Hello everyone, and thank you for your support!

Here is another chapter, brought to you sooner than usual, yet another turning part (with, er... one steamy moment that one may avoid by looking at the OoOo)

Well, I've tried. I hope it's not cringey. It's been so long since I've written that kind of scene, and I fear that I never really was good at it. Yet, I wanted to try.

There, I'm going back to sleep.

I hope you will enjoy!

Elise

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"Let down your guard, my dear, my very dear Scarlett… Let me take care of you…"

Rhett... Her heart leaped.

"Please open your eyes... Look at me..."

She laid on a bed of tender grass, caressed by the sunlight. The muslin of her dress was shivering with the fresh morning's breeze, and she was too. Yet, not from cold. She bit the inside of her lip. Her strength had left her, she knew it. She had held on for so long that it had become a burden that stuck her to the ground. No matter how many times she tried, she could not open her eyes, nor move a limb. Her thoughts were confused, filled with an emptiness that terrified her. And Rhett...

He was massaging her temples, his hands at each side of her face, kissing her brow with killing softness, and she knew if she could only open her eyes, she would see everything she had ever wanted. There was Tara and the smile of her father. There was the laughter, and all the love she had received. If only she could open them!

"There, my love… Give yourself to me… I give myself to you. You've been lonely for too long... Let go of your worries. Let them be mine. Open your eyes..."

She was feeling the touch of him in her hair, in her body, everywhere. It gave her strength, and she fought against slumber to obey him.

Yet, as she opened her eyes, her heart content, she was disappointed to see it had all been just a dream.

Before deciding it wasn't so very bad.

A wide smile came to her lips as she pushed the covers from her body and jumped out of the bed. She would make it. She knew it.

It was early morning. The morning of a very good day, warm and without a cloud. The sun had not yet totally awakened. It hid still behind the buildings, its fingers ardent on the roofs. Barely anyone on the street, and yet, she could hear the sounds of hooves and hard work.

She put on her stays and a light muslin dress. Melly and Randa would be back soon, after having passed the night at the hospital to cure the wounded. For the moment, she was alone in her room, alone with Wade who was beginning to awaken, and eyed her curiously as she paced and looked at each accessory, wondering what might put more into light her charms. She considered, pouted, turned to another, let out a little smile, before dismissing it.

Nothing would do. She desired to shine, not to sparkle.

Her mouth was full of pins as she parted her rebellious hair in two and tried to gather it as she wanted. Maybelle had come back from Richmond and had talked of a new hairstyle that was all the rage these days, and she wanted to try and see if it suited her.

She wanted to be pretty for Rhett tonight. She knew how sensitive he was to any change in fashion, especially in her. She wanted to see his eyes appraise her with contentment, and to be so bewitched by her allure he would not be able to think. She wanted him full of desire, unable to control himself. He was always too much in control.

The thought made her blush and brought haziness to her usually clear eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest and she berated herself with a mutinous smile for being so naughty.

She was bursting with exhilarating energy she could barely control.

I am crazy, she thought with a certain satisfaction as she looked at herself in the mirror. Perhaps even crazier than Melly !

"Do you think me pretty? Oh, I'm so impatient I swear I will burst with joy!" She uttered with excitement, her fingers busy and nervous. "Oh, Wade! Today is the day! Today, I'll make it right!"

The boy looked at her for a moment, as if surprised to see his mother with rosy cheeks and a genuine smile, before seeming to decide he liked it very much. His red lips opened to let out a happy laugh that filled her heart with fondness.

"Wade, darling!" She cooed.

"You think you will have it all, like always."

Startled, Scarlett opened her mouth and raised from the windowsill where she had finally settled, and the pins fell, some getting stuck in her dress. Suellen had opened the door quietly, and was leaning against the door, bright eyes gleaming with malice.

Her eldest sister scoffed and returned to her hair, before taking off the pins she had succeeded in putting. She brushed it slowly, shrugging. Well, she was not to drop her smile, with what she knew!

"Oh, hush, Suellen. I won't hear your cackling. I'm in no mood to tolerate your nastiness. I'm too happy to be mad at you."

"You're mad," Suellen continued nonetheless. "He'll never marry you. He didn't, the last time."

