The sun was already up when Scarlett awoke the next morning, her body lax beneath the sheets. She yawned and stretched, flinching as a startling, but increasingly familiar, ache reverberated through her lower stomach. This time the feeling was not accompanied by a grimace or a blush, but rather a smile. Scarlett was proud to recall how she'd stood up for what she wanted, then spent some considerable time thinking about the dedication with which Rhett had set about giving it to her.

Scarlett wished she'd known relations could be like this sooner, and lamented all the wasted years. Yet, little could she imagine acting so wildly in front of Charles or Frank. Surely both men, prissy as they'd been, would not have appreciated her actions half as much as Rhett seemed to. Neither had possessed his forward-thinking mindset and would no doubt have been scandalised by their wife daring to demand that her own pleasure be satisfied.

More than that, the very thought of wanting to be with them so passionately was unthinkable to Scarlett. Never had she felt herself grow weak from their kisses or spent the early hours running her hands through the thick, coarse strands of their hair. There was something undeniably physical about her third husband, a quality that her first two had lacked. It was there in the playful, knowing glint in his eye and the strain of well-defined muscle beneath tight, tanned skin. As unaffected as Scarlett had always been by Rhett's good looks, she was not blind to them, and even she could appreciate the benefits of lying with a man as outwardly imposing as her new husband.

It made her skin tingle to remember the strong, capable manner in which he had handled her, the patient way he had fanned the flames of her desire and the look of reverence on his swarthy face as he had sat back and watched them catch fire. It was the look that had thrilled her most. There was something rather electrifying about being on the receiving end of Rhett's undivided attention. Though she had experienced it before when they argued, never had the strength of his unwavering stare warmed her quite so thoroughly. The whole thing felt like a dream. Scarlett had always known that marrying Rhett would open her up to a world of new experiences but had imagined it was his money, not his body, that held the key to her future happiness. How wrong she'd been.

A ripple of desire shivered through Scarlett at the memory of Rhett's arms braced either side of her head, his muscles bulging as he rocked against her. Her head growing dizzy, Scarlett sat up in bed and cast her eyes around the room in search of her husband, unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed to find him absent.

Filled with a novel urge to seek him out, Scarlett wasted no time in getting up. She walked over to the dressing table and began the seemingly insurmountable task of taming her hair. Normally, seeing her silken tresses in such disarray would have sparked a tantrum of monumental proportions, but today Scarlett found that she was too preoccupied with other changes to work up a fuss.

The red blush across her cheeks made Scarlett wonder if she'd applied rouge during the night while the sparkle in her eyes was so entrancing that she could scarcely tear herself away from her reflection. Yet, it was her frame that had undergone the most noticeable transformation. Where before there had been a permanent stiffness around her shoulders, now there was only looseness and ease, each muscle flowing seamlessly into the next and cloaking her in an air of softness wholly at odds with her steely disposition.

She was still standing in front of her dresser, hairbrush lying forgotten in her hand, when Rhett walked in. Scarlett was too distracted to hear his approach and jumped out of her skin when he chuckled in her ear. Scarlett met his eyes in the mirror, scowling when she saw how her fright had tickled him.

'Are you trying out some new dance steps, my dear?' he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest. 'Care for a partner?'

Hot with embarrassment, Scarlett threw down the brush and ran back to bed, yanking the covers up to her chin.

Rhett smirked. 'I'm all for returning to bed, Mrs. Butler, but you may find it a little hard to eat your breakfast while lying flat on your back.'

Scarlett considered saying she wasn't hungry just to spite him, but unfortunately, the smell of freshly baked pastry was making her stomach rumble louder than an oncoming freight train and there was little chance that Rhett hadn't heard it. Besides, it had been so long since he had thought to bring her breakfast in bed that she didn't have the heart to dismiss him. Back during their honeymoon, scarcely a day had gone by in which he hadn't hastened down to the hotel kitchens while she slept, using his considerable charm to coax the chef into allowing them to eat a personalised, private meal up in their rooms. Scarlett smiled to remember how Rhett had woken her with whispers of culinary delights, drawing her sweetly out of her slumber with promises of toast dripping with lashings of butter and muffins so sugary they would make her tongue tingle just to look at them.

She had not realised how keenly she had missed this early morning ritual until she was presented with it again now, the long months of waking to find the bed empty and Rhett already having left for work receding like an unpleasant dream as Scarlett sat up against the pillows and tried to peer over the lip of the tray to see what treasures it contained.

