Rhett had not been speaking idly when he'd said they would be hard-pressed to make it to The National on time. It would have been a struggle even if he'd picked her up on schedule, which he had not. Scarlett had been close to pulling her hair out when he'd finally strolled into the store just after quarter past five, smirking lazily as if nothing was amiss and he had all the time in the world to browse the shelves and flirt carelessly with the female customers.

It was all very well for him to squander time, Scarlett thought. He wasn't the one who now had less than forty-five minutes to wash, dress and see to their hair and make-up. While she'd been running herself ragged, hopping around the bedroom with one stocking on her foot and the other flailing in her hand as she desperately tried to recall where she'd left her lemon verbena scent, Rhett had had nothing more taxing to do than lounge around chatting to the children and smoking his way through two cigars.

It had been a monumental effort to get herself ready in time and the hasty preparations had been accompanied by a deafening symphony of slamming doors, stamping feet, and no less than seventeen heartfelt cries of 'Damn you, Rhett Butler - you told me you'd be there at half past four!'

Despite Scarlett's best efforts, the clock had already struck six by the time they made it out of the front door. Rushing to climb into the carriage bound for The National, her corset laced too tightly and her hat askew, any excitement that Scarlett might have felt at the prospect of enjoying a rare evening out had long since evaporated. It didn't help that the hotel in question held such a special place in her heart. Their stay after the honeymoon had been blissful and Scarlett had no desire to see such precious memories sullied by her present sourness.

Immune to Rhett's attempts to seduce her back into good humour, Scarlett had stayed silent throughout their journey, and may well have remained that way for the rest of the evening had their reception upon arrival not been quite so emphatic. Like a queen returning to her court, Scarlett was flattered to find that the staff not only remembered her but actively went out of their way to ensure that her every whim was catered for.

It did not occur to her that Rhett's reputation as a frequent and extremely generous tipper had lingered long in the minds of the hotel's poorly paid employees. Instead, she assumed their actions were a result of her own elevated status and so had sat through the entire meal with a large, self-satisfied smirk on her face, only too eager to take advantage of their unexpected kindnesses by filling both her plate and glass well beyond the point that most diners would have deemed excessive.

By the time they brought out her pavlova, Scarlett had already eaten more food in a single sitting than she would normally have allowed to pass her lips in an entire day. As a result of her gluttony, Scarlett's corset was beginning to pinch. Twice now, she'd had to excuse herself from the table in order to be spared the indignity of belching in public. The wine had done its fair share of the work too, adding a flush to her cheeks and a looseness to her speech - the latter of which she would surely come to regret.

Rhett seemed completely charmed by her display. They had been talking easily to one another all evening and Scarlett could scarcely remember a time when he'd been so free with his smiles and compliments. They had even managed to discuss her plans for the crush without coming to blows. Scarlett had been reluctant to raise the subject, convinced that Rhett would only sneer at her desire to hire a full-piece orchestra to serenade the dancing couples. And he'd no doubt dismiss her idea to drape the entire length of the veranda in a deep-red, velvet canvas entirely out of hand.

As it was, Rhett had surprised her by nodding along solemnly as he listened to her plans, even going so far as to murmur quiet encouragement whenever she fell silent. All in all, it had been a wonderful evening. Scarlett would even have been tempted to call it perfect, had not the waiter chosen that exact moment to present Rhett with his dessert. A rich chocolate gateaux with a generous side helping of cream, it looked divine. Like a spoilt child whose sibling has just been presented with a fancier present, it made Scarlett look upon her measly pavlova with disdain. No sooner had the expression flitted across her face than her husband stepped in to remove it.

'I'm afraid this isn't mine,' Rhett informed the waiter, his face so earnest that - had Scarlett not heard him order it with her own ears five minutes previously - she too would have believed him.

'My profuse apologies, sir. There must have been a misunderstanding in the kitchens. What was it that you ordered?'

'I chose the pavlova and my wife the gateaux.'

The unexpected lie caused Scarlett to let out a most unladylike sound. Mortified, she feigned a cough to disguise her faux pas.

Rhett really could be the most darling thing, she thought, preening in her seat. She knew full well he didn't even like pavlova, yet here he was, willing to sacrifice his dessert so she might enjoy it. Touched by his gesture, Scarlett moved her foot so that it reclined affectionately against his. Her eyes already fixed upon her newly acquired gateaux, Scarlett missed the surprised glance Rhett threw her way. Even she could not fail to notice the answering pressure of his shoe against hers though. Looking up, she flushed under the intensity of his gaze.

