ever been tapped into or you would want me, if for nothing than relations. You would hunger for me, for the things I can do to your body." He chuckled again darkly, and then dropped his lips to lave on a spot on her neck. "That makes you squirm, doesn't it? But it makes you want more too. Your breathing is rapid and your heart is racing. And you should see the color of your eyes, they are so dark that the color is beyond emerald."
"No." She was startled to find her voice was nothing but an airy whisper, even as she arched towards him as his lips left her skin. "Let me go. I won't stand here and be insulted. I won't listen to you talking so vulgarly."
"I'm not insulting you. I'm praising your physical virtue. After all, every man wants your body. God, I want your body right now as you writhe against me, with your cheeks aflame with desire. And you want me too. I'm sure that Ashley does want you in a way, and by his actions, I don't think his thoughts were as pure as you are claiming that your own were. Why do you think he looked so much like a beaten it hasn't fooled me one bit. You think men are such fools, Scarlett. It never pays to underestimate your opponent's strength and intelligence. But I'm not a fool. Don't you suppose I know that you've lain in my arms and pretended I was Ashley Wilkes?"
She gasped in horror. Her jaw dropped and fear and astonishment were written plainly in her face.
"Pleasant thing, that. Rather ghostly, in fact. Like having three in a bed where there ought to be just two." He shook her shoulders, ever so slightly, and smiled mockingly. The warmth from his palms was searing into her. She could hardly pay attention to his words as his hands and mouth worked her into a state.
"Oh, yes, you've been faithful to me because Ashley wouldn't have you. But, hell, I wouldn't have grudged him your body. I know how little bodies mean-especially women's bodies. But I do grudge him your heart and your dear, hard, unscrupulous, stubborn mind. He doesn't want your mind, the fool, and I don't want your body." He chuckled, "I guess that isn't a fair statement. Right now I very much want your body as you press against me like a cat in heat. But I want more than just your body, I want all of you. I want to consume you and be consumed by you. If I only wanted your body, it wouldn't be a problem. I can buy women cheap. But I do want your mind and your heart, and I'll never have them, any more than you'll ever have Ashley's mind. And that's why I'm sorry for you. And your little show earlier of kissing me to shut me up makes you no better than a girl I've paid the night for, but I've paid far more for you than I've ever paid anyone else." He grinned, but the amusement didn't seem to reach his eyes. "That makes you the highest paid working woman that I've met, and I'm the one who elevated you to that status. But tonight I want to cash in on my ill gotten gains."
Even through her fear and bewilderment, his sneer stung. "I hate you, Rhett Butler." She pulled away from him, and tried to bat his roving hands away and turned from his kisses. "I shall hate you until I die! And why would you be sorry for me?"
"Because you're such a child, Scarlett. A child crying for the moon. What would a child do with the moon if it got it? And what would you do with Ashley? Yes, I'm sorry for you-sorry to see you throwing away happiness with both hands and reaching out for something that would never make you happy."
"This is ridiculous!" She cried as she threw herself back down in the chair. "I've told you that I've realized that I don't love him, and that I think I love you, but you make loving you next to impossible! Why should I want to love you, when you are mean and rude and vulgar. You're the reason that I didn't realize it for so long!"
He crouched down beside her to continue what she had interrupted. "I feel sorry for you because you have spent years living in a fairytale where you didn't even realize that you were the villain and not the heroine. I'm sorry because you are such a fool you don't know there can't ever be happiness except when like marries like." He pulled her chin towards him so that their faces were only a breath away from each other.
Herr eyes blazed as she yelled, "Would you shut up! Stop repeating this same argument. I was wrong to think that I loved him. And I realize that I was wrong. Do you have to beat me over the head with it? Do we have to remain stuck in the same conversation, going in circles? Now you're making me question why I was delusional enough to think that I could love you. You're the reason I didn't realize that I was feeling what I'm feeling. You make me so angry that I forget whatever positives I was feeling. You try to hide it all with sarcasm and nasty pranks. Would you grow up and be a man and stop playing these childish games?"
"If I were dead, if Miss Melly were dead and you had your precious honorable lover, do you think you'd be happy with him? Hell, no! You would never know him, never know what he was thinking about, never understand him any more than you understand music and poetry and books or anything that isn't dollars and cents. Whereas, we, dear wife of my bosom, could have been perfectly happy if you had ever given us half a chance, for we are so much alike. We are both scoundrels, Scarlett, and nothing is beyond us when we want something. We could have been happy, for I loved you and I know you, Scarlett, down to your bones, in a way that Ashley could never know you. And he would despise you if he did know. . . . But no, you must go mooning all your life after a man you cannot understand. And I, my darling, will continue to moon after whores. And, I dare say we'll do better than most couples."
