Disclaimer: I don't own the situations or characters portrayed herein. I'm just playing with them for a while.

The Affair at Bromfield Hall

This was so very much the last time he would take her abroad with him.

First a sex scandal. Then a murder attempt. Then another, more grisly, murder attempt.

If this was how life was going to be with her as his partner, he was going to have to stay firmly on US soil.

And now she was insisting on coming back with him to that murder house, and he couldn't help but be dismayed at the soundness of her reasons.

"I'm part of your cover. If I don't go with you, how will you explain it?"

"All right. Strictly as part of my cover, just background."

"Right. 'Window dressing'."

He'd really hurt her with that, hadn't he? Her first mission as his partner, and he'd relegated her to the background and insulted her intelligence. He never could find the right words with her.

"Aw, come on, Amanda, I didn't mean that the way that it sounded, you know that."

"Oh, hush, I know you didn't mean it. I know you didn't mean it. It's all right."

But it wasn't all right; it was all wrong. And even if she knew he hadn't meant it like that, he couldn't expect her to keep being unbothered by his thoughtless words forever.

"I think it's Lady Bromfield," she went on, and he lost his train of thought entirely.

"Lady Bromfield?" That little mouse of a woman?

"Mmm-hmm."

"No. She's not strong enough to power that pike through the hedge."

"Well no, I don't think she actually did it. But I think she's behind it. I just don't trust her."

He thought of Eva, and Valerie Tucker, and he knew that she tended to read women well. Certainly better than he did. He had to approach this cautiously.

"I don't know what makes me ask this, but, why don't you trust her?"

"It's a feeling."

That didn't help much. An agent needed facts.

"Oh, that solid, huh?"

"I don't think she loves her husband."

What in the world?

"Amanda, she's been married to him for twelve years! She's stood by him through this whole scandal—"

And what was love, really, if not faithfulness?

"That's very nice! But I don't think she loves him."

But what was love, if not remaining with your partner through it all? He knew the wedding vows - had gone through the motions so many times as a cover.

To love. Honor. Cherish. For better or worse. For richer - definitely where Lady Bromfield stood - or poorer.

A woman didn't stay with a man for twelve years without loving him.

Look at his own romantic history. No one had stayed, because no one had loved him.

"Amanda, no."

Her voice wasn't soft, per se, but it was incredibly gentle. "Lee. There's just something about the way that she looks at him. There's nothing in her face when she looks at him. She just doesn't look like she loves him!"

So how did a woman look, when she looked at the man she did love?

He scoffed a little, realizing suddenly that he probably didn't know that look, because he'd never been on the receiving end.

"There's nothing in her eyes! And they never touch each other, have you ever seen them hold hands—"

Well, no. But do the English, and especially Lady Bromfield, even know that hand-holding is an option? Somehow I doubt it.

"—or have you ever seen him put his arm around her—"

She looped her arm through the air in front of him.

No, now that he thought about it, the limited physical affection he did see at Bromfield Hall was initiated by Lord Bromfield but not reciprocated.

"You know, people who care about each other, you know, they wanna be —"

What on earth was she doing?! Her hands were on his, and she was practically caressing them, not just touching, and his body was suddenly alight with tingling electricity.

"— close to each other, and —"

He was keenly aware of the scent of her hair, and painfully aware of the softness of her hands, and who could have foretold that dancing her fingers over his wrists would cause his brain to apparently overheat and just short-circuit?

"— and they ... ah—"

Her voice, so soft, so gentle, trailed off.

His brain kicked back into gear, despite her hands still touching his.

Had he not been doing this very "touching" thing for months, now? Reaching for the small of her back to guide her. Holding her so close in Munich as they descended the stairs, discussing Haddy Kemp. Holding her arm, reaching for her hand. Leaning into her, leaning toward her. Starting out touching her back with one hand and switching hands when they began to walk, but never really letting go of her.

He felt a little unnerved, to find out that he had already, unconsciously, been doing all this all along.

He raised his eyes from their joined hands, and met her eyes. He could see the shift in her expression — the moment she realized that her touch had affected him deeply.

She let go of his hands, suddenly, and turned to the river.

Her voice was unsure now. "She doesn't touch him."

She had been right about Eva. She had been right about Mrs. Tucker. She had even been right about him.

He did care about her, and even though he wasn't good at telling her that, his hands had known what to do. There were many kinds of love, and while he didn't know which kind it was, he knew that he really did love her.

He stammered a little, then fell back on his old, impersonal manner.

"You have some fascinating theories."

Her ears were redder than he had ever seen them.

"Well, they're..."

Her head turned, and their eyes met, and she lost the will to argue. She shook her head and smiled a little, but it wasn't her usual open smile.

"Well," she said, "we can stay here all day, or we can go back..."

He would have loved to stay here all day. But they had a case to solve, and national security to tighten.

He laughed a little, wondering when staying by the river with Amanda had become more appealing than doing his job. "Yeah... Yeah, we'd better go. Come on."

His hand instinctively found its accustomed spot to guide her, but she pulled away a little.

To his surprise, the gesture didn't hurt or alarm him. She would know, with that hand on the small of her back, that he wasn't afraid to keep reaching for her or touching her, even after their realizations.

Let her know by his touch that he cared about her. Lord knows I'm terrible at telling her with words.