All day, thoughts of his body had made it impossible for Scarlett to concentrate properly on her work, her mind choosing the most inconvenient moments to drift back to their nightly trysts. For a woman who prided herself on her business acumen, it had been galling to find her attentions straying, especially when, late this afternoon, her daydreaming had almost led to her grossly undercharging a customer. That she had come perilously close to handing over her hard-earned money to an undeserving stranger was sickening. The incident had stuck in her throat like tar right up until the moment Rhett, Panama hat held suavely in hand, had finally sauntered in to take her home.

Her slip-up had reminded her just how devilishly hard it was to keep hold of money. The echoes of the war still rang loudly in Scarlett's ears and she feared that, even if she were to live to be a hundred, she would never forget the hollowness that had clawed at her insides each and every night she'd been forced to go to bed on an empty stomach. It was this that had made her overindulge during their meal. Even now, well-fed and full to bursting, the mere remembrance of her past suffering was enough to make her dig her fork into her dessert with renewed energy.

Forgetting her table manners, Scarlett dedicated herself to fitting as much of the gateaux into her mouth as possible, finding that even Rhett's mocking gaze was not enough to deter her.

'Take time, my pet,' he cautioned. 'It's not a race. The hotel won't throw us out for eating too slowly, whereas I fear that one look at your chocolate-smeared visage will see us swiftly ejected for crimes against public decency.'

Jerking the napkin up to wipe her face, Scarlett frowned when it came away clean. 'There's no chocolate on my face, Rhett.'

'So there isn't. I must congratulate you, my dear, I do believe you've managed to cram every last crumb into your mouth. A truly tremendous feat.'

Her answering glare only made him laugh harder. Scarlett was considering refusing to speak to him for the rest of the night when he shocked her by placing his uneaten pavlova on top of her empty dessert dish.

'I'm afraid I haven't left enough room for this course. Would you be so kind as to finish it for me?'

Tantrum neatly averted by the prospect of extra food, Scarlett smiled graciously at her husband and eagerly dived in. She watched Rhett lean back in his chair and take a long sip from his wine glass, the muscles in his throat dancing hypnotically each time he swallowed. Caught up by the unconscious display of masculinity, she jumped guiltily when he turned back from gazing languidly around the room to fix his eyes upon her.

'Have you given much thought to your crush's guest list, Scarlett?'

Her mouth full of meringue, Scarlett could only nod.

'Yes,' she said after she'd swallowed it, only to embarrass herself by choking on a stray crumb. Spluttering, she chased it down with the last of her wine.

Noting the empty bottle, Rhett signalled for the waiter to bring over another. Scarlett wasted no time in refilling her glass, deciding that, having indulged herself so indecently all evening, there was precious little sense in practicing caution now.

'I want to invite everyone,' she said. 'Melly and Ashley. Pittypat and Uncle Henry. All the Old Cats who've ever said anything mean about me. Rufus Bullock-'

'Rufus Bullock?' Rhett interrupted, raising an eyebrow. 'The Republican governor?'

'Yes, him. Why, do you know another Rufus Bullock?'

Ignoring her jibe, Rhett quickly countered with one of his own. 'Forgive me, I would not have queried it, only I thought you were the very model of a staunch, unwavering Democrat. Unless my memory fails me, my dear, I seem to remember you professing as much one morning before my trip to New Orleans.'

The coarse reference to their fight and Rhett's subsequent departure incensed Scarlett. Since his return, they had both tiptoed around the issue, alluding to it only with vague words and horseshoe-shaped gifts.

Sending him what she'd intended to be a piercing glare, but which the copious amounts of alcohol in her bloodstream softened into nothing more cutting than a slightly fuzzy stare, Scarlett's voice was cold and clipped when she replied, 'Your memory is certainly failing you, Rhett. I've already told you that I want this crush to be the most stylish party Atlanta has ever seen. Obviously, that means inviting Mr. Bullock to be part of it.'

Steepling his fingers together, Rhett nodded thoughtfully. 'You do realise that none of the Old Guard will agree to attend the same function as your dear friend Rufus, don't you?'

Scarlett airily brushed off his concerns with a dismissive jerk of her head. 'Why, of course they will. My party has nothing to do with politics. Whatever people may think of Mr. Bullock as a governor - and Lord knows I'm none too keen on him myself in that respect - they won't object to him coming to my crush. They'll all be mighty impressed to see him there.'

'As partial as I am to your own, shall we say unique worldview, my dear, I'm afraid that this is one occasion where I really must disagree. Politics always matters, especially to the people of Atlanta. You've lived in this town long enough, Scarlett, you've seen how they were during the war, how they never truly surrendered after it. These people are fighters, they'll never accept Republican rule. Not in Washington, not in their state government and certainly not in their own homes. Not a single member of the Old Guard will consent to set foot in the same building as that man and if you hear nothing else I say tonight, then at least hear this: if you want the Old Cats to grow sick with envy as they walk around your beloved house, you would do well to leave Mr. Bullock off the guest list.'

