'Scarlett.'
'Scarlett, look at me.'
She did not turn her head and he would not be reduced to begging. Not this early in proceedings.
The corners of his lips twitched as he took her in, hunched up on the other side of the carriage seat, all but hugging the wall in her desire to remain as far away from him as possible. A person could live for a thousand years and not endure a fraction of the suffering she had been made to wade through, and yet, despite such hardship, she still managed to be the most endearingly immature woman he had ever met.
'Scarlett,' he tried once more, only to be similarly rebuffed.
The only indication that she had heard him came from eyes that burnt a shade hotter each time he said her name.
Despite their détente at the dining table, she was still angry with him, and for once, he was unsure how to handle the situation. All evening, he had been secure in the knowledge that the part of the wronged, vengeful spouse would rightfully fall to him. After all, he had returned from his trip away not only to find his wife absent but to hear that she was intending on spending her night firmly ensconced in the house and bosom of one Ashley Wilkes, having no doubt spent the majority of the day dreaming up plans of secret rendezvous and words whispered right under the nose of the man's poor, unsuspecting saint of a wife.
His suspicions had been confirmed when halfway through the first course, Scarlett's food still lying untouched on her plate, she had lifted her eyes and engaged her paramour with a look Rhett would have paid thousands to be on the receiving end of. If he had been angry at that moment, it was nothing compared to the fury that had torn through him when he realised she was trying to touch Ashley under the table. A fury that had burnt white hot only to quickly smoulder down into shame. Shame that his love for her could turn to violence and, that if he were to reach across now and pick up her hand from where it lay fisted in her lap, he would find it darkened by bruises of his own making.
He had not meant to hurt her. Never that. From the moment they had met, he had sought only to protect her from harm, not to inflict it upon her.
Things that had once seemed so clear to Rhett had begun to muddy in recent months, however, the toll of living with Scarlett every day and sleeping beside her every night while knowing she wished he were someone else having hardened him in ways he had not predicted. Rhett knew only too well the sort of person a life of disappointments and unfulfilled dreams could turn him into and found himself checking his face in the mirror more frequently these days, fearing that soon the reflection would resemble that of another man altogether.
A man who had cast a stern, disapproving shadow over Rhett's childhood and from whom he had been running most of his adult life. It sickened him to think that any semblance of his father lingered within his breast and that, worse still, he was only likely to grow more like him each time he stared into a pair of emerald green eyes and found only apathy staring back.
His wife was feeling far from apathetic towards him at the moment though, her thick brows slanting down over eyes as stormy as any sea he'd ever sailed. Rhett felt oddly unsettled by her show of rage, as if she had stolen the role that should rightfully have been his, leaving him floundering around on the stage unsure of his next line.
Her open show of fury had ripped up the script they'd been rigidly sticking to since their wedding day. A script that stated that she should always conceal her true feelings from him and that he should reply to her continued indifference with either a thinly veiled barb or a florid literary analogy that both of them knew she couldn't unpick. Usually, they would go around in circles like this for days until he missed her enough to give in and attempt to kiss her back into a good mood. Then they'd pick up from where they'd left off with nothing ventured and certainly nothing gained.
Tonight, though, Rhett had finally grown weary of such games. He saw now that his traditional tactics would never win him the prize he sought.
A small voice from the dark recesses of his mind whispered that he owed her something too. Owed her for every time he had pushed her away when he ought to have pulled her closer, for all the things he'd said to rile rather than reassure her and for all the many years he had loved her and lied about it.
For once he wanted to talk to her honestly, as a man to a woman, not an opponent to an adversary. To show something of himself and uncover a part of her in the process.
Most of all though, he just wanted to hear something true.
'Why did you do it?' he asked, allowing uncertainly to creep into a voice he usually took pains to keep level and strong.
Something about his tone must have intrigued Scarlett, for she turned to look at him for the first time since they had left the Wilkes'. 'Do what?'
'Defend me.'
