Hello everyone!

Thank you for your patience and support! Here's chapter 9, a bit late. I thought I would manage to publish it earlier, but then I got caught in many family reunions.

Here is the gentleman, and the moment many were waiting for :) Some formulations of the original book had been picked up to hint at it.

As always, Gone with the Wind is the propriety of Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

Good reading!

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Leaning on a branch, her shoulders tensing, Scarlett observed her prey, green eyes agitated by each stride that led him closer to her hide.

She had escaped Mammy's scrutiny for a moment, bored to tears over the prattling of the Slatterys who complained on and on to Ellen about the misery life had put them through. She had gripped the wicker handle until it hurt her palm, but her sweet face let nothing on but a little frown she explained by a sudden and sharp headache. However, it was her tummy that was hurting, tugged by the knowledge of Rhett's presence in her home, with the anxiety of seeing him too early, when she was not ready to meet him. Thus, she had taken refuge here, in the forest of pines bordering her house, relishing in the wilderness of the place. A wilderness she had to hide in herself.

There was a darkness that appealed to her, under the shadows of the trees, with the slight breeze of wind that managed to make its way through the foliage, a wind full of good scents and seeds. Once in a lifetime, they would take in the soil, and grew an oddity in the wilderness. A peach tree, an apple tree, a plant of cotton. Yet, the pines, if they did not yield to the intruders, seemed to welcome them and to make them theirs.

First, she had heard the first notes of "Whiskey in the Jar", and it sounded like a good idea. She pondered over it with a smile, yet wondered though how she would get close enough to have that kind of power over Rhett's tricks.

No precise plan had been laid, and she hesitated over many.

She had thought first to be the success he wanted, and take refuge in a convent when the time came. Yet, the buoyant life in her protested at such a fate. She had thought of marrying an impoverished man, but her sense of comfort growled in dismay. She thought of becoming a spinster, and that was certainly the most reasonable ploy, with her vanity being contented with the thought of boys despaired when she would tell them she would never marry, nor take the veil, a prize that appeared at reach, yet that escaped their grip. Yet, the idea of Suellen and the other girls smirking at her as they married was unbearable, and even the thought of smirking back when they became miserable in their marriage later was not enough to appease her.

No, really, he was the one that ought to be punished, not she!

Then she saw him, carefree and whistling, and all disappeared with his presence, the wrath, the anger, and the sadness. She was caught on by something else that built hot and mysterious in her belly and tickled her chest in a way she could not quite decide whether it was pleasant or not.

For the first time since she had reached womanhood, she was brutally struck by the sheer power of that man, barely concealed by the suit under which she could guess the roll of his muscles, like a soft threat. 'We may look on rest,' they seemed to say, 'but go ahead and try, and we'll be at your neck.'

She shivered, her claws digging on the coarse skin of wood, and continued to look, her heart on her lips. His arms, she had always known them to be strong. They had carried her when she was wounded and weary. They had caught her time and time again. Now, they appeared different, with a power she could not truly define, that was as dangerous as it was unknown to her understanding.

Something had changed. Not he, she thought. She did not quite know, but she had the feeling he was the same as before. The dark hair was still thick and bright, and for the first time, she wanted to feel them on her fingers. The skin was bronze as an Indian's, vibrant as he walked like some fallen dark prince who was sure of his standing in the world.

Seeing him from afar, she knew it loud and clear, as unreasonably as it could be: she loved him. She loved him even more now that she had promised herself she would not be led astray by him.

How inconvenient, she thought with dismay. How very inconvenient. And here she had promised herself he would make him bite his words, his cruel dismissal of herself and her father!

And yet… Maybe she could make him love him, and it would be she that lead her wherever she wanted him to go!

He would see, then, that love was true, and not just for little girls! She would make him see!

Maybe then, once he was in her power, she would make him wait on the torturous path of the one who knows they are inches from true happiness, yet the object of desire is unreachable. She would be as slippery as sand through his fingers. She would tease and lead him on, make him chase after her like a hound would a fox.

Somehow, she thought that kind of waiting was enough to make him suffer. And when finally, he would surrender, she would softly caress his cheek, and tell him it was for naught, for her heart was already his.

Her eyes glistened in anticipated glee at the thought.

