Scarlett would claw him. Nothing but the sight of blood upon Rhett’s dark face would ease this pain in her heart.
She lunged for him, swift as a cat, but with a light startled movement, he sidestepped, throwing up his arm to ward her off.
She was standing on the edge of the freshly waxed top step, and as her arm with the whole weight of her body behind it, struck his out-thrust arm, she lost her balance.
She made a wild clutch for the newel post and missed it. She went down the stairs backwards, feeling a sickening dart of pain in her ribs as she landed.
And, too dazed to catch herself, she rolled over and over to the bottom of the flight.
Struggling for her breath, which had been knocked from her lungs, Scarlett was in such shock she did not immediately notice the critical injury to her body.
The drumming sound of blood surging through her veins in a heavily pulsing heartbeat was overpowering as she lay motionless on her side, her right temple resting against the soft carpet.
With determined effort, Scarlett attempted to piece together the happenings of the previous moments and ignore the awful pounding in her head.
What had just happened? Surely, this situation was not real. It couldn’t be. Just moments ago she had been holding her dearest daughter, Bonnie, in her arms.
She had been nervously anticipating a reunion with her husband and had been anxious to inform him of the happy news of her pregnancy.
The conversation certainly had not gone as planned, and had turned downright ugly, but how could this be the result? How could it have gone this wrong?
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