"He would have!" Scarlett froze, almost surprised by her outburst when she had thought the younger girl's words meant nothing at all. "Hadn't I…."

"Perhaps. But he never will. He's no man to marry. He doesn't even have a name to offer, I've heard his brother say so, and he certainly did not comment on it! He doesn't have any legacy to give you, nor your son! If he wanted to marry you, he would have done so long ago!"

"Just like your Mr. Kennedy, perhaps?"

Suellen flustered. Then went back to the fight. There was a desperate urgency in her voice like an animal cornered and trapped.

"You already gave yourself like a whore. Everything went your way. But if you do now you won't be able to. No one would marry you quick enough. He'll never respect you. You're his whore. He'll always treat you like a whore."

Scarlett reddened and was about to riposte when she heard the noise downstairs. Randa and Melly were home. She left the room, happy to find an escape to Suellen and her annoying pestering.

"Oh, Randa, I feel so mortified! And yet, if she cares for the wounded, perhaps that Belle Watling is not just a bad woman... And yet...!"

"You'll get over it, Melly. Now, about that thing..."

"Oh, no, we mustn't tell her!"

"We certainly should. She will hear of it anyway, and we might not be able to support her when it happens."

"No, we won't. She would be so sad... She must not know. It's for her..."

"Happiness?" Scarlett heard Randa scoffing. "Scarlett doesn't need protection. She's not a sweet little thing one ought to protect. She needs to know she's being cheated on before it's too late"

"She's my sister. Perhaps not by blood, but by heart, and through her marriage to Charles. I shall not have her unhappy under my roof."

"But under other roofs, it would be alright?"

"Melly?"

Melly startled, so pale as she turned to Scarlett, and it intrigued her. A cold suspicion came to her as the petite woman blinked, then attempted a shaky smile. She went down the stairs and narrowed her eyes, yet almost afraid of what she might find.

Belle Watling, she had heard...

"Oh, Scarlett!"

One hand was quickly put behind her back, the other reaching for her, and Randa scowled. Her eyes rolling in irritation, Suellen stepped forward.

"Oh, enough!" She took the handkerchief swiftly from Melly's hand and claimed it with a self-satisfied smile, her voice shaking slightly however as she determined what had been hidden. A man's handkerchief, and as it unfolded, some coins fell and clung in the room. "R.K.B. Isn't it your dear Mr. Butler, sister? And how disgusting it smells!"

She handed it with a final triumph to Scarlett, who almost let it go, so heavy it seemed. She reddened, then paled.

"Who..." She mumbled. "Who..." She raised her eyes, flashing eyes, to her friends. "This... This..."

The handkerchief was soiled and highly perfumed, but under that cheap perfume of roses that stang the nose, there was his scent, and she felt disgusted by the marriage of them.

He had... With her? With that woman? The image went to her mind, and she felt faint.

Suellen looked at her with mean little eyes, putting the handkerchief more securely in her palm and closing the fingers around it.

"See ? This will never happen."

Little Scarlett? By God, not a chance. She is a piece in a game of chess that I started, and I certainly like to play with her. But I am neither a marrying man, nor a fool to get lost in my own game.

When had she heard that? It had seemed so long ago...

She blinked, stricken. She tried to keep her smile, but it had become a shaking grimace rendered pitiful by the pleading in her eyes.

"Randa… you think that too…"

"Scarlett…" Randa began, pained, before sighing. Her gaze was weary suddenly, and bitter, unlike that of the impertinent girl she usually was. "I'm your friend. I won't mash my words. I never did with you. I know I've hurt you, and I shouldn't have. I've learned from it. But I know you see it as well. You love him, that's clear as still water. He's a bad man. That, we know since the beginning. You knew about that woman's existence. And now with that handkerchief…. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

The auburn-haired lady walked toward her, quietly, and put a firm hand over hers.

"You can hope for marriage. And perhaps it will happen. However, you know how he is. You know he doesn't respect anything. He comes and goes out of your life, and you can never be sure of him. You told me so. Would you still respect yourself if you accepted him nevertheless?"

Scarlett took back her hand, stricken by the realization. It sank in like a dagger piercing her heart.

She had been wrong. She had been so completely wrong! She had thought she had seen... She had thought she had seen love in his eyes, but how could it, if he were still with that woman? How could he? And with Wade...