Yet, she had first to hook him. Thankfully, she had learned well by watching her elder and their tricks and she had mastered it with the servants in the Academy, that now ate on her palm like angry little birds.

How could she manage to get his attention? Thoughtfully, she took a bite on her fruit, the juice crackling joyfully on her lips. Then, remembering, she smiled.

She threw the peach at him, and their eyes met.

. .

. .

July 1859, Clayton County

He was in the best place to observe Scarlett, here on the couch. There, he could see her tender profile as she leaned on the piano, the twitch of the mouth as she prepared on a part she liked, the slight tilt of the head when she would check the part on her partition.

Rhett watched her play just as she played with her beaux, with a cold and sharp mind that guided her without it showing as it was hidden behind her charms and beauty. He admired the merry chase she led them to with her demurely casted eyes, the tilted lashes fluttering like butterfly's wings.

These were tools to sharpen her teeth, he thought with amusement. Schoolgirls' tricks. It would pass once she was confident enough. And when she would be, these skills, like blades, would certainly be more in control, precise.

The song ended. He smiled and applauded with a little more than politeness.

"You're a delight!"

Under his praise, she brightened like a sun. The green eyes sparkled eagerly, a flush rising on her cheeks as a dimple appeared before a smile. He smirked. She was too easy to read on.

"A bit too vivacious on the refrain though. You will have to go a bit slower. But continue like this, and you'll be quite the success of the entire South."

She paused on a note, her mouth set in a pout.

There, again with his ploy.

"Of course, I will," She turned back and began another set.

He laughed lightly and raised, and it vibrated like a caress on her back. She leaned to it like a cat to a caress and smiled, before ending on a cheerful note.

"Modesty is not one of your main traits, my dear."

"Why would I be modest with you? You're the most conceited man I know!"

"I prefer to say I have the means to be."

And maybe he was. She sighed with dismay.

It was no use, that man was incapable of jealousy. Perhaps because he had many women in many towns, as she had heard.

Her teeth gritted at the idea.

He laughed at each one of her attempts and encouraged her more. Worse than that, he gave her advice! She wanted to throw hands at him, but it did not seem to shake him one bit. Nothing ever seemed to.

She had tried everything, during the rare visits he made to Tara. She had teased him over and over, played coy. She had managed to get some of his hats to give to other beaus. He would only laugh, and tease her back, as if he weren't affected at all!

She would always remember with mortification the day he jested he would have to set a bill for her to pay them back.

She could marry anyone, and he would not care at all, except if it prevented him to get what he wanted!

She froze for a moment. It came to her mind suddenly that, if she had many beaus, there was none she had taken a preference for. They would fly around her like bees to a flower, yet she would not quite indulge to the point of being touched by any of them. Her heart remained guarded, kept under a lock that many wanted to open, without success.

"Still, I don't see how reading that Dickens for example will help me catch a husband. They would think I'm a bluestocking," She turned back to him as she tried to regain composure. "Fiddle-dee-dee, Rhett, it's no use! No gentleman would truly care for such learning and thinking in a wife! Why do you care that much that I know it?"

"Some might prefer a foolish wife, indeed," Rhett said. "And they're generally quite the foolish ones themselves. And some would not. Though even foolish ones like to take credit for the learning of their bride. Either way, you will be able to adapt for both."

She huffed and puffed, before graciously raising and turning around the bench. She faced him with a cheeky smile and an upturned chin, coquettishly lifting an elegantly clipped brow at him.

"Great balls of fire! It's all a play anyway, with you. If I ever marry, I want a husband that will want me and only me, not just because I can quote some author or another like a parrot. A husband that doesn't care if I'm ignorant, and that would anyway sweep me off my feet on the sunset, and if playing the fool is the fastest and easiest way to do it, then I'll be the prettiest fool you'll ever see!"

There, he looked at her with a somber expression. There was a flare in his eyes, and she thought, almost with glee: 'That's it! He reacts!'

"If you think so, then you don't have to play. You already are it."

Her eyes widened and she faltered, the words cutting her like a knife. Injured, she turned away, not wanting to lick her wounds in front of him.

"Oh!"

Her heart pounded in her chest as she felt him approaching, his large hand reaching her shoulder to make her turn. She arched slightly at its warmth, as the sensation crackled where he touched, and wandered on her spine like tiny flames on her skin. She kept her eyes downcast and waited.

