"Devil take it, Kaiba! She won't even see me!"

Frowning at the glaring sunlight that invaded his study with Devlin's abrupt arrival, Seto regarded the duke with a less-than-sympathetic eye. His head ached like the devil from the brandy from the night before. He supposed it was a just punishment for drinking alone in his study instead of accompanying Mokuba to Lady Harwood's musicale, but the mere thought of enduring her three daughters tuneless playing had driven to him to drink.

He'd managed to avoid Mokuba and the disapproving frown he knew he'd see, only to be faced with Devlin—who was much too loud for any hour, let alone one before noon. Still, the man was a friend, as far as that went, and one did not turn away a duke that turned up on one's doorstep, even as flippant a duke as Ryuji Otogi, eighth Duke of Devlin.

"Lost your touch with the ladies?" Seto raised a brow as Devlin flopped glumly into a claret leather wing chair. "I would hardly have thought it possible."

"She actually had her man turn me away," Devlin grimaced. "Me! Denied admittance like some schoolboy after his first opera."

Seto shook his head—an unwise move that produced a blinding spasm of pain. "Has she found another protector, then?"

"No," Devlin muttered, "she's just still in the boughs after those earrings I gave her. How was I to know she thinks pearls are unlucky." He raked a hand through his black hair—unfashionably long, it gave him the rakish air of a pirate. "I'll never turn her up sweet without some new gewgaw. You have to help me, Kaiba."

Seto frowned, unable to understand how any man to allow a woman to reduce him to such a state. "Surely a mere opera dancer isn't worth going to such lengths over. There must be dozens of demimondaines who'd grovel over the prospect of gaining your patronage, Devlin. Can't you find anyone else to catch your eye?"

Devlin muttered something profane under his breath. "I should have known you'd never understand," he growled. "But I don't want just any willing woman. I want Vivian, damnit! But she won't see me!"

"Calm yourself, man." Seto rose and moved to a small table to pour out two glasses from a crystal decanter—a decanter that had held significantly more last night. "Drown your sorrows like a man" he commanded.

Devlin took the proffered glass with less than good grace. "It's easy for you to say." He gulped down a mouthful of brandy. "I doubt any of the fairer sex has ever turned you away her dressing room door." He gestured at Seto with the hand that was not gripping the glass. "Just look at you! You wear Weston's finest—without padding, of course—with the effortless assurance of royalty. Your cravat is tied so intricately no one could possibly mimic it. And those boots are from St. James's Street, or I am King George."

Seto glanced down at his burnished black leather Hessians and shrugged. He had never bothered much about fashion, leaving such matters to his valet, Roland. "So?"

Devlin made a sound of disgust. "Looks, wealth, and the title. What woman could resist?"

"You're the one with the dukedom, Devlin," Seto pointed out. The Earls of Kaiba might have vast holdings, but dukes outranked everyone besides the royals themselves. Besides, Devlin could trace his bloodlines back to the Conqueror himself. As for Seto's own ancestry…

Devlin scoffed. "Pretty titles aren't much good when all your blunt is tied up in damn farming schemes."

Seto raised an eyebrow. Everyone knew Devlin's father had run his estates into the ground, but Seto would wager the gaming tables had as much to do with Devlin's empty pockets as his attempts to restore his lands to prosperity. That, and his propensity to lavish expensive gifts on his mistresses, the latest of whom was this Vivian creature.

Devlin swallowed down the rest of his brandy. "She only likes green stones," he said mournfully. "Emeralds, she wants. Bloody emeralds." He cast a longing look at the decanter, but Seto did not refill his glass. There was barely any of his best brandy left as it was.

"Just get her some bits of green paste. She won't know the difference." Seto tossed off his own drink in a long gulp.

"She'll know," Devlin muttered darkly. "Believe me. And if I try to bamboozle her like that, she'll never give me the time of day again. Probably take that blasted Sinclair into her bed. He's been sniffing around her for weeks."

Seto scoffed. "She won't know. How could she? She's an opera dancer, not a jeweler. You're too easily taken in by these women, Devlin. It's all flash and show with them all."

Devlin shook his head morosely, and then reached for the decanter, apparently too in need of drink to worry about manners. Seto, however, didn't stop him, too caught up in an all-too- familiar train of thought. "It's no different than anyone else, really. The courtesan paints herself with rouge, the debutante with petty accomplishments. The man about town is as rich as Midas—until his creditors catch up to him. No one bothers to look beneath the surface."

"I don't know about that," said Devlin. "Those old cats in Almack's can scratch out a scandal even if its buried, and I wouldn't trust the sharp eyes of those matchmaking mamas to be distracted by a bit of flash." He shuddered. Devlin couldn't attend any kind of respectable entertainment without at least one or two of those mamas thrusting their marriageable daughters at him.

Seto chuckled mirthlessly. "You make my point for me, Devlin. Why does the ton dangle their daughters after you? A title. They see the dukedom, and they look no further."

"A bit harsh, don't you think?" muttered Devlin, but Seto ignored him.

"Anybody with hubris and intelligence can manipulate the ton. Those biddies at Almack's are too vain to look beyond the end of their noses. Wave a bit of glitter at them, and they are caught. Why, I could take someone from the streets and pass her off as a duchess."

An intrigued expression crossed Devlin's face. "A bet?" His green eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Seto pushed back the lock of chestnut hair that seemed destined to fall onto his forehead no matter what Roland did to tame it. "Why not?" he returned in a bored voice.

"Someone from the streets, you say?"