Her mind clouded by the wine, most of Rhett's speech passed straight over Scarlett's head. The parts that she did catch only convinced her that he was blowing the situation out of all proportion. Really, as if any of her neighbours would refuse to come to her party just because Rufus Bullock happened to be there! Why, they'd all be so flattered to receive an invitation that they wouldn't care if Abe Lincoln himself was planning to attend.

'You haven't listened to a single word I've said, have you?' Rhett accused, but through the fog of her drowsy, wine-soaked mind, the words sounded amused rather than accusatory and Scarlett only smiled sleepily and polished off the last of the pavlova by way of a reply.

Rhett chuckled. 'I think someone's ready for bed, my pet. You stay here and I'll go and see to the bill.'

'All right,' she said magnanimously, sighing forlornly to herself when she realised Rhett had already left the table in search of the maître d'.

Picking up her napkin, she patted it along her bottom lip a few times before twisting it absentmindedly in her hands while she waited for him to return. She hoped he wouldn't be too long for her corset was digging into her sides something fierce, the two desserts having conspired to push her normally tiny waist out wider than it had been since Ella was born.

Growing bored of waiting, Scarlett turned her attention to her fellow diners. The table next to hers was occupied by a young woman whose blond hair bobbed annoyingly every time she nodded at something her older, overweight husband said. Scarlett's eyes grew drowsy as she watched them. They both wore wedding rings and she wondered if they'd been married long. Perhaps they were staying in The National for their honeymoon. If they were, then they didn't seem to be enjoying it very much.

The man was staring unrelentingly into the middle distance as he droned on, the sound of his own voice clearly more interesting than watching his wife's reaction. Scarlett felt herself flush at the thought of how differently Rhett acted when he was around her. His eyes always sought out Scarlett's when he spoke. Black and piercing, they seared into her so intensely that often she felt as if he was trying to communicate with her very soul.

The thought of it made her vision swim a little, pulling her away from the restaurant and back into the heated darkness of her bedroom. Now, when the blond woman smiled, Scarlett saw her own mouth falling open in ecstasy. When the husband laughed, Scarlett heard Rhett's low groaning in her ear. And when he took a bite of his steak, Scarlett felt Rhett's tongue drawing invisible patterns across her chest as his lips sought out stray pasty crumbs.

She was losing her mind. There was no other explanation. She had known Rhett for years and hardly given him a thought, so why was her head so full of him now?

Before she could work out the reason, the man himself appeared at her side, his arm extended out towards her.

'Thank you,' she said, grasping it, as she stood up on wobbly legs.

'You're welcome, my dear,' he replied, gracefully choosing not to mention her unsteadiness.

While Scarlett successfully managed to navigate the sea of tables and chairs without incident, the chill of the night air outside the hotel proved to be her undoing. It assaulted her like a physical blow and sent her stumbling backwards in shock. She would have fallen to the floor in a slovenly heap had Rhett not been standing so close behind her, his chest proving a far more welcome resting place than the sidewalk.

'Careful,' he cautioned, wrapping an arm around her waist. 'I fear the wine may have gone to your head.'

Now that Rhett mentioned it, she did feel a touch light-headed. Longing suddenly for the comfort of her bed, Scarlett yanked herself out of Rhett's hold and started off up the street towards home.

'And just where do you think you're going?' A voice asked as warm arms rewrapped themselves around her middle.

'Back to the house,' Scarlett said, drawing herself up haughtily and slapping his hands away. 'We've been gone for hours and the children will be worried. You know they don't sleep well when we're not there.'

'As touched as I am by your display of maternal affection, my pet, do you not think it would perhaps serve your purposes better if you were to walk in the actual direction of our house?'

Blinking rapidly, Scarlett flushed as she realised she had been heading the entirely wrong way. 'Oh.'

'Oh, indeed, Mrs. Butler,' Rhett chuckled.

Not wanting to give him a chance to gloat over her mistake, Scarlett spun on her heels and began to march off in the opposite direction, crying out when she felt Rhett grab hold of her for a third time.

'Not so fast, Scarlett. As sorely tempted as I am to watch you endeavour to walk home in your current condition, it would be unfair of me to have called Pork out of the house for nothing.'

'Pork?' Scarlett questioned, needing a moment to remember why the name sounded familiar.

'Yes. I arranged for him to meet us here with the carriage at eleven. It's just gone a quarter to now. Do you want to return inside until he arrives? It is cold out here and you seem to have forgotten to bring a shawl.'