"Scarlett…" She heard him. "You shouldn't be hurt by the truth. What you said was very foolish."

And he was not even apologizing!

Infuriating, infuriating man!

Foolish, foolish… That was foolish for him, but what did he know of the truth?

Oh, it was all so much easier for men!

"Does the truth have to be so brutal?" She cried in vexation but let herself be caught in his arms. She raised her chin a little, leaning it on his chest. "This was mean of you!"

His eyes softened, and he kissed her forehead in a brotherly way that made her want to cry.

"Dear child, I do have a temper, and I must say I do not like that you dismiss that easily all the efforts that had been done on your accounts, just because you think it's easier," And, truth to be told, he did not like the idea of her having to pretend at all, nor thinking so little of herself. Yet, it would have certainly been much easier if she were foolish, indeed, for there would have been no questioning of his intentions and behaviors. "You've progressed so wonderfully, I would find it a loss if you regressed."

He called her child, but in his arms, it was the body of a woman he was holding, and it troubled him more than it should have. He tried to recall the days where she was but a small child, and fondness came to him. Yet, swiftly, the image changed to her current form, and if the feeling stayed, it was so much more complex, he did not want to think about it. He shook his head and thought of Rosemary. Little Rosemary, that he imagined waiting for him as the dragon guarded her.

He was getting romantic with age, he thought with amusement.

He called her child, and she realized he still had the power to break her heart over and over again. There was the possibility, the terrifying possibility that she would be only that to him, and she was despaired by it.

She bit her lip for a moment.

No, she could not just wait for such a man to love her. She needed to harden her heart, or else he would destroy her if she let him.

"Where is the girl that said she only wanted to be with people that mattered?"

I know who matters to me, she thought. But with what I know now, how can I be sure I matter to them? She tilted her head, searching through his features, but she saw nothing for her but the affection of a man for a silly child.

"She thinks Dickens is a foolish one and understands Thackeray better."

He chuckled and patted her hair fondly. "Of course, you would, my own little Becky Sharp."

. .

. .

August 1859, Tara Plantation

Ashley was back!

The news had reached the household of Tara with excitement and had sent almost everyone in a flurry, as a surprise among the well-oiled routine that had begun to wear out on the most vibrant ones.

Scarlett had heard it with calm, nodding with a quietness that worried those who knew her, for they were unused to see her that lost in her thoughts. She had settled on a chair and waited on the front porch, while Suellen fluttered aimlessly in a way she thought very much ladylike, and Carreen leaned into Mother's embrace.

The gentleman in question rode up to them with a dignified air about him, clad in gray broadcloth with a frilled shirt adorned by a large black cravat with the head of Medusa on its pin. The sun burned on his pale blond hair like melting silver on his head.

He gave the reins to the little black boy and bowed slightly to the ladies, before stopping in front of Scarlett, as if struck for a moment.

There came a spark, yet it was difficult to know where it came from. For Ellen O'Hara, it was in the soft way Ashley Wilkes looked at her daughter, an almost melancholic longing at the change of time, yet a fascination for the beauty that had revealed oneself during his absence.

Rhett also noticed it and felt satisfied to see his work had quite the effect on someone that was recognized as a gentleman. He was about to tease Scarlett over her new conquest, when he saw a speculative gaze, that suddenly softened tremendously, leaving a luminous light that looked a little too much like hope and affection.

Certainly, she couldn't…?

She met his eyes for a moment and blinked, and he wanted to sigh in relief. There was a conquering, almost triumphant glint in her eyes, that disappeared quickly as soon as it was discovered.

No, no, certainly not, she couldn't admire that young man, too slim and dull, and grey and drowsy like his eyes. He knew her better than that.

But then he remembered her words, and it troubled him as she turned her attention back to the young man.

Ashley Wilkes was a poor match for her. She would see that. He would just have to be patient with her.

He would tease her about it, and it would all be alright in the best of worlds.

"So, you've grown up, Scarlett…" Whispered the young gentleman, his voice drawling on her name as if it was a song he was trying to train his tongue on.

She looked at him with her eyes that were still too bright and soft, opened her mouth lightly as if to tell a secret, before offering her hand to kiss.