Rhett grinned as he took a seat next to her, annoying Scarlett by keeping the tray safely out of reach.

'Not so fast, my dear,' he chided, placing it on his lap and picking up a slice of toast. 'Now, open wide.'

Scarlett's eyes narrowed, but she opened her mouth without complaint. She'd forgotten how much Rhett enjoyed feeding her from his hand. While the practice has always made her feel silly, she did not protest for fear that he would take back the food and refuse to ever bring it to her like this again.

The feel of Rhett's fingers moving against her lips unnerved Scarlett. It felt indecent, somehow. By the time she had swallowed the last few crumbs, her mouth was dry and her skin itchy. Fighting against the urge to squirm under Rhett's unflinching gaze, Scarlett was grateful when he went back to the tray and handed her a glass of apple juice.

Scarlett savoured its tangy sweetness as she sunk back against the headboard and watched Rhett wolf down three slices of toast and a muffin in quick succession. The way the muscles in his forearm flexed brought forth sinful memories of the previous night and Scarlett had to shake her head vigorously in a bid to disperse them.

'Is something the matter?'

Scarlett froze. 'No.'

'If you have an itch, my dear, I'd be only too happy to scratch it for you.'

'I said I'm fine, Rhett,' she snapped, flustered by the thought of his hands raking across her skin.

What was wrong with her this morning? Why couldn't she stop thinking about relations?

'So, shall we begin?' Rhett asked, his words making Scarlett seize up, struck by the sudden fear that her husband had learnt to read her mind.

'Excuse me?'

'The crush,' he said, accompanying the word with an exaggerated shudder. 'Shall we begin planning it?'

Relief swamped Scarlett as she realised her thoughts were still her own. Lord knows how Rhett would react if he knew she'd become a wanton after a mere two nights of pleasantness. Not that the prospect of discussing the upcoming crush with him was particularly appealing, either. Scarlett had only raised the idea in order to trick Rhett and had no intention of actually allowing him to plan it.

The crush was to be the first proper function she had ever hosted. Excluding the few, piffling dinner parties she and Frank had held, Scarlett had never before had the time or inclination to play the hostess. Now that she was married to Rhett - and by extension his bank balance - she felt far more enthusiastic about the prospect.

Already, she had the entire layout planned out. Behind her eyelids shone gilded images of palms and orchestras and ballgowns worn by women so strewn with jewellery that their necks shimmered like chandeliers every time they spun on their partners' arm. She planned to cover the porch in canvas and hold the drinks reception out underneath the stars. Then, long after midnight when people's cravats and inhibitions were loosened, they would all gather in the third-floor ballroom to dance until dawn.

Everything about the housewarming would be beautiful. Everything about the night would be perfect.

She wanted so badly to show her neighbours just how far she had risen, to prove once and for all that she was a great lady and that anything they had ever whispered to the contrary was a vicious lie. Scarlett smiled to picture the envious expressions of the female guests as they walked up the path to her beautiful house, their jaws dropping with respect and amazement as they took in the decadent atmosphere and the impeccably dressed, indescribably glamorous woman at its centre.

'What are you thinking about, my pet?' Rhett wondered, dragging Scarlett out of her fantasy by stroking the back of his hand along her cheek. 'I do believe it must be something truly devilish to make your eyes shine so brightly.'

Scarlett smiled in rueful acknowledgement and moved to pick up a muffin from the tray.

'Ah, ah, no touching,' Rhett said, batting her hand away. 'I think it's safe to assume that the negotiations concerning who organises which parts of the crush' - again with the put upon shudder - 'will, in keeping with our traditional bartering methods, be vicious and criminally underhanded. So, my dear, in order to start the proceedings as they mean to go on, I present to you my bargaining chip.'

'What?'

'Bargaining chip, Mrs. Butler. It's the stake one uses to bet with.'

'Yes, thank you, I believe have heard the term before.'

'Have you?' Rhett's eyes grew comically large as he clutched at his chest like Aunt Pittypat in the midst of a swoon. 'How terribly shocking. I never dreamed a lady of your fine standing would know the first thing about something as sordid as gambling. What dirty vagabond first corrupted your sweet innocence with talk of vice? Tell me so I can challenge him to a duel and rid the world of such gross villainy!'