'If I forgot my shawl, it's only because I had no time to get ready!' Scarlett cried indignantly. 'And I'm not a child, Rhett. I think I can manage to stand outside for ten minutes without wasting away!'

Laughing lightly at her flare of temper, Rhett only shrugged and held her tighter.

'Get off me,' she muttered irritably as he moved behind her. 'What are you doing?'

The answer to her question became clear when Rhett opened up his long coat and wrapped it around her front, cocooning them both in the small, warm space between the two folds.

'You know, this would work far better if you turned towards me,' Rhett reasoned, his mouth pressed against her ear.

Scarlett huffed loudly and stayed where she was. It was bad enough that she was standing so close to her husband in public, there was no need to make the situation worse by standing face to face.

Rhett's voice dropped lower. 'That way you could put your arms around me, too.'

Scarlett froze. It was one thing to enjoy remembering the things they had done together inside the privacy of her own mind, but quite another to allude to them out on the street. Jolting out of the stupor the wine had put her under, Scarlett flung herself out of his embrace.

'Scarlett?'

'Stay away from me, Rhett,' she warned, her teeth chattering as she realised just how cold it was without his body to shield her from the night air.

'Scarlett, come back here. You're freezing,' he cajoled softly, holding the sides of his coat out and beckoning her to step back inside.

'I won't. I'm not cold at all,' she argued stubbornly, rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms.

'I'm not blind, my pet. I can see you shivering from here.'

'No, you can't,' she maintained, turning her head away in the childish assumption that, if she could not see him, he would not be able to see her, either.

The sound of deep laughter filled the space between them and made the hairs on her frozen arms stand up straighter. 'You really are the most obstinate woman in all of creation, aren't you?'

Scarlett kept her eyes fixed on the deserted road even as a loud rustling filled her ears. 'Here, have it,' Rhett said, stepping closer to lay his coat over her thin, shaking shoulders. 'I can't have you turning to ice, now can I? Mammy would never let me back inside the house if I let her most precious charge come to harm.'

Warmed by both the coat and Rhett's allusion to Mammy's great love for her, Scarlett's scowl melted into a smile as she turned back toward her husband.

'Now you're cold,' she said, a frown puckering her forehead.

Rhett's eyes leapt up to her face, expectant in a way she couldn't remember seeing before. Scarlett was about to ask why, when her attention was stolen by the sight of a carriage turning the corner at the bottom of the street.

'Ah, here he is now,' Rhett declared, striding forward.

Pork pulled the carriage to a stop outside the hotel. Rhett took Scarlett's hand to help her climb in, his thumb sweeping a wide arc across the delicate skin of her wrist. Scarlett gasped, then blushed when Rhett turned to eye her speculatively.

Taking her seat, Scarlett snuggled back against the plush material of the carriage and burrowed deeper into Rhett's coat. Peeking out through half-closed lashes, Scarlett watched as Rhett swung himself up into the carriage, enjoying the way his thigh muscles rippled and strained as he sprawled out carelessly in his seat.

With his hair falling rakishly across one eye, Rhett lit a cigar and drew it towards his open mouth. He blew lightly onto it before wrapping his lips around the end and drawing the smoke lovingly into his mouth. He let it sit on his tongue for a minute as his broad shoulders grew loose and his eyes slipped shut. Then he tipped his head back against the wall of the carriage, exposing the tanned length of his throat. He exhaled, cloaking his devilishly handsome features in a halo of angelic white.

'Did you enjoy your evening out, Scarlett?'

Tongue-tied, she could only nod.

Thank you for reading and for your continued support and lovely words. They mean the world to me. They really do.

I'm sorry I can't reply to guests on here. (I think I've worked out how to reply to logged in profiles via the app. Let me know if I haven't and you haven't received anything). I did think about putting this up on ao3 as I know it's easier to respond to comments on there, but I've only ever used this website for gwtw, so not sure if there's much of an audience over there. Which site do you use most/prefer?

Also, a quick note on vocab. Having read my fair share of fanfics set in Britain but written by authors who live overseas, I know how jarring the misuse of street/block, pavement/sidewalk etc. can be and am trying to correct my transatlantic faux pas as I go along (even though it physically pained me to say Wade tugged on Rhett's pants a few chapters ago. The visuals that set off in my poor brain were not pleasant! And don't get me started on the bum/fanny thing!) If I've missed any that have been bugging you, please let me know. I know some UK/US spellings are different too, (there's a brilliant scene in The Great where the American and British ambassadors start arguing about the Revolution and the American one says something along the lines of, 'You know what we're going to do as soon as we gain independence? Take the 'u' out of colour.') but trying to fix all of those might just finish me off, sorry!