Evidently, the layman clergy performed rituals too. She cast her eyes about the congregation, but everyone around her had closed their eyes—everyone except Thierry. Thierry’s big hazel eyes had latched onto her.

“Richard Taylor Pressley-Coombes . . .” Jack’s voice came through the speaker system.

Elise’s breath caught in her throat, and her eyes burned. Taylor. The surname she had chosen for herself when she had dropped her title. Jack truly had named his baby after her. No one had ever held her in such high regard, certainly not her family. To them, she was an oddity, like the albino peahen set among the more revered and colorful peacocks. Unbidden moisture pooled in the corners of her eyes, then trickled down her cheek. She swiped it away hastily.

Elise sniffed again. No one in her family cried; it was a sign of weakness and certainly not an asset for an MI6 agent. Thierry scooted down the pew and sat beside her. Tentatively, she patted Elise’s hand in a gesture so sweet that Elise completely broke down, her tears flowing in earnest.

Och. What was wrong with her? For some idiotic reason, Baby Richie’s christening had turned her into a weeping buffoon. She never cried, not even when she had attended her former partner’s funeral—his death the direct result of Anders Gilmont.

She pushed aside the unpleasant emotions the criminal’s name conjured.

The christening concluded, and the men returned to their seats.

Gillian glanced down their pew and caught sight of Elise’s dripping face. She dove into her nappy bag, dug out a packet of tissues, and passed them to Elise.

“Thank you,” Elise whispered.

Thierry opened her mouth to ask her a question, but Gillian forestalled her. “Thierry, would you like a stick of gum?”

Thierry’s head snapped in her mother’s direction, and her honey-blonde head bobbed up and down.

“If you pay attention during the service, I’ll let you hold Richie when we get home,” Gillian said after she had offered her the stick of gum.

Thierry unwrapped the gum, popped the piece inside her mouth, and dutifully faced forward, her small legs swinging back and forth.

During the service, Gillian left to calm her fussy baby. So Thierry snuggled against Elise’s side and toyed with her bracelet. Elise’s breath hitched, and she sat like an over-coiled spring ready to pop from its restraints.

Why had the child latched onto her? She hadn’t done anything to earn Thierry’s regard—far from it. Since her arrival, she had done her best to steer clear of Jack’s children. Every time she looked at them, the doctor’s words echoed inside her head. Sterilization. No children. Ever.