'Oh, do hush up and get on with it!'

He laughed. 'As you wish, my pet. You see, it's really very simple. Say, for example, I wanted you to allow me to decorate the inside of the house as I see fit-'

'The entire inside of the house!' Scarlett spluttered, knocking her glass of apple juice all over herself. 'Over my dead body!'

Ignoring her indignation, Rhett reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief before patting down her sodden nightdress. Alarmed by the feel of his hand on her chest, Scarlett yanked the handkerchief out of his grasp and rubbed over the worst of the spill herself.

'Ah, but that's exactly where my bargaining chip comes in,' he said. 'You see, if you agree to my terms then you'll be permitted to select anything you want from the tray. If you refuse, I'm afraid you'll have to go hungry.'

Unimpressed by his tactics, Scarlett challenged scathingly, 'And what is it to stop me from going downstairs and getting my own breakfast?'

'Why, nothing, my pet. Only it would be a shame to waste the treats Mammy's made for you.'

'Mammy?' Scarlett repeated dumbly, wondering if Rhett had taken leave of his senses. Mammy, though a woman of many formidable talents, had never been one for cooking.

'Yes,' said Rhett, lifting up the silver cloche with a dramatic flourish. 'She mentioned that you were ever so fond of the pastries she used to make at Christmastime. It took a shameful amount of cajolery on my part, but I managed to persuade her to bake some for you this morning. I'm afraid the whole process has left her quite exhausted. I doubt she'll be willing to make another batch for months, possibly even years.'

Rhett's insinuation was not lost on Scarlett as she gazed upon the pastries with adoring eyes. They had been her favourite as a child, one of the things she had most looked forward to every Christmas. They were a perfect blend of sweet and savoury, so delicate that they melted on the tongue like newly fallen snow. Scarlett was desperate to taste one again. So desperate, in fact, that she was almost willing to play Rhett's game.

'What is it that you want?' she asked, eyeing Rhett cautiously.

'Nothing too outrageous,' he reassured her. 'I'm beginning to appreciate just how much this party means to you, so I'm willing to let you plan it as you wish. My sole request is that you grant me the means to veto anything that I think might end up doing your crush more harm than good. I also want final approval of the guest list and I would prefer it if the food and drink were left to up me as well, but I'm willing to negotiate on that last point if needs be.'

Although Scarlett was reluctant to make any concessions while being so blatantly blackmailed, she had to admit that Rhett's requests weren't half as demanding as they could have been. He was letting her organise almost everything apart from the food and drink and that had always been more his area of expertise anyway. All in all, it was a much fairer deal than she'd expected and it was this, along with a burning desire to taste Mammy's pastries once again, that made her agree more quickly than she otherwise would have.

If something about Rhett's answering smirk raised her suspicions, then Scarlett soon forgot about it when he held a pastry up to her mouth. Scarlett took a bite, moaning when a shower of sweet-tasting flakes rained down on her tongue. The flavour transported her back through the years until she was a child again at Tara, her dear parents still alive as they all waited impatiently at the dining table for Mammy to bring in the plate - Scarlett's nails ready and waiting to scratch Suellen's arm if her sister dared to snatch the biggest pastry for herself.

The memory warmed her from the soles of her feet to the hairs on her head and she sighed happily as she opened her mouth in a silent demand for more. Scarlett ate her way through two whole pastries, for once not caring what it would do to her waistline. It was only when she'd finished that she opened her eyes and discovered the utter mess she'd made while eating, her neck and chest covered with so many crumbs it looked as if she'd turned into a giant pastry herself.

Not wanting to get them on the bed, Scarlett made to stand up.

'Wait,' Rhett said, a faraway look in his eye. 'Permit me.'

Scarlett's eyebrows shot up as Rhett bent his head over her chest, his lips parting as his mouth descended. Untroubled by the time of day, Rhett scooped up the crumbs that decorated her breasts with his tongue, the first warm, wet touch making Scarlett freeze. She sat like a statue as he went about his business, moving over every inch of her skin with a care and gentleness ill-matched to a man so big. Scarlett grew warm all over when his tongue slipped into the valley between her breasts, patiently rooting out even the most obstinate of flakes. It was only when he moved to put the tray down on the floor that she finally came to her senses, blushing furiously at the realisation that it was the middle of the morning and the children or servants could come barging in at any moment.