The thought of Wade, laughing in his bed, filled her with distress.

Would he respect her when he became a man? Could anyone respect a fool?

Could she?

She turned away. Her fist clenched, feeling the rest of the coins hard under the fabric of the handkerchief.

"I need to go…" She whispered.

"Scarlett!" Melly cried.

"Cheyenne," she called with a distressed, yet firmer voice. And with that firmness came a strange feeling, as if she was still dreaming. "We're leaving. Pack our things."

"Scarlett… please, wait a little, there must be a misunderstanding… Scarlett !" Melanie pleaded. Her mouth trembled a little, before it settled on a very determinate expression, a frown marring her usually placid features. "I'll go with you!"

"No!"

She wanted to be alone. She needed to go home. She needed to run down to the road of Tara, to see the asymmetrical big house with its whitewashed front. She needed to see Mammy and cry in her arms. She needed to see Pa, who would berate her fondly for worrying over such silly things….

Or would he?

Great balls of fire, she would have cried for the merest pat of her mother's hand !

"No," She said more calmly. "No. I'll go alone, with my son. I need to go. Home." I need to lick my wounds. I need to run and scream. I can't... I can't stay.

Randa had gathered Melly in her arms to prevent another attempt and nodded in understanding.

"Go then. Take a train and go to Tara. But then come back when you are strong. I… We need you strong."

A sting. She was startled, dumbfounded, and nodded without understanding it all. It seemed a cloud had taken over her mind, and she was so out of herself she could not feel anything else.

Need…

I need to go, she thought, she repeated. She turned to the hall, unwilling to go back yet to her room, where Wade still waited. Her eyes widened in pain.

"I need to go," She repeated.

"Let her. She'll come back when she calms down", Randa said calmly, and there was a soft rustling indicating that she had a hold on Melly's cloth to prevent her from attempting anything.

"But..." Melly protested feebly.

"A fresh air would do her good. Before her travel."

"Yes, it would," Scarlett mumbled. "I... I'll go to the hospital, to tell Mrs. Meade I'm leaving."

Her steps were heavy as she walked toward the entrance, her fingers clumsy as she fumbled through the clothes, searching for her pelisse. Though Georgia's summer was almost unbearable, she felt cold, almost naked. She settled for one of Melly's sober capes, made of black wool, thick and solid. An envelope. Yes, she needed that.

"Not that much of a fresh air," Suellen's sad sneer came to her ears.

"Susan Elinor..." She heard Melanie reply with an almost chilly voice, and could imagine her, her petite frame with joined hands, so unused to quarrels and bitterness, as she attempted to be firm. "You may be Scarlett's sister, and I-I know you're unhappy. What for, I know not. B-but I won't tolerate you being mean to her. Consider this a warning. I'm afraid... I'm afraid I would not be able to let you stay here if you can't be nice."

"What? She is the one doing wrong, and I should be punished?" Suellen cried. "Such berating is not necessary, I'm going home!."

"No, you'll stay," Randa finally intervened, steely. "Scarlett needs her rest. You better be sorry when she comes back." A pause was observed, and Scarlett kept still, perplexed. She knew she should have been glad of such remonstrance. And yet, she felt almost sorry for her sister. She felt too empty to feel sorry for herself. "Are you happy now, Suellen? Does it make you proud of yourself for behaving like a petty little ninny? How does it serve you to do this? Or are you so weak of mind that you can't live without comparing yourself to her? You can have then your Mr. Kennedy, but would it even be enough for you? Would you be satisfied? I think not. Even down, she would always be ahead of you."

Another time, she would have been glad to be thus defended. But not today. Scarlett sighed, and almost felt herself falling with it. The handkerchief was still in her hand, heavy, and she put it in her sash.

She clasped the ends of the cape together and drew the hood over her head. She could not bear to be seen. Shame and disappointment clang to her like cold sweat, and she felt as if everyone was looking at her. Her hand ached against the hard wood as she turned the knob and left. And she walked. And walked. Her surroundings seemed strange, and so very gray. But she kept walking.

She had said she would go to the hospital. And yet, it was not the hospital she could see now. The grand structure of the National Hotel stood like a giant in front of her. A giant she could not ignore.

