Chapter 9
Colette Sinclair marched around the head of the massive mahogany table, her fair, rosy skin flushed an ugly, mottled red. The delicate, elegant warmth of the room was completely shattered by her erratic, violent energy. She bypassed Declan entirely, marching straight toward the elderly woman sitting comfortably in her velvet chair.
Ruth looked up from her dessert plate, her eyes widening in surprise as the younger woman loomed over her.
“You think you belong here, don't you?” Colette hissed, her voice a venomous, furious whisper that carried clearly over the quiet hum of the auctioneer. She leaned down, her diamond earrings swinging aggressively. “You are nothing but a glorified beggar. A charity case pulling on the heartstrings of a man who pities you.”
Ruth maintained her quiet dignity, though her hands trembled slightly as she placed her silver spoon down onto the gold-rimmed porcelain.
“Did he not invite me?” Ruth asked gently, refusing to rise to the bait.
“He invited a ghost!” Colette spat, her controlling temperament completely unspooled. She turned her vicious glare toward Willa, who had stepped forward protectively. “And you! You think because you have a pretty face that you can whisper in his ear? You are a servant! You are dirt beneath my shoes!”
The surrounding guests gasped, the final remnants of their polite facade crumbling.
Declan stood up.
The movement was slow, deliberate, and utterly terrifying. The sheer, masculine power of his broad shoulders seemed to block out the light from the tiered crystal chandeliers. He did not rush. He stepped around his chair, his polished leather shoes silent on the rug, until he stood directly behind Colette.
“Did you just threaten a guest at my table?” Declan asked.
His voice was a low, seismic rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. Colette froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The manic, furious energy drained from her body instantly, replaced by a cold, paralyzing terror. She turned around slowly to face him.
“Declan, they are disrespecting me,” Colette pleaded, tears of pure desperation welling in her eyes. “I am your fiancée! I am going to be your wife! She is a nobody!”
Declan stared down at her. His cold, observant eyes stripped away her sculpted gown, her diamonds, and her high-society pedigree, leaving nothing but a small, cruel, terrified woman.
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“Have you mistaken a ring for a crown?” Declan asked.
Colette gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, tears finally spilling over her cheeks as the absolute, crushing reality of his words destroyed her completely.