"Or the gutter." Seto shrugged. "It makes no difference."

"And the wager?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Devlin studied the remains of honey-colored liquid in his glass, then set it down on the table. "The Serpenteye Emerald."

Seto choked. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I can't possibly wager the Serpenteye. It's one of the Kaiba family jewels." The thing was set in a hideous necklace that half the Countesses of Kaiba were wearing in the portraits that hung in the family gallery.

Devlin smirked. "Swap it out with a bit of green paste. Who will know?"

Seto lifted his glass to acknowledge the hit. "And what do you propose to put up for your end of the wager?"

"That filly I bought at Tattersall's last month, the one you admired so much. White, with blue eyes."

Seto's lip curled, but more with amusement than contempt. For the first time in months, he felt a spark of interest illuminating the heavy boredom that had hung over him. "You must be mad."

"They say a beautiful woman can do that, drive a man mad," Devlin mused. "But the odds against your turning some street wench into a paragon of respectability…I think Lady Luck will smile on me, even if Vivian will not."

A challenge Seto could not ignore. "Done."

Devlin blinked. "What?"

"I said, I will take you on," Seto said calmly. "The Serpenteye Emerald against your blue-eyed filly. You pick the wench I am to transform. These are my only conditions: she must be young, free of disease and in possession of all of her teeth, and passably pretty."

"You have that much confidence in your ability?"

Scorn dripped from his words. "I have that much confidence in society's stupidity. Do you think I would risk my family's heirlooms, otherwise?"

"You would risk whatever serves your purpose. We both know your family ties mean little to you, and their gems even less." Devlin's smirk widened into a grin. "But Vivian will look exquisite wearing it…and nothing else."

"You wound me," Seto said dryly. In truth, Devlin was correct about how little he cared for the treasures and trappings of the Kaiba name, though he was a fool if he thought to win the wager easily. The Serpenteye was part of Mokuba's inheritance, after all, and Seto would not part with it lightly. "How shall you go about picking the formless lump of clay I am to mold into one of the season's Originals?"

A devious smile tugged at the corner of Devlin's mouth. "I suggest we pay a visit to the Rook Street Convent."

"What?" Seto drew himself back in disgust. "I distinctly specified disease-free, did I not?"

"Relax, I'm not about to saddle you with some pox-ridden whore, but you also did say a wench off the street." Devlin clapped Seto on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Kaiba, I am certain we'll find the perfect candidate for you there."

Seto's brows arched heavenward, but his expression looked anything but angelic. "I'll say this, Devlin, you know how to hedge your bets."

"Don't be such a poor sport, Kaiba. This wager was your idea, you know." Devlin's eyes had the shine they always took on at the gaming table, especially when the play was deep. "Look, I'll even promise not to sabotage your efforts. Happy now? You can have a completely free field to display your disreputable debutante to the ton without any kind of interference from me. Hell, I'll even dance with her, if you want."

"Ask your aunt to sponsor her."

Devlin spluttered a mouthful of brandy across the study. "Ask my aunt to what? Are you raving?"

Seto waited for the man to get a hold of himself. "Think for a moment. This is a bachelor household. If I was to bring a young lady of good birth into society, she couldn't possibly live here. She'd be ruined before she even made her come-out. So, obviously, she must make her home somewhere else. Your cousin in town for her first Season as well, is she not?"

"Well, yes, Rebecca is making her come-out this year," Devlin admitted, "but—"

"She is staying with her mother, your aunt, and her maternal grandfather, yes?"

"Yes, but—"

"Your aunt, Lady Marie, would make an admirable chaperone, and their town house surely has enough space for another young lady, do you agree?"

"Yes, but, blast it all, Kaiba, you don't really expect me to foist a prostitute upon my aunt and cousin, do you?"

Seto fixed him with his most piercing gaze. "I thought you wanted a chance to win the Serpenteye Emerald? These are the conditions. If they are unacceptable, then we'll call the wager off right now."

Devlin scowled. "I won't allow Rebecca's reputation to be sullied just for a wager, Kaiba. What do you think of me?"

"Since I intend to fully convince the ton that my 'ward' is a lady of breeding and refinement, you should not have the smallest fear." Seto smirked. "But in any case, your cousin is a duke's granddaughter. It would take more than a little scandal to taint her name."

Devlin sighed. "Perhaps you're right, but Rebecca is something of a bluestocking, I fear. Aunt Marie is forever fretting about it."

"Then, doubtless she will be quite happy to have another young lady about to interest her in more feminine pursuits." Devlin had no further arguments to counter this, and finally agreed to see his aunt about the matter on the morrow.

"But first," he said, with the wicked glint back in his eye, "we should see about the young woman whose future will decide your fortunes."

A/N: While this story takes liberal inspiration from My Fair Lady, the setting is Regency and I use many terms and references throughout that might confuse readers who aren't used to reading the setting. I'll be giving some brief explanations of some of them after each chapter, but if I don't explain anything that's confusing (or if the explanations are obnoxious), please let me know in the comments!

Hessians - very fashionable style of men's boots, named after the style worn by Hessian mercanaries

ton - good society, the exclusive social circle of the nobility and landed gentry

Tattersalls - auction where high quality horses were sold

Almack's - exclusive social club known for its bad refreshments, high standards enforced by its four patronesses, and being the center of the Marriage Mart

bluestocking - originally a follower of the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft (feminist foremother), came to denote a woman interested in intellectual or academic pursuits instead of being focused on marriage and family