The beginning of the end . . . 

London 

      Anticipation strummed through her, sharpening her senses.  She could almost hear the rhythmic pulsing of her surging blood.

      Tonight the prince and she would rendezvous.  She had waited five years for this moment and intended to savor every scintillating second of her evening.  Scandal would explode like Vesuvius erupting, scorching society.

      Katerina Garibaldi, the Contessa de Salerno, studied her image in the cheval mirror.  A feline smile of satisfaction touched her lips, lifting the corners of her mouth.  Excitement enhanced her beauty, her dark eyes gleaming like the priceless jewels she created.

      Two delicate diamond buckle pendants – her own creation – clipped the gauzy straps of her violet gown.  Diamond pins glittered in her black, upswept hairdo like stars sprinkled across the midnight sky.  She wore a diamond cuff-bracelet on her right arm, and diamond fan earrings dangled from her earlobes, precluding the need for a necklace.

      She wanted to dazzle the prince, not blind him.

      From somewhere behind her, Katerina heard the humming of Nonna Strega, the widow she'd brought from Naples.  The only other sound was the cicadas singing in the darkness of the garden below her window.

      Katerina placed a dot of perfume above her upper lip.  Inhaling her own jasmine scent heightened her awareness of herself when she stepped into society, a reminder to guard her expression and behavior and words.

      The kohl lining her eyelids lent her a dramatic aura.  Her gaze beckoned but never promised.

      A lady should look her best when consorting with a prince. Lord, she felt like a princess in those fairy tales she told her daughter each evening.

      Long, white gloves appeared in front of her.  Katerina looked from the gloves to Nonna Strega.  “No gloves tonight.”

      The older woman beamed with approval at Katerina. “Bella, la Contessa.”

      “Thank you, Nonna.”  Katerina smiled at her.  “We speak English in England.  Remember?”

      “Si.”

      Once the woman had gone, Katerina crossed the chamber and opened the armoire's doors.  She reached for the black, diamond-encrusted reticule.  After slipping its gold links handle onto her left arm, Katerina walked down the corridor.

      Her pace slowed as she neared her daughter's chamber.  Should she enter or not?  Seeing her daughter's sweet expression could change her plans for the evening, and she would never forgive herself if she missed this opportunity.

      Katerina lifted her head high and rehearsed her grand entrance by floating with practiced poise down the stairs to the foyer.  Her brother awaited her there, his dark gaze fixed on her graceful descent, but her sisters were nowhere in sight.

      Her brother shoved his hands in his trouser pockets.  “You are going through with this?”

      “Hektor, do not attempt to dissuade me.”

      He shrugged.  “Do what you must, Sister.”

      Katerina narrowed her dark, kohl-lined eyes on him.  Something was definitely amiss.  She had expected an argument but received indifference.

      The majordomo opened the door.  “Enjoy your evening, my lady.”

      “Thank you, Dudley.”

      Outside, Katerina paused before climbing into her coach.  The sultry July evening reminded her of Naples.  Returning to Italy would become impossible after tonight, regret at that tingeing her excitement.

      Inverary House on Park Lane was a scant few blocks from her home in Trevor Square.  Twenty minutes later, Katerina entered the duke's residence and climbed the stairs to the ballroom.

      She had arrived purposely late.  Her tardiness would whet the prince's desire.

      A wave of uncertainty washed over her.  There would be no returning to her old life once she went to the prince.

      Katerina had never felt so desperately alone, not even on that long-ago night that had brought her to this moment.  Her steps slowed.  The nearer the ballroom, the more her confidence waned.

      “Good evening, my lady,” the duke's majordomo greeted her.

      “Good evening, Tinker.”

      The man announced her arrival.  “The Contessa de Salerno.”

      Katerina scanned the ballroom before joining the elite throng.  She spotted her handsome quarry at the far end of the enormous chamber.

      Summoning her courage, Katerina walked into the crush of guests and wended her way slowly around the room.  She ignored the greetings from friends and acquaintances, her intense focus fixed on her man.  She did, however, spare a nod for her host and hostess like a young queen acknowledging her courtiers.

      “Your Highness?”

      The prince whirled around, the warmth of his relieved expression diminished by irritation.  “Good evening, my lady.” He bowed over her hand.  “I despaired of seeing you this evening.”

      “Tonight is ours.”  Her voice was a throaty purr.  “I brought you a gift.”

      His irritation vanished.  “One of your priceless gems, my lady?”

      Katerina opened her reticule and reached inside.  In a flash of movement, she drew a pistol and pointed it at his head.

      Several women screamed, drawing the crowd's attention.  Guests began backing away out of the line of fire.

      “What are you doing?”  The prince appeared confused and shocked and frightened.

      “Pulling this trigger will separate your royal head from your royal body,” Katerina answered.  Her smile was serene, but the hand holding the pistol shook like a palsy.

      “You cannot be serious.” His complexion had paled to a ghostly white.  “What have I ever done-?”

      “My name is Katerina Pavlova Garibaldi,” she interrupted, noting his stunned recognition.  “Justice has been delayed too long.  Regrettably, I cannot execute you three times for the three lives you stole.”

      “You do not understand,” the prince whined.

      “Silence,” Katherina snapped.  “Die like a man instead of a weasel.”

      Without warning, a masculine hand materialized from behind her, covering her hand on the pistol, but did not snatch it away.  A husky voice spoke, a voice she'd grown to love.  “Well-mannered ladies do not point pistols, darling.”

      Katerina kept her gaze on the prince and her hand on the pistol.  “The coward deserves to die for his crimes against my family.”

      “His Highness does deserve punishment,” the voice agreed, “but death by pistol is too quick and so messy.”

      “Do not deter me.”  Katerina steeled herself against her lover.  “My fingers itch to finish what he started five years ago.”

      “Do you love me enough to listen before executing the prince?” His question was a husky whisper against her ear.

      “Speak.”

      “Do you trust me enough to lower the pistol while I speak?”

      Katerina tightened her grip on the pistol, her finger on the trigger.  “No . . .”