There, she knew what she ought to do.

Words came to her mind cold as a winter's wind. They were rational, worthy of a lady. How ironical. They could not be refuted. They could not be swayed. Clear cut words that would lead to the final farewell. Then, she would find peace. Then, she would go home.

Home. To the red hills of Tara, where she could run down the road to the house. It had been so long... She needed to go...

Her lids fell slightly, moisture veiling her eyes. Tara... Yes, she needed to go to Tara.

Her voice was croaky as she demanded where Rhett's room was. Her face was still hidden, she knew, but it didn't seem to perplex the employee. She could almost sense the amusement from him.

He must be used to women asking after him, she thought, and felt nothing of it. It must not be something unusual... Something, some bitterness tried to reach her heart, but she was too far away to feel anything but the cold. So she continued walking. She continued climbing up the stairs, her mules producing a deaf sound against the thick velvet carpets. And then, finally, she was there, like so long ago. At his door, waiting. She felt so very heavy her arms hung at her side, useless. It took her some time before she could find the strength to knock.

As the door opened, she heard a deep yawn, tugging at her heart. She smelt the clean, musky scent of his soap, and it teased her nostrils for a moment. A pause.

"Scarlett!"

A chuckle, still thick from sleep, and with a little tinge that seemed almost as if he was pleased.

She kept her head down as he made her enter and closed the door behind her. Yet, her eyes could not help but notice that he was but half-clad, his shirt still hanging loosely, so loose and thin she could see his chest hair, and the bronze of his skin.

"My little impatient. I told you you would..."

Her eyes raised to the gleam of his white teeth, shining so brightly at her in a wide grin.

Just as swiftly as her soul had separated itself from her body, it went back to her with thunderous violence, and her body ached from the shock of it.

She slapped him.

The world froze, and she was able to see his big frame wavering from her assault. Her eyes flashed, alive and vicious.

Thus struck, he stood still for a moment, his hand raising to graze the angry red mark that was growing on his skin.

"What in the devil's name…" He whispered, bewildered.

"I'm leaving," She uttered coldly. "You shall not see me again."

Her shoulders tensed as he looked at her like he would have a strange animal. His finger caressed his cheek thoughtfully. Soon, too soon, he was gaining back some sense of control. She began to tremble.

"Scarlett..."

Her fist clenched in her sash. It gripped what it hid inside, and red covered her vision.

The handkerchief was thrown to his chest, barely brushing him, and his eyes widened as they followed its pathetic fall.

"Go! Go! Go!" She cried madly. "Leave me alone and... and... go to her!"

Yet, even her madness was powerless against him as he gathered her swiftly against him, his hard muscles pressing her, and tried to whisper soft, urgent things to her ears. The cape had unclasped with the violence of their struggle, and her hair fell softly down her shoulders.

"You're not making sense… Listen to me !"

"You're not making sense yourself! Release me!"

"Damn you !" He roared, shaking her lightly. "One cannot stay sane with you!"

Tears were flowing down her cheeks as she continued shaking her head.

"You cad, scoundrel, varmint, snake….you… you… old satyr! She continued, not even knowing what she was saying except that they were words that hurt, and she wanted to hurt him as much as she was hurt by him. Yet, when she felt him flinch, no satisfaction was brought to her by this. She barely felt it, hysterical against his body, the body of a man who would never be hers. "Oh, why don't you go ? Let me go, let us all go!"

"No!"

She was hitting his chest with her fists, and suddenly, she did not know how, his lips were on her, hot and urgent, and she was holding on to him with the despair of a drowning woman on a lifebuoy.

Oh, it was unfair how she melted in his arms, as if she were all liquid and no bones !

OoOo

Her fists clenched on his collar, and she ripped it, her nails scratching him in the process. He hissed. This gave her more solidity, and she bit him. His embrace hardened and he stared at her, and she glared back.

He put her swiftly on his shoulder and she kicked and hit, raging in outrage. Her fists hurt against the hard muscles, for her hands had never been used for fighting. He threw her to the bed, and before she could even rise, he was on her. His hands trapped her wrists, his legs held hers to the bed, yet she still tried to get at him.

"Won't you stop, you fury?"

"I won't, I won't!"