Fearful she would succumb to his wiles if he touched her again, Scarlett scrambled off the bed and was halfway to her wardrobe before the tray had even touched the carpet.

'Scarlett?'

Ignoring his concern, Scarlett dived among her dresses and pulled out a formal one, deciding that it had been far too long since she'd last paid proper attention to her businesses. She'd been much too caught up in Rhett these last few days. It could not go on.

'I just remembered I've got to look in on the mills,' she explained breathlessly, pulling on her corset and re-emerging out into the bedroom so that Rhett could lace it for her. 'A new shipment came in yesterday and I've yet to check on it.'

'You're going to the mills?' Rhett asked, his eyes growing cold.

'Yes,' Scarlett asserted. 'I haven't been there in days and I need to make sure everything is still running properly. You know that Ashley sometimes makes mistakes on the order forms.'

If she had thought that acknowledging Ashley's flaws would appease Rhett then she was mistaken, as her husband's mood only blackened further at the mention of his name.

'Have you been to the store recently?' he asked, his voice smooth in a way that told her he was dangerously close to losing his temper.

'Not since the day of Melly's dinner party.'

'Then don't you think it might be wiser to spend your time there? Mr. Wilkes and Mr. Gallagher are far more qualified to run the mills than those miscreants you call staff are to run your store.'

It was true that Scarlett did not credit her employees at the store with having much sense, but the fact that Rhett - who'd heard her complain about them many a time without saying a word - was doubtless only bringing this point up now in order to manipulate her did not sit well. She never told him how to run his businesses and she didn't appreciate him telling her how to run hers. More determined than ever to visit the mills, Scarlett fumed silently until Rhett had finished with her corset and she was able to move away and finish dressing.

'Scarlett?' he called as she disappeared into her wardrobe.

She emerged minutes later, dressed and almost ready to go.

'Scarlett?' he said as she headed over to the dressing table to run the brush through her hair. 'Scarlett, where are you going?'

Throwing him a baleful look, she stated firmly, 'To the mills, Rhett. I already told you.'

'And I asked you not to.'

'I don't seem to remember much asking. More telling.'

From the corner of her eye, Scarlett saw his jaw jerk in mute acceptance. A moment later, he walked over and wrapped his arms around her middle, dipping his head down to her neck.

'You are right, my pet,' he murmured, his nose nuzzling against the sensitive spot behind her ear. 'I did not mean to slip into the role of the domineering husband. Forgive me.'

Scarlett pretended to consider it while tilting her head forward to give him a better angle. 'If I must.'

'Oh, you must,' he whispered, raking his fingers along her stomach. 'I could not bear it if you did not. Let me make amends. Will you humour me by going to the store today, Scarlett? I promise to make it worth your while.'

Despite her better instincts, Scarlett felt her knees grow weak at Rhett's continued ministrations.

'Why?' she forced herself to say, refusing to have her mind so easily controlled by the desires of her body. 'Why don't you want me to go to the mills?'

Through the mirror, Scarlett saw Rhett's lips twitch in both admiration and exasperation. After a full minute of glaring at each other's reflections, her husband finally surrendered.

'It's none of your concern.'

'Then it's none of yours if I choose to visit the mills, is it?' she countered neatly, the thrill of going toe to toe with Rhett proving almost as addictive as his earlier touches.

Rhett sighed heavily and looked as if he would argue further before throwing his hands up in the air. 'Fine, if you must know, I booked us an early supper at the National. It was supposed to be a surprise. I'll need to pick you up from the store at half past four if we are to get there in time. We won't make it if you head out to the mills.'

If Rhett's eyes darted away from her face as he spoke, then Scarlett was too excited by the prospect of returning to the hotel where they'd spent so many happy, post-honeymoon days to notice.

It was just like Rhett to make such a foolish, grand gesture, Scarlett thought.

Not wanting to give in too easily, she asked saucily, 'Is that what you meant when you said you'd make it worth my while?'

Scarlett smiled vainly when her show of wit made Rhett throw his head back and laugh loudly. 'Not quite, Mrs. Butler,' he chuckled, drawing her back into his arms. 'But I'm afraid that particular reward will have to wait until we return home. We wouldn't want to get banned from The National, now would we?'

'We most certainly would not,' Scarlett agreed, trying not to look too pleased by his answer.