Her brow puckering in annoyance, she answered sharply. 'I don't know.'
'You must.'
'Well, I don't.'
'Please, Scarlett. I need to know.'
Seeing her eye him warily, Rhett clenched his jaw as he was confronted with the unhappy truth that she didn't trust him enough to believe in even this small show of vulnerability. He had been acting for so long that she no more recognized his true self than she would a stranger she had glimpsed in the distance on precious few occasions. A stranger who always beat a hasty retreat if she stepped closer to get a better look.
Holding his nerve, Rhett met her uncertain gaze with an open one of his own and was rewarded when words began to tumble from her lips like water spilling forth from a long-blocked dam. 'I don't know, Rhett. I've never liked Mrs. Merriweather, and she was just being so hateful, telling me that I couldn't marry you. She kept acting all high and mighty as if I was some child who couldn't be trusted to make up my own mind. I didn't like it, so I told her-'
'You told her you'd have married me even if I'd served in the Yankee army,' he said, relishing each word as it left his mouth. His smile grew as he imagined his hellcat of a wife, red-faced and furious, spitting out such blasphemous things for all to hear.
Scarlett blushed. 'Well, yes, perhaps I shouldn't have said that, but she just got me so angry! Oh, Rhett, how would you have liked it if someone had said that you couldn't marry me?'
'I cannot rightly say, my pet. Although, I think it is safe to assume that I would not have taken it well.'
'Exactly! It's nobody's business but ours and they should all learn to keep their noses out.'
Her spirited words softened something in Rhett's chest and he wished only that they could have applied to her precious Ashley too.
'Besides, it wasn't true,' she said quietly, her lower lip trembling like that of a frustrated toddler.
'What wasn't?'
'What she said about you not being in the army. God knows I didn't like you going, but you did, and you could have died, so it wasn't right for her to make you out to be some kind of mealy-mouthed coward.'
He opened his mouth to reply, only to close it without having spoken. His throat felt uncomfortably thick at the thought that she had defended him, not only because she did not like being told what to do, but because she did not like hearing him badmouthed.
Touched.
It was such a quaint, slight word. Hardly the sort of thing that was wont to leave a mouth as abrasive and direct as his own, and yet, that's exactly how he felt in the wake of her unexpected display of loyalty. Touched that she had cared enough to do something that his mother, siblings and a ragtag assortment of friends and acquaintances had never once thought to: shield him from the unjust hatred of another.
Reaching out for her hand, he cupped it tenderly in his and ran his fingers across her palm. The lover-like gesture, a perfect echo of his silent message at the dining table, caught Scarlett off guard and he bit back a smile as he heard her breath catch in her throat.
Coughing to cover her embarrassment, Scarlett's voice was more than a little unsteady as she launched into another rant about the unbelievable gall of Mrs. Merriweather. Rhett nodded along even as he felt his desire rising. It was always stimulating to watch such hot, leaping fury emanate from a frame as small and slight as hers. It spoke of a blistering passion that ran just beneath the skin. A passion that Rhett longed to tease to the surface.
Her fire spoke to someplace deep inside his gut, the same spot that always whispered to him to ride a little faster, drink a little longer, make the stakes a little higher. It called out to the reckless heart of Rhett and urged him to step closer, to incite her with another barb, to push her over the edge and pray hard that, by some lucky miracle, she'd end up falling straight into his waiting arms.
Spurred on by such thoughts, the last few minutes of their journey tested Rhett's patience to breaking point. When the carriage finally pulled to a stop, he wasted no time jumping down and thanking Pork before hurrying to follow Scarlett up the front path.
It had been too long since he had last been this close to her. Every night of their separation weighed on his soul like lead. He could not wait to earn back his place in their home and bed.
Rhett barely waited long enough for Scarlett to open the door before he reached out and swung her bodily into his chest. Not wanting to give her a chance to remember her earlier ire, he brought his lips down over hers, kissing her with an intensity and a completeness that drove all other thoughts from both of their minds.