He released her abruptly and made his way back toward the decanter. For a moment, Scarlett stayed rooted to the chair, thoughts tearing in and out of her mind so swiftly that she could seize none of them long enough to examine them. Rhett had said he loved her. Did he mean it? Yet she knew that this was the truth, the truth that he had been hiding from her in plain sight. She was right. India was right. But she still didn't understand. If he loved her, why did he act the way that he did. Rhett turned and watched her as the liquid poured into the glass. She finally rose from the chair and went over to him as he sat the glass decanter down and stared at it.
She slipped around him, her small hand caressing his arm. "I understand that you're angry about the way that it looked and the way that I've acted in the past, but it is all over. Nothing happened, and frankly I don't want anything to happen,if I can get that through your thick skull." He turned completely to face her and reached forward and brushed her face gently with the back of his hand in a whisper soft caress. She reached around him and took his glass, and quickly bolted the contents with a grimace. "No more. Now tell what you feel, Rhett. And I don't want you to forget. I'm your wife. No one else for you or for me." His breath quieted as he studied her face, and then his hands went round her roughly, under the wrapper, against her bare skin.
"I won't tell you. But I'll show you. You turned me out on the town while you chased him. You humiliated me for someone that wasn't worthy of any of your affection. By God, this is one night when there are only going to be two in my bed."
He swung her off her feet into his arms and started towards the bed. Her head was crushed against his chest and she heard the hard hammering of his heart beneath her ears. He stopped suddenly as they reached the bed and, turning her swiftly in his arms, bent over and kissed her with a savagery and a completeness that wiped out everything from her mind but the dark into which she was sinking and the lips on hers. "Yes," she sighed. "This." He was shaking, as though he stood in a strong wind, and his lips, traveling from her mouth downward to where the wrapper had fallen from her body, fell on her soft flesh. He was muttering things she did not hear, his lips were evoking feelings never felt before. She was darkness and he was darkness
and there had never been anything before this time, only darkness and his lips upon her. She tried to speak and his mouth was over hers again. Suddenly she had a wild thrill such as she had never known; joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast. For the first time in her life she had met someone, something stronger than she, someone she could neither bully nor break, someone who was bullying and breaking her. Somehow, her arms were around his neck and her lips trembling beneath his and they were going up, up into the darkness again, a darkness that was soft and swirling and all enveloping.
When she awoke the next morning, he was still there beside her, and she could feel the warmth of his arms surrounding her. She wondered, even in the shelter of his arms, if the madness of the previous night had been a dream, a wild preposterous dream, but other aching realities made it clear that it had in fact happened. She went crimson at the memory and, pulling the bed covers up about her neck, lay bathed in sunlight, trying to sort out the jumbled impressions in her mind. Her skin was covered in more of the love bites that he had peppered her with, and she knew that she would be hiding them for weeks if not months.
Two things stood to the fore. She had lived for years with Rhett, slept with him, eaten with him, quarreled with him and borne his child-and yet, she did not know him. The man who had been with her was a stranger of whose existence she had not dreamed. And now, though she tried to make herself hate him, tried to be indignant, she could not. He had humbled her, hurt her, used
her brutally through a wild mad night and she had gloried in it.
Oh, she should be ashamed, should shrink from the very memory of the hot swirling darkness! A lady, a real lady, could never hold up her head after such a night. But, stronger than shame, was the memory of rapture, of the ecstasy of surrender. For the first time in her life she had felt alive, felt passion as sweeping and primitive as the fear she had known the night she fled Atlanta, as dizzy sweet as the cold hate when she had shot the Yankee.
Rhett loved her! At least, he said he loved her and how could she doubt it now? How odd and bewildering and how incredible that he loved her, this savage stranger with whom she had lived in such coolness. She was not altogether certain how she felt about this revelation but as an idea came to her she suddenly laughed aloud. He loved her and so she had him at last. She had almost forgotten her early desire to entrap him into loving her, so she could hold the whip over his insolent black head. Now, it came back and it gave her great satisfaction. For one night, he had had her at his mercy but now she knew the weakness of his armor. From now on she had him where she wanted him. She had smarted under his jeers for a long time, but now she had him where she could make him jump through any hoops she cared to hold.
When she thought of meeting him again, face to face in the sober light of day, a nervous tingling embarrassment that carried with it an exciting pleasure enveloped her.
"I'm nervous as a bride," she thought. "And about Rhett!" And, at the idea she fell to giggling foolishly.
He began to stir, Rhett, who normally rose with the sun, had slept later than she had. She nestled her face into the crook of his neck. "You're happy this morning," he murmured.
At which she again giggled, before tipping her head back so that she could see his face. His face was more open than she'd ever seen it, his expression was incredulous. "I've finally done it." he chuckled softly in amazement.
"Hmmm…" she purred. "What have you done?"
"I've finally tapped into that side of you that I always imagined was there. And I wasn't wrong."
She veritably purred and snuggled into his side, content that things between them had turned for the better.