There was a bowl of ginger soup on the cabinet beside.
The ginger soup was simmered thickly, emitting a pungent, nose-stinging aroma.
She had been soaked by the rain for so long that there wasn't a single dry spot on her body; the wet clothes had clung to her for so long that the cold had seeped into her very core.
Ginger soup could ward off the cold.
She was still unconscious, and Matthew Saxon carefully propped her up, putting a soft cushion behind her, gently supporting the back of her head with one hand while scooping a spoonful of ginger soup with the other, blowing on it before bringing it to her lips.
He had never served any woman like this before.
Whether it was helping her sit up or feeding her ginger soup, both actions seemed awkward and even a bit clumsy.
The second young master of the Saxon Family, who lived a pampered life, was always the one being served by others; when did he ever have the chance to serve anyone himself?