Her mouth was soft against his. So soft, in fact, that it made a mockery of all the times he had dreamed about her during their days apart. He knew now that nothing could come close to the real thing and wondered earnestly if he'd ever be able to leave her side again.
She surprised him by returning the kiss with more than a little fervour of her own. Scarlett parted her lips without needing to be prompted, causing Rhett to lose the last remnants of his control. Bending down, he swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, his breath catching when she buried her small hands in his hair and pushed herself harder into his embrace.
God, how he wanted her. The only thing that stopped him from running full-pelt down the corridor to their room was the unwelcome thought of what the servants would say if they caught him.
Kicking open their door, he strode over to the bed and all but threw her down upon it, a startled yelp leaving her swollen lips as she bounced heavily against the mattress. Rhett made quick work of her clothes, his hands a blur of movement as he unpicked, unlaced and unbuttoned length after never-ending length of fabric until, at long last, she knelt on the bed before him clad only her thin chemise.
Turning his attention to his own clothes, Rhett undressed carelessly, forgoing his usual meticulous folding in favour of letting them fall where they may. Stripping down to his undergarments, he bent forward and pulled Scarlett into another hard kiss before crawling onto the bed and covering her body with his own.
Stretched out on the mattress, he wasted no time in recapturing her lips, spending a few glorious minutes dedicating himself to the task of relearning her every taste and reaction. Rhett had memorized many tricks in the months since their marriage, noting exactly how and with what pressure she needed to be touched in order to come apart under his lips and tongue, and he employed them all now, one after another, until she melted into a loose, languid bundle of nerves and need beneath him.
Trailing his hands down from her hips, he cupped the backs of her knees and pulled them up and apart so that his legs could slip into the warm, dark space between them. The movement caused the top of his thigh to press against her most intimate spot and, before he could bring himself to retract it, Scarlett shocked him by letting loose a moan unlike any he had heard her make before. Pulling back, Rhett took in her expression and decided to chance his luck.
Gently, he rolled his thigh so that it rubbed across the length of her, his pulse racing when she rewarded his efforts by digging her nails into the small of his back and arching up off the bed. The action brought her breasts into contact with his naked chest and only the sound of her voice, timid and raw, stopped him from losing all composure and taking her then and there.
'Rhett?' she gasped, her blown pupils making her look impossibly young.
'Shh,' he hushed, his own need receding as he took note of hers.
She was such a stranger to her own body. More still to the pleasure it could provide her. Rhett had tried to touch her here so many times in the past, using his hands and fingers and - on one disastrously memorable occasion - his mouth, in an increasingly futile attempt to bring her satisfaction. Each time, she had clammed up quicker than a nun in a whore house. Eventually, fearing that his actions were only adding to her already unhealthy dislike of marital relations, Rhett had given up trying.
Now he wondered if perhaps the problem had not been the touches themselves, but rather that they'd been too intimate for her to accept without balking. Maybe something as simple and impersonal as the slow grind of his thigh between her legs was easier for her to accept.
Scarcely daring to hope, Rhett rose up onto his elbows, placing tender, encouraging kisses along the line of her cheek as he cradled the back of her head in his palms and moved with a renewed sense of purpose. He watched her eyes cloud over with desire, small beads of sweat forming across her forehead as, between his hands, her cheeks flushed an alluring shade of crimson.
He took pains to keep his pace slow and steady, straining his muscles to stop himself from quickening before she was ready. He would not rush her this time, would not give in to the heat of his own lust and, in doing so, prevent hers from catching fire.
'Rhett...please...I don't...' she muttered helplessly, her eyes struggling to focus on his face as her body began to rock tentatively beneath his.
'That's it,' he encouraged, taking heart as her shaky movements began to even out into something stronger and more determined. He had always known she had this side to her, that a body built like hers was made to give and receive pleasure. Before now, her stubborn mind had kept her from feeling it, but no more. 'It's yours, honey. All yours. Take it.'