And she kissed him. She kissed him, sucking the breath out of him with a swift triumph, and pushing his lips with her tongue. He groaned, and allowed her in, drinking her with a thirst that made her gasp and break.

"Love me," He whispered, lips against lips, pleading, making her shiver with need, before the plead became an order. "Love me!"

He took her again in a frenzied kiss, and before she could even reply, add her own madness to his, his mouth went down to her chin, her neck, and then her collarbone, where he lingered to draw the feature with his tongue.

He kissed her on her breast, and she felt his warmth through her bodice, his wetness sticking the fabric to her flesh. Goosebumps marred it, and her body arched, treacherously giving her in. She sighed, wanting more, yet unwilling to admit it to him.

One by one, he took out the buttons, and greedily caressed each inch out. She let out a soft whine, her hands, now freed, shakily making their way from his powerful biceps to his shoulders, and she shuddered as she felt the tension in his muscles. Fingers climbed up the nape and nestled in the hair, mussing them up in an attempt to get a grip.

She felt the shreds of her stays, and something hot and wild boiled in her belly as her body jumped at his brutality. It had been so long since she had had that feeling… Too long.

"Sweet… my sweet …"

Sweet was not the word she would have used. Hellish. Infuriating. To lose completely her senses to him, to be the slave of him! She could not bear it! She should not!

And yet... She reveled in it. He humbled her, revered her. He could use her wrong, and she would still want more, she thought. She was revealed to him now, and she could see him look at her, with that raw pit of fire that gleamed through his eyes.

"I could eat you…" She heard him mumble. "I will!"

She would probably let him.

He licked her navel, and she cried out. He put his hands on her breasts, and she felt them hardening, melting under his grip.

He kissed the inside of her thighs, and the skin felt so thin. She stretched luxuriant, her toes curling with pleasure, as she let out a gasp.

"My own, mine…" He purred. "Look at you, all undone and messy like a cat in heat… Oh, but this one cat has only one mate, doesn't she ? She's crying for me…"

What was he saying? She could not comprehend it, could not grasp the meaning of it at all. Only she knew his eyes were devouring her, and she would die if he didn't... If he didn't..!

His voice, husky and deep, vibrated against her, and she vibrated as well, lost in her senses, drowning in the heat of his darkness. His hands were all over her, and he was doing things she could not quite process, but it felt good, and she wanted more. She wanted the pressure of his lips everywhere, wanted to be pressed against him until their skins became one.

"You thought you could escape me?" He roared, voice thick with desire. "God, your body is calling for mine ! Can't you be so foolish ? Leave, you say? I will not!"

Oh, couldn't he stop talking?

"Won't you shut your mouth and kiss me ?!" She hissed, gripping the end of his shirt with tight, white first. The delicate fabric ripped, and brought him closer to her, just as she wanted.

He glared at her, his eyes a pit of burning coals, feral, that sent another wave of heat over her body so unbearable she trembled all over.

"Make me ! Kiss me again…"

Yet, he did not give her the time to, for he rose from his spot and his mouth swiftly covered hers, pushed her and licked greedily. She moaned and tasted him, and he pressed her against him, just as she wanted to be pressed. A hiccup left her as she realized the pressure of his manhood. She had been so troubled by her own folly she had not realized it had been liberated. She felt him slide down easily the way of her opening, hard yet soft at the same time, and God, she wanted him. She wanted him so much!

His voice trembled.

"Let me…. By God, let me…"

Her legs crossed over his powerful thighs, the rhythm of her heart deafening.

"Rhett... I want... I want...!"

They were both panting, grasping at each other, hungry, angry, desperate for the merest touch, the merest caress. His fingers grazed her open lips, and she felt them shaking as he stared at them with a thirst he could not seem to quench.

"You've had it coming for you for so long, Scarlett... Of all the women… did you think you could resist me for so long? It's madness you're driving men into, you hear it? Madness!"

"Rhett…!"

"Darling!" He gave in, crushing their foreheads together. "You shall not want... You shall get . Let me give it to you…. If you... If you... God, let me give you everything…"

They were fur against fur, scratching each other's souls, and as he slid and pushed against her, she opened herself and led him harder in, and her body arched in welcoming.

