Chapter 22“Meat pies? Ale? Blancmange?” Ana shook her head. “I thought this place was supposed to be luxurious,” she complained in a carrying voice.
Slade regarded the gorgeous icy blond from his seat on one of the comfortable sofas, where he sat with his feet up on an end table, scribbling in a large folio with a stub of a pencil. “If milady objects to the accommodations,” he drawled in a faux starchy voice, “she can seek employment elsewhere.”
“I can't do that, and you know it,” Ana shot back. “We have a contract, remember? I was only suggesting that it might be a good idea to consider a more interesting menu.”
“Because you know so much about food? Are you volunteering to cook for us, Miss Thomas?” he asked.
“Not at all,” she replied. “I don't know a saucepan from a salt cellar.”
“T