She moaned in response, rocking herself over him. Her breath descended into shallow, panting gasps as she undulated between him and the sheets.
Captivated by the primal beauty of her actions, Rhett hardened further, the thin material of his undergarments providing precious little friction. Fisting the pillows to stop himself from reaching down and taking himself in hand, Rhett watched as Scarlett's rocking descended into short, jerk-like spasms.
Eyes wide, he saw her let out a deep, unearthly groan, her entire body seizing up as she clawed her nails into his back hard enough to draw blood. She held onto him like this for several seconds, clutching him tightly to her as if he were the only solid thing in a world reduced to pure, liquid light. He held her through it reverently and watched as the peak ebbed away and she collapsed heavily down on the duvet like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
She lay with her eyes shut, allowing Rhett a moment to marvel at all that had just occurred between them. It had happened so fast that were it not for the sting of pain in his lower back and her elevated breathing in his ear, he would have been sorely tempted to believe that it had all been a dream. Needing to reassure himself that she was real, Rhett reached out and cupped Scarlett's cheek in his palm, transfixed by the blistering heat that radiated from her skin. He had done that. Not Ashley. Him.
Blinking, Scarlett opened her eyes, staring up at him in bleary confusion before something like clarity swept across her dazed features and she paled beneath his palm. Rhett knew what she was going to do almost before she did, and yet still he was powerless to stop it.
'Scarlett, honey, don't,' he entreated, fighting to keep hold of her as she struggled to push him off and flee from the bed.
He could feel the mortification rolling off of her in waves and, silently, he vowed to throttle every last person responsible for making her this monstrously ashamed of her own body.
Caging Scarlett between his chest and the bed, Rhett clamped his arms around her and simply held on, flinching as she slapped and clawed at his upper body, but refusing to let her hide away. Tired as she was, it did not take long for her energy to wane. Rhett cuddled her closer as her anger simmered down into shaking, humiliated sobs.
'Hush, darling. Please, don't cry. There is nothing to be sorry for,' he soothed, running his hands up and down her arms in a bid to comfort her. 'I know you won't believe me, but what just happened was perfectly natural. You have nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, you should be proud of yourself. Not many women are brave enough to do what you just have. Never let anyone make you feel guilty for having enjoyed marital relations, Scarlett. Hell, it's the least you deserve for having to put up with such a dishonourable reprobate of a husband.'
Through her tears, he thought he made out a small, reluctant huff of laughter and, taking a chance, he rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him so that she ended up laying flat out across his chest. Rhett wrapped his arms around his wife and stroked her back, slipping his hand beneath her chemise so that he could touch her bare skin. Scarlett sighed softly at the gentle handling, and Rhett wished he could do more to put her overwrought mind at ease.
Casting around for something to distract her, he began to speak about his time away in New Orleans. He told her how the city had been unbearably dull without her sparkling presence to enliven it and how Wade had missed her sorely every day that they were away. Calmed by his lazy drawl emanating out of the darkness, Scarlett ceased crying, the tension seeping out of her body as she buried her face in his neck and yawned loud enough for Rhett to grow concerned about the fate of his eardrum.
'You go to sleep, my pet,' he coaxed, interlacing their hands on top of his chest. 'Tomorrow, I'll let you unwrap your presents and then we shall see how well I carried your image around with me while I was away.'
'You bought me back a present?' she asked, her voice sounding so much like that of a sleepy child that it made his heart thump painfully in his chest.
'I did indeed, my dear. More than one, in fact.'
'How many?'
'You'll have to wait and see.'
He smiled as, against his neck, he felt her lips turn down in a pout. Rhett waited for her to start demanding that he tell her the exact number of gifts he'd bought right this instant, only to be surprised by her continued silence.
A moment later, a breathy snore reached his ear.
Grinning into the night, Rhett reached over to drag Scarlett's long, silken hair across the length of his throat before closing his eyes and following her into oblivion.