They were making love like two animals craving for each other's skin, their fingers clawing, clutching, digging on the flesh, drawing blood. They were both fighting for dominance, neither accepting defeat when victory was at hand. No reason would have stopped them. No outrage. It was beastly, and right, and irresistible.

She gave in first. Love shattered her with the primal joy of belonging, belonging with the one that held her heart.

"I have you now," he growled. "I have you…"

She bit his shoulder, the taste of salt and tobacco filling her mouth as he found his release. Compelled, she licked the red, angry bruise. She felt the warmth of his eyes on her as she did.

He cupped her face and gave her one last trembling kiss, with a tenderness she did not believe in.

"Here, you'll stay here… I own you…"

OoOo

He embraced her fiercely, and she rubbed her nose against the hollow of his throat. She felt his mouth pressed on the top of her head, moving in whispered, urgent words she could not catch, so softly were they uttered.

His breathing went ragged for a moment as he squeezed her harder against him, his nose nuzzling in her hair. She clutched at his chest hair and moaned lightly. From his mouth came soothing mumblings, and she relaxed, swayed by the rise and fall of his ribcage. And then, it quietened. He was asleep. Her eyes fluttered, desirous to join him. Her heart calmed down, following his rhythm. And yet... And yet... There was something she had settled to do. Something...

Go, a soft voice seemed to whisper in her ear. Go...

Now, why would she go? She wondered with a confused, happy mind. She was quite alright here. She belonged here.

She kissed his chest, where she could feel his heart the most. It pulsated quickly, and she imagined it like a little bird angry for release. She could never hold it. He would always escape her embrace as he wished, fly away from her, and be gone with the wind.

Or perhaps not? She had so wanted to believe… and now that hope was crumbling under her feet.

I ache for you, she thought.

He was the love of her life just as much as he was its pain. But it was love all the same.

Your love, the voice, whispered. But his? For all of his lust, she could not say it was love, not after knowing what she did. And yet, she had been so sure...

She breathed his scent and smiled, content, before she remembered where she had smelled it as well. She froze, her heart stopping for a moment. She closed her eyes, but the image would not leave her. She shook her head, but it stayed still.

Perhaps if she took a little glass of water...

She rose like a dream from the bed, and softly put her clothes back, the fabric hard on her bruised body. Bruised, but satiated.

She poured herself a glass, and her mind cleared. She faltered. What had she done?

You gave yourself like a whore , Suellen's voice rang. A whore ...

A whore, just like Belle Watling...

I own you , he had said. I own you...

You knew it, you knew it...

Would you still respect yourself if you accepted him nonetheless?

She almost fell to her knees, the glass shaking in her losing grip. Trembling, she put it back on the table, fearing it might fall and wake him.

He would never respect her again, if he ever had. Suellen, for all her nastiness, was right about that, and she had seen the truth of it as it was uttered, for Suellen had never been imaginative enough to make up her own accusations. What she said was what she heard, and what she saw, with a mean, exaggerated strike because she could not help it.

But that wasn't the worst thing. The worst thing was she would never respect herself again if she stayed, just to be trampled by him. Randa was right about it as well. It was either Rhett, or herself, and she was determined she would not be destroyed by him.

The first time had been a dream with softness and longing, a desperate tenderness she had clung to despite not knowing what exactly was going on, except that it was warm and irresistible, and she was with him. She had awakened with the afterglow of love, in a bed of cotton with the same peace in her heart as she had now. She felt it was right. And yet, as she had turned to face him, the only thing she could cling to was his mantle.

She had been left, alone.

She clenched her fists.

The first time, he had taken with him Pa's spirit. She would be damned if he managed to finally take hers.

And yet, she had promised something, and it burdened her. She had to let it go, or else it would poison her. She had to.

"I love you", she said to the room, clearly, yet without looking at him. If she looked at him, she would be lost. "There, I said it."

The words were met by silence. Not that she expected any reply.

Now, she would leave him.

She left his handkerchief on his nightstand. In her sash, she had picked up the money that had fallen, and she was tempted to put it back there, for him to discover when he woke up. But she knew already such was not her way of doing things. She was cruel, like him, but she did not suggest.

He stirred at the other side of the bed, and she felt his move as if it was her own. But she kept going. The way home was long and harsh, and she felt the